They are the cattle of decent,
frothing Jackboot shod bovines,
lowing to the scent of fear.
Shouts heard as a drone,
wasps seeking a surface to sting,
calamitous caricatures bellowing.
Some are critics or wild men
or women possessed of frustration.
Mouthing fractious words
they will not comprehend
when they leave the herd.
They will never know why
they behaved so or how they
came to be in that spot at
that time or with whom they
enjoyed their riotous elation.
The cattle feared by order,
stampeding against the fences,
trampling the flowers and
civility, shattering their
reflections in stone pierced windows.
They are the bullhorn driven,
pimple faced, simple minded
mob of anarchy.
Copyright: 2010, Donald Harbour
I think sometimes I low to the scent of fear… what a moving line, Donald. Enjoyed immensely, thank you!
(My offering today:
http://juliejordanscott.typepad.com/jjspoetry/2010/01/duh-duh-duh-duhget-your-poem-on-109.html)
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Hi Donald,
How well you describe them! I like ‘shattering their/reflections in stone pierced windows.’
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Donald, I really like the way you use cattle for your metaphor, which gets at the mindless fear that drives so much brutality. Even the brutal, I think, like to think of themselves as predators, lions, even wolves. But cattle I think are closer to the truth. You’ve done an excellent job of capturing both the feel of a stampede and the human parallel of the mob with your dead-on observation.
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I too love the pierced window image. Long live order, un-trampled flowers and intact windows!
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hi Donald, I’m afraid of the cattle.
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great metaphor…and my ex wife had a ranch…..one of the dam bulls chased me a few times….scarry…….anyways nicely done my friiend
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The final sentence is so perfectly crafted. My favorite.
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Nicely done. The short lines give a claustrophobic jostling. I, too, like the window image, and the lowing to the scent of fear.
I did have a small problem first couple of times. I read “cattle” as possessions, and so have something belonging to the decent bovines. Probably not something to confuse anyone else
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I enjoyed reading this. A few of your lines come to mind: “frothing Jackboot shod bovines” is my favourite. And there’s the last three lines too (“They are the bullhorn driven, pimple faced, simple minded mob of anarchy”). A great illustration of how supposedly logical, thinking people can be driven to their lower instincts and lose all sense of reason. The mind is a fickle thing.
Thanks for sharing.
-Nicole
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“They will never know why” was the crux for me. Your line breaks are, as ever, telling.
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“or women possessed of frustration.” … I take offense! (j/k)
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