You look so sad, defeated,
rendered speechless, limbs static,
glassy eye captured mid-blink,
leathered hide slathered
thick, immovable as undulating wall
slip-sliding on into cavernous shade.
Your image oozes empowerment,
bulky shape, head-horned, savagery
spurting from red oxide veins
sticky as congealed blood
soaked into creator’s hand
pulsing with energy.
You exist as positive spirit,
a finger dancing
moss sponging masterpiece
concealed on Spanish ochre stone
while Neanderthal Man,
gatherer of berries and Art
is absorbed into Palaeolithic soil.
You bison, with your charcoal lines
are preserved in time
as natural as the contoured cave.
Kate Young lives in Kent and is passionate about poetry and literature. After retiring, she has returned to writing and has had success with poems published in magazines internationally and in Great Britain. She is presently editing her work and writing new material, particularly in response to ekphrastic challenges.