The Flood

Some parts of Texas

might look like India

and vice versa.

Cattle black and shiny

as beetles.  People

wear skin of earth —

dust, clay and mud.

Sweat runs like streams

over dry cracked plains.

Today they are dying

in India from heat,

in Texas from floods.

Always it is water,

too much, too little.

Cattle swishing tails

to brush away flies.

Cattle floating downstream,

drowned and bloated.

A cow’s brown eye

is like a small world

made from mud,

shaped in the palms

of a human hand.

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About Ray Sharp

Father, poet, triathlete, local public health planner
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5 Responses to The Flood

  1. soulstainedwindows says:

    Love this-especially about the cow eyes. I think they are so beautiful!

  2. There is something beautiful about the rawness of this poem. Nice to have found a fellow bard, here on WordPress. I will look forward to reading more from you in the days to come…

    May the Goddess smile on you, always.

    Blessed Be.

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