Roping Poems
I know I’m not a cowboy and this beast’s not a cow
an antelope, a porcupine, a buzzard or a deer
it has three eyes, no four, no five; it raises one long ear
as if it’s hearing memories I can’t remember now
from other scenes and centuries, from heights and depths unknown
long dead or yet to live whose grim ancestors frown
at this disturbance of their peace, at this unwanted probe
the one would keep things as they are, the other, let them sort
their own unguarded options, their undecided ways
a dinosaur, a dodo bird, a polar bear, a sheep
it swims, crawls, flies, mythologies, oozes or it leaps
it leaves us in its maze
it wants our help but doesn’t in an adolescent snit
its passions working out
its objects shifting, restless, its aims within a shout
it treasures them intensely and doesn’t give a blip
A word to touch its nose another touch its tail
but they’re not strung together yet and may not be
unsettled, a democracy, a thousand ways to fail
my rope evolves as it does, reaching, sliding off unchanged
enough yet but persistent, straining custom, habit
mole, turkey, wolf or rabbit
storm-tossed at sea or speechless forest, horizonless as range.
Will it emerge for us without its signature shape-shift
damp as dawn yet old as us
or leave us footless firmly trussed
as we have bound ourselves, instead of it?
The Dog Star 
2 Responses to “Roping Poems”
” leave us footless firmly trussed / as we have bound ourselves, instead of it”
The cadence builds, keeps its footing while the argument resists. I like that the rhymes are near, subtle, they don’t dominate.
Thanks, C. We can herd and rope other critters besides cows, even some that resist labels.