Tag Archives: bison

3 Poems Referencing Members of the Clergy in a Simile or Metaphor


in procession down Blenheim

a father and son

each bent over his phone

like a priest reading his office.


Bull Bison

cast out from the herd

he shuffles the prairie

like an old Christian Brother

like an unkempt monk.


Skunk Three

There are now 2 skunks living under the shed at the back of our garden. Yesterday, they came out to frolic around on the lawn in the late evening sun and later around 11:30, they strolled beneath our window filling our bedroom with that skunk smell. Skunk spray, by the way,  consists of seven major volatile components; they are mainly organic sulphurs (mercaptans), which are also responsible for the way that pulp mills smell. The spray is stored in scent glands on either side of the skunk’s anus, a skunk has  enough for 5 or 6 sprays and it takes 10 days to be restore the supply. So, they do not spray unless they have to.

Where was I? This poem started off a few posts back as a haiku (“Skunk”). I didn’t like the ending so I changed the last line (“Skunk Two”). Then I began thinking about form. Yes, writing to a form does corral a poem and focus language but every now and again it is good to open the gate and let the poem run free. So I have gone hog wild here, added 2 extra syllables and combined the last two lines of the 2 poems, here it is:


struts across the lawn

with a cleric’s confidence

tail cocked, sphincter primed, cocksure.


Down and Out in Idabel

Down and Out in Idabel

How Myron found himself in the parking lot

Of the Holiday Inn in Idabel, Oklahoma

Looking out at the road

On a Saturday morning in April

– after a breakfast of brittle bacon,

Sausages slick with grease,

Dry fluorescent scrambled eggs –

Is not important.

The road pauses, a skittish dog roams.

Myron’s eyes are drawn to a dead armadillo

Upside down on the hard shoulder

In its claws an empty beer can.

Old Milwaukee. Prehistoric drunk. Someone’s joke.

A pick up truck passes

A pick up truck passes

A pick up truck passes

Over the fence a cow chews grass

And makes a meal of it.

Dogwoods bloom.

The cow moos like a reluctant foghorn.

Myron’s mood turns

He thinks about the cow,

Manifest Destiny,

The plight of the bison

Our lust for red meat

While greenhouse gas

Shimmies upwards

Ice caps melt

Glaciers retreat

And looking down

The road to Shreveport

Buoyed by the prospect

Of seeing Idabel

In his rear-view mirror

He quietly resolves

To recover what he was

Before sadness lodged

Like a wet sack

In the back

Of his head.


This poem originally appeared in issue 38 of The SHOp poetry magazine which was a fine magazine, unfortunately they closed up shop last year.

Jim Feeney