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by Karl Waldbauer

The bull,
heavy muscles,
gleaming horns.
The crowd
as the animal
makes another pass at the scarlet cape.
Like a picture
captured forever by a camera,
the graceful matador
facing the tired, bloody creature,
sword poised in the air,
As Death
takes the bull in his icy embrace,
I fail to see
the matador
a masculine
conqueror of nature,
a bitter woman
acting out the destruction
men in her life.


Posted on 08/03/2004
Copyright © 2022 Karl Waldbauer

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Michele Schottelkorb on 08/03/04 at 01:32 PM

ooooooooo... incredibly imagery, and a twist at the end... bullfights have always enraged me... and i think matadors get what they deserve when run through by a doomed bull (same goes for the running of the bulls)... you have giving me another analogy to look at, and i'm impressed... excellent piece... blessings...

Posted by Anne Engelen on 08/04/04 at 01:22 AM

The last image is super. It kept me pinned down on a stream of thoughts. I love it!

Posted by Maryellen Lebeda-Parra on 08/04/04 at 07:53 AM

BRILLIANT my friend!

Posted by Max Bouillet on 08/08/04 at 07:30 AM

Absolutely cunning that you use bull imagery to present truth that takes the bullcrap away. Exquisite read with imagery that leaves a lasting impression.

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