THE OLDE BULL

All was calm, near sleep or still :

Above the brow of Prisoners’ Hill,

White flowers of the risen night,

Glowed round the moon, that baffling sight,

And bats from verdant hunger trails,

Flapped to dark and castled caves,

Whose wrinkled rocks grew gypsy warm,

With bats' voluptuous ancient form :  

One joyous generating head

Hung down in tribal rest. Well fed,

The lustrous light outside,

Floated borne by fine web spider thread.

One stressed crazed sexton stumbled still--

--Craving his church ding dong ropes to pull--

Even one comfort bell--with some kind hymn on the side--

Trevor’s brain crunches cogs with his business ‘Satan Mills.’

New Order mills and coffee are hypertension high slides,

Trevor’s New Dis-Order hands are like hot wet gills ;

Trevor panics and pelts down Ecumenic Hill,

And ends dignity-impaled on his parish old bull.

"Olde bull I thought you were my church rustic stile,

I should have stayed in my icy bed awhile."

"More moans from money’s tied man," the Olde Bull said,

"Money ignores our people-centered Christ’s "Be still!"

"So Christ is yours as well," gruff pious pants said,

"Which Eco Christian faith encourages your head?"

"Well a good loaf and a fish were our good Jesus' treats,

Bulls love serene saviours who steer clear of steer meats."

Our punctured sexton is borne to St. Bandaid Hospital,

Where Doctor L.O. Bull reseats every corpuscle.

Trev’s chafed cheeks both sealed our grateful lunarian,

Like Darwin’s first bull, trots now sugarless-vegetarian :

Calmer, handsome, with nearly dry hooves... er...hands ;

Trev is two veterinarian’s tissues just short of perfection!

With Trev’s moods improved May Magdalene who had left him,

(May is a Weight Watch Diploma, in Bulimia Remission)

Canters home to try Trev’s trans-meditation reflections ;

Both also try bellowing as moonlighting muezzins--

Which really breaks up the town’s bickering and divisions!

Just by turning our eyes to bat-moon’s soft stars,

Night’s love seems to float in to dew in our hearts.

Though some souls are bullish for more magical rebirth,

New bull follows old bull towards our final true worth......

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poems poet poetry of Brian Evans