copying Paradelle for Susan

Deb's Paradelle

I saw a cat in my back yard today.
I saw a cat in my back yard today.
He was large, and had a mane that blazed like fire.
He was large, and had a mane that blazed like fire.
I was in my fire, blazed and back.
A cat, a mane, saw he, had a large yard today.

He could sense the blood of a reddish cock.
He could sense the blood of a reddish cock.
With great stealth, he spied his prey.
With great stealth, he spied his prey.
His prey, spied he, sense of a cock
he could sense the reddish blood with great stealth.

Long leap, brazen teeth, setting out for a feast,
long leap, brazen teeth, setting out for a feast,
cannot stand up to a peck so sharp, and so deep.
Cannot stand up to a peck so sharp, and so deep.
Brazen peck, so long and up for a feast, long teeth
leap out so, setting sharp and deep.

Blood, back teeth feast. A long reddish
cat cannot sense that deep fire he spied.
For a setting, stand up, brazen cock! Sharp
and so long was he today. I saw in
my mane he could of had his prey.
With a like great stealth that blazed out, and so.

This is really weird, and probably doesn't make much sense. I tried though!

Irish Cows

Afternoon with Irish Cows

There were a few dozen who occupied the field

across the road from where we lived,

stepping all day from tuft to tuft,

their big heads down in the soft grass,

though I would sometimes pass a window

and look out to see the field suddenly empty

as if they had taken wing, flown off to another country.

Then later, I would open the blue front door,

and again the field would be full of their munching

or they would be lying down

on the black-and-white maps of their sides,

facing in all directions, waiting for rain.

How mysterious, how patient and dumbfounded

they appear in the long quiet of the afternoon.

But every once in a while, one of them

would let out a sound so phenomenal

that I would put down the paper

or the knife I was cutting an apple with

and walk across the road to the stone wall

to see which one of them was being torched

or pierced through the side with a long spear.

Yes, it sounded like pain until I could see

the noisy one, anchored there on all fours,

her neck outstretched, her bellowing head

laboring upward as she gave voice

to the rising, full-bodied cry

that began in the darkness of her belly

and echoed up through her bowed ribs into her gaping mouth.

Then I knew that she was only announcing

the large, unadulterated cowness of herself,

pouring out the ancient apologia of her kind

to all the green fields and the gray clouds,

to the limestone hills and the inlet of the blue bay,

while she regarded my head and shoulders

above the wall with one wild, shocking eye.

I did some research on Irish Cows, because I was really interested in Billy Collins title for this poem. A well known type of Irish Cow is a Dexter. Dexters are believed to be a cross between a Kerry cow and a Devon. A large portion of Dexter cows were imported into America between 1905 and 1915. They tend to be very small, as far as cow standards go, and are known for their gently and easy-to-handle nature. They do well in all types of weather, and are known for being very fertile.