Making cow eyes. For the love of cows. Cowscowscows “Cows” by Peter Kocan! #Valentines #poetryisjustawesome

Cows by Peter Kocan

Cows graze across the hill,
Measuring the day
As their shadows tell
Irrelevant time. Their gait is half-way
Between moving and standing still.

The sun is gentle on the green
Of their meadow, their mouths deep
In its heavy warmth,
A watcher could fall asleep
In the depth
Of that untroubled scene.

From each dewdrop morning
To every day’s end
They follow the cycle
Of the rhythm of the world turning
In its season. A miracle
Of normalcy is a cow’s mind.

Beyond thought’s prickling fever
They dwell in the grace
Of their own true concerns,
And in that place
Know they will live forever
With butterflies around their horns.

More about Kocan:http://evidenceanecdotal.blogspot.ca/2013/05/a-miracle-of-normalcy-is-cows-mind.html

“There is a field near the main kitchen where cows from the hospital dairy graze. There’s a peacefulness about cows.

At weekends you take a book and sit under the tree near the field and read a little and listen to music on your transistor and watch the cows.

Sometimes you lean on the fence and click your tongue at the cows and they will wander close and sniff at you and

examine you with big peaceful eyes but with a dubious look also, as if they’re wondering what your game is.

You don’t stay leaning on the fence too long.             It’s a bit too visible there.

It might look odd.

Other people don’t spend their time looking at cattle. Looking at cattle is

probably a symptom of something. ”

The New Oxford Book of Australian Verse, chosen by Les A. Murray.
USED: http://www.abebooks.com/servlet/BookDetailsPL?bi=14144434264

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Basho haiku sadness!

I miss my mother. And I wanted to distract a friend from someone’s ignorant and hurtful remark. I looked for poems for her. And then they made me feel lighter too. By Basho?

Butterfly perfumes
Her wings by floating
Over the orchid

Cold first winter rain
Poor monkey, you too could use
A little woven cape

This snowy morning
That black crow I hate so much
But she is beautiful

On a withered branch
A crow has alighted:
Nightfall in autumn

Clouds come from time to time –
and bring to men a chance to rest
from looking at the moon

Why so scrawny, cat?
starving for fat fish or mice . . .
Or backyard love?

Carven gods long gone . . .
dead leaves alone
foregather

Such utter silence!
even the crickets’ singing . . .
Muffled by hot rocks