Thursday’s Rune: Cotton Eyed Bull

I don’t see much shit
lying around where I live.
Some. But even dog poop gets
green bagged and dropped
into special green dog doo
safe deposit cans for the man
to stop and retrieve. What a job!

I like a thing, like a picture;
or I write a thing, like a poem,
just because I like it, or I want to.
No other reason. It has nothing to do
with any other motive or person.

I like a color cuz I do,
not because of where I went to school.
I write about things
because that is what comes out.
Be it dog, bull, or horse shit.

To be fair, it is often true that
there is a reason or emotion
pushing the words out or maybe
influencing my smelly choices.

But sometimes, it’s just
bull shit, or horse shit, and there is
a difference. Bull shit
is a downright lie, while
horse shit has a softer, roundish,
teasingly fibbish, straw element to it.

And sometimes it’s just a song and a dance.
“Where did you come from, where did you go?
Where did you come from, Cotton-Eyed Joe?”

Look both ways and watch where you step.
Mind the gaps in your cow pie-ology.


Gloss: it’s a stretch, but this poem was inspired by the song and country western dance, the Cotton Eyed Joe. The song, said to be over 200 years old, likely originated in the USA South with black slaves before the Civil War. Over the years there have been more than 130 recorded versions of the song. During the modern line dance, people are encouraged to yell Bull shit while shaking same from their boots.

Cow or bull

Photos I took while visiting my daughter and SIL’s ranchette, which pastures horses, cattle, cats, jennies, and more.


A version as Cotton “Eye” Joe by the Swedish Eurodance group Rednex. There are other Rednex videos just as crazy.

Poetry: Sound

See it, good and bad, it’s there
but not silent.
Connections have sounds,
vibrations from nature
give pleasantries, threats, and
danger its voice.

Acoustic waves of sound,
perceived in brains
through resonance with timbre.
We hear the soft breezes and roaring
winds perceived as warning,
we hear gentle rains in nature’s
song, and we know the destruction
of the hard driving, relentless torrent.
Quieter or louder, we feel
the sonic texture before our
brains make sense of thunder
and lightning,
before the train passes,
before volcano eruptions
or earth quakes. We hear.

We welcome the pleasantry
of music to our ears, yet we
know the damage of unprotected
loudness, of sonic torture. We
see with our ears, we determine
location, we find friend or foe.

The gift of hearing stands out
not to be assumed as always
there. If no sound is heard,
it did not exist for us.

Without hearing,
our connection with nature is lost.
And maybe with love.

Listen to the rhythm, hear
and feel the music deep inside
your body—then dance.

Hear the sounds but see
them mindfully taking mental
shapes—the arts—the senses—
never to be assumed,
never ignored, to be both
cherished and used. Sense all
of life: the sights, sounds,
the tastes and the smells.
Feel the touches of it all
and welcome it until only
the sound of silence
And a lover’s voice,

listen, hear, love that sound.
Listen, listen, listen; hush.

Look both ways and listen to the sounds.
Hear the drop of rain fall into the distant gap.

Poetry: Love Down a Great Stairway

She walked into the majestic hall glowing with womanly confidence,
her body flowing gracefully, moving like a soft breeze across the floor,
all eyes looked as her light summer gown flowed on and off her soft satin skin
as it shed her refreshing scent, filling the air with the aroma of orchids.

He looked up to her as she briefly paused at the top of the grand stairway
as all sounds in the hall ended for him and he felt his heart fill his chest
with brightness and the promise of soon feeling her divinely elegant touch,
as he studied her footsteps gliding down toward him, his desire piqued.

Eyes on her, he rose up without consciousness of his actions, as he left Earth
and entered into a world of enchanted love and impassioned romance,
soon their eyes met and all visions of reality left their unconscious minds,
instantly they were face to face, then hand in hand, and finally heart to heart.

“May I have the honor of this dance, most lovely and pleasant flower?”
“Of course, mon amour chérie. You are the universal eternity I seek.”
The orchestra stopped playing, but everyone heard the heavenly music
of lovers in love as they moved effortlessly, gracefully to the dance floor.

©Bill Reynolds 12/06/2018

Look both ways, but dance arm in arm into the gaps of eternity.