self-deprecation

You call it a bond,

I call it a tether-

a hog-tie dressed up as poetry.

The lash sings, the rope bites,

and suddenly loyalty

 looks a lot like livestock.

 

In the pigpen of verse

you root with your snout:

penning like a pig,

penned like a pig,

inking the sty

with squeals and scratchings.

 

Swine, hog, porker, boar-

your lexicon a butcher’s bill,

each word a cleaver,

each stanza a sausage casing.

 

And still, you parade it as art,

this muck-splattered manuscript,
garlanding the sow with pearls

only to watch her roll them in dung.

 

The bond, you say, is sacred.

I say it’s bacon waiting for the pan.

.

Reviews

[Jansy]

Now this is the kind of writing that speaks to my spirit. I love whimsical poetry, but I always end up in the cosmos. I don’t know why I never thought to bring it down to earth and take it to the farm animals. This is one of the most brilliant pieces of poetry I’ve read. I feel like I bonded to it. Well done, Redd.
James☆

[redd Brick Keshner]

Thanks heaps, James. There came a time when I thought to bring the cosmos to what surrounded me on a daily basis. When school was out, I was at the grandparent's farm and now it has become fodder for thoughts and feelings that hadn't always put words to. Your feedback is invaluable, James. Cheers🕊️🙏🤩Redd

[Jansy]

Ah... nice. That's the thing. I've actually never been to a farm. I've always found myself gazing up at the night sky. Maybe one day, I'll own my own farm and find inspiration. This poem is going into my favorites

[redd Brick Keshner]

The sky and the nights are so much bigger from the countryside and that deserves to be featured in poetry. Thanks for the affirmation, James🕊️🙏

[Jansy]

I feel like I just discovered something new, like when I found out ... in the 'Three little pigs" The little piggie that went to the market" wasn't going shopping, he was actually being made into bacon. Soul crushing haha

[redd Brick Keshner]

Indeed! 🫠🤣🙏🏻🕊️

[Chris Shaw]

Well and truly grounded. Not a star in sight and I love bacon. Nothing like a bacon sarnie. A long time ago, a very long time ago, I wanted be a farmer’s wife. This very creative and original poem brought that memory back Freds.

Chris