From Some Tree this Hidden Calf (trying to escape Poe’s Raven)


Waits and bleats

and shadows brown

dappled in darkness

I hear it call


a cry, but a cry

without hope

in the tradition

of a beast, whose ancestors

know only slaughter.


There is surely a rope

or a pen to hold

until death is called

for veal and leather

these are your name


like a nightingale

I do not hear your song

of ultimate sadness

of the empty beauty

of pointless death.


Stay hidden

and frightened

and hunger I sure

for the mother’s milk

and kindness licks


in the dappled


that is the lot

of all your kind.

About anthonyuplandpoetwatkins born in Jackson, The United States August 04, 1959 gender male website genre Poetry, Historical Fiction influences James M. Lancaster, Brenda Black White, Gertrude Stein, William Carlos Williams, and Al Filreis member since March 2011 About this author edit data As one of the most public lives ever lived by a private citizen, there is little about me that isn't already available at Facebook or Shelfari and countless other places. Poet, writer, construction worker, salesman, truck driver, climber into the attics of total strangers, father and husband, and all around one of the luckiest men on the planet. My luck continued with a win in the June Goodreads Newsletter Contest! What an honor! http://anthonyuplandpoetwatkins.wordp... Additional Influences: Bob Dylan, William Faulkner, Barbara Kingsolver, Gloria Naylor, Eudora Welty
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