Poetry Horse Poems

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Details | Light Poetry |
                 Like the UNICORN

At times I fear I am the mysterious of all animals
Like the Unicorn, I myself do not feel real
My inner beauty is the only thing to conceal
I am my own mythological creature
Roaming souls with a little will power to heal
 
Ages of my forgotten tear
Like the Unicorns  a prophecy so unclear
I compare your beauty to be the eyes of stare
I am a magical power so rare
Absorbing the energy of the sun into a spear
I appear like the wild horse
I have no feelings of real existence, my life with no compare
Embracing all memories to disappear

Wasting away absorbing nature's life
GONE!
Haunted down by a hunters knife
Thousands of wolves hungry to eat me alive

Fallen legends and myth
Pondering in a past life who I am
I feel a  touch upon my bones
Am I he the Unicorn 
A horse with one horn
Unlike the Unicorn who fell to exist
My suffering  really does exist
How I wish everything was fake
To be like you hiding upon the mist

Like the Unicorn who is a horse with no horn
Like a nobody when my life slips into the abyss 
A depth of wishing to have never been  born
With the vision of  Heaven’s Realm with a Unicorn twist

Like the Unicorn who only exist in Legends and Myth.
I come and go like a blown kiss
Shedding tears feeling all alone
I want to be like the Unicorn who are bound to roam
Take me away from this wonders of thorns
Give me a magic Medallion to free myself from the pits
Infatuated with the gorgeous Unicorn
A passion among beauty is where I exist

by:

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2010




Details | Light Poetry |
Creature of myths and legends
most deny that you ever exist
yet time after time you reappear
history the world wide names you

Depicts you with spiral single horn
gleaming white starry coat
its said only in a virgin you trust
when you will lay your head

In her lap as she tames
your ferocity and wildness
only then can you be caught
yet should we capture you?

Is it not best to leave you free?
some things are best left alone
never to be proved as fact
I know I believe you to be real

Yet a wondrous creature living hidden
that forever free and wild should be
allowed to roam in our minds and hearts
bringing hope and joy to future generations

         ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

for PD's contest written 06/11/2013

The unicorn is a legendary animal from European folklore that resembles a white horse with a large, pointed, spiralling horn projecting from its forehead, and cloven hooves. First mentioned by the ancient Greeks, it became the most important imaginary animal of the Middle Ages and Renaissance when it was commonly described as an extremely wild woodland creature, a symbol of purity and grace, which could only be captured by a virgin. In the encyclopedias its horn was said to have the power to render poisoned water potable and to heal sickness.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Copyright © Shadow Hamilton | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |
The Rocking Horse Cowboy

I’m king of the rocking horse--cowboys
I yea ha along with the best
Me finger and thumb
I use as a gun
And ride the top horse in the west

I ride the top horse in the west
He’s sturdy and ready to please
It’s no big deal
When he shares my meal
I feed him fish-fingers and peas

I feed him fish-fingers and peas
Then he’s ready to canter and go
He really flies
When chasing bad guys
And always we catch them, you know

Always we catch them, you know
Those bad guys who pinch all my toys
We never fail
To throw them in jail 
I’m king of the rocking horse--cowboys

Copyright © Robert Broadbent | Year Posted 2017




Details | Rhyme |
They were Meriwether Lewis and William Clark,
Her name was Sacagawea.
On an expedition they did embark
Finding the passage to the sea.

Down the Missouri they traveled, 
Then slithered 'round the Snake River bend.
Rocky Mountain weather and sickness battled;
At the Columbia River they'd end. 



©2013 Honestly JT

Copyright © Honestly J.T. | Year Posted 2013

Details | Fibonacci |
He

is

in fact

a poet -

he really is a

poet - and a real horse trainer.

He has held one-term jobs at various colleges -

but never so far away that he can't keep in touch with the stables. He gives readings -

but only - as he says - once in a blue moon - he doesn't stress the poetic employment - sometimes this is annoying this - affectation -
 
but one can see the point - when you're busy with horses people can see that you are busy - but when you're busy at making up a poem you look as if you're in a state of idleness and you're too embarrassed to explain.

Copyright © Paul Geiger | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |
—the journey of a herd of mustangs in a picture on the wall—

The story begins with two stallions at the water’s edge, facing each other.  When one of the stallions irritated, impatiently hits the surface of water with his hoof, the splashes of the water fly all over in the air as if it’s a declaration of merciless war. Then a ghastly fight has begun between two of them. They bite, kick, and wrestle each other in the shallow water to defeat one another. Each time one attacks his opponent, they raise high in the air with hind legs, they shake their gorgeous manes and necks, their muscle quake, and the blood spouts out from their shoulders.

After the long and bloody fight is over and the one who lost in battle draws back, the victor marches in triumph to the herd of mustangs. Nevertheless, the high and intermittent background music and splashing wavelets on the water’s edge scenery introduce the tension and suggest ever-ending darkness to come. They run down the stream while pushing each other as if they were compelled by the fate, which is invisible, or to say that they were driven by some evil but absolute power that is unavoidable.  They pass through the deserted field; they swim to cross the rushing stream as if silvery dolphin in the water; they strut through the fog as if they were Pegasus galloping on the cloud; they even dash through the blazing fire like the Phoenix rising from cold ashes. The victor, now, dives into bottomless water before his many followers for a long journey; yet, the destination unknown.       

Copyright © Su Ben | Year Posted 2015

Details | Haiku |
Wet and shiny coat,
Extremities shake and quake;
Newborn foal’s first stand.

Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2014

Details | Light Poetry |
I hear the voices
Choirs sing in the skies
I try again like you did before
Depressed I know there is no more

I listen to past voices
Songs sing in my head
For sure a proof I am not dead
Depressed, I am on the floor

Once we danced with the moon above
I held your soul in the night air
Kisses in the dark made us hunger
Yet here I am alone, starving

Shadows of love, a wisp of desire
Music drifts into the night
From the local pub
Where I was and where I shall I die

On my horse, I ride far far away
Guided by the stars, I escape from you
Styrie shall live to an old age close to you
I shall die a distant memory

My Waterloo

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |
The Great Race   June 6,2015

Dress is unimportant.
At least today.
I can arrive at the local bar and grill 
in old gardening jeans and t-shirt.

We'll order a mid-afternoon sandwich.
But the main reason is not to eat
(though their sandwiches are fine),  
it's to watch the Belmont Stakes.

We can't call ourselves horse racing fans –
we know almost nothing about horses or racing
and have never bet a dime.
But the excitement around a possible
Triple Crown winner is irresistible.

We're keeping our fingers crossed 
that American Pharaoh, 
winner of the Preakness and Kentucky Derby,
triumphs.

Why are we not watching the race at home?
No cable TV. We miss a lot of major sporting events 
that we once effortlessly watched –
tennis, golf, basketball, baseball, football.

Tournaments which determine the best of the best 
used to be available on the internet. 
No longer. It's pay to watch now,
and we're too cheap to pay.

So it's off for a beer, snack, and the great horse race ...

And an historic race it was.
Not since 1978 has there been a Triple Crown champion –
a long dry period between winners.
American Pharaoh won handily, running with grace and endurance.      

The horse seemed pleased.
The jockey was thrilled.
The trainer was delighted.
And the owners excited.

It's a strange sport though.
The horse did all the work,
while the jockey, trainer and owners
got all the credit.

Those in the know praise the brilliant trainer.
Evidently he is, along with the horse, the best of the best.
Celebrations surely meant champagne all around           
and an extra bag of oats for American Pharaoh. 

Copyright © Gay Stuntzner | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |
its can be just right
if the horse don't fight
get on
and ride  is born
by the your tone
it can be out sight
on a park track
ON HORSE BACK

Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |
Have you seen the run-away horse?
He's galloping to nowhere 
With blinders on.

He must soon be caught
Let's save him from scorching noon time heat
His rope is too long
We don't want him to hang himself,
Or fall to slippery slopes.

I last saw this horse
Going down the whooyayi,
Let me by
We don't want this horse to die
Help me tame this run-away horse,
He's spiritually lost.

*

(Inspired from Placencia to Belize, from Margery's 70th bash/Robert's Grove)
(c), 9/28/15 Done by Iris, Ellie, Sylvia and her sister

Copyright © Iris Elizabeth Sankey-Lewis | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |
In the iron grey days of the 1950's change changed everything, good or bad,
Tom, who was the local coal-man for this area, a hard man of steel but kind,
He tried to speak but no words would come, he just pointed, on to the road,
Following his gesture, outside was a new motor lorry for his rounds, no horse.

In broken and heart wrenching sobs, he said, they had taken away my old horse,
He's been sold to another firm and I will never see him again, he's gone away,
Tom loved that horse, his life was built around it, morning evenings, weekends,
In his own time Tom would trim and groom that horse, it was his closest friend.

They never said me that my dearest friend was going I had no time to say goodbye,
He's probably in a new place now waiting for me to come and take him back home,
I know that horse he is my only family, I bet he is really worried he will so sad
He probably thinks I have deserted him because I don't love him that's not true.

I bet he is in a stable, his big brown eyes moist looking around all the time,
Any door that opens he will think it is me, he will be excited then really hurt,
He will miss our long talks together in the evenings he used to nod his long face,
He will be in a panic, like me, waiting for his dad who will never see him again.

A strong man who carried tons of coal everyday he had no family only his horse,
Brought up in a state run home never lucky enough to be picked by any families,
His horse was his friend who new all of Toms deepest secrets, tears and sorrows,
Tom left his new lorry where it stood, with heart wrenching sobs he walked away.
I watched him go, there was nothing I could say there was a painful lump in my throat.

Copyright © Terry Trainor | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |

" The Horse and The Storm Cloud ... "

(From The Solomon Studies Series) # 4
(Eccl. 3: 11 / Prov. 6: 6 / Matt. 6: 26, 28, 29)



The Horse and The Storm Cloud
Both Have Thundered Over The Plains

The Horse and The Storm Cloud
Both Race and Are Hard To Restrain

The Horse and The Storm Cloud
Both Rise Then Bolt Like Arrows Aimed

The Horse and The Storm Cloud
Both Desire To Reach Fruits and Grains

The Horse and The Storm Cloud
Both Upon Hilltops Have Reigned

The Horse and The Storm Cloud
Both Have Glistened With Heavy Rain

Tho' One Is Ridden and One Never Reined
Both Have Wild Beauty Forever Untamed

Tho' One Claps 
and One Paws The Ground
One Neighs In The Wind
& One Wears Lightning's Crown

The Horse and The Storm Cloud
Both Characterize Nature's Fame

The Horse and The Storm Cloud
GOD Made Both Unique, But Flash The Same

The Horse and The Storm Cloud
Both, GOD Will Make Sure - Earth Retains


       Written & Copyrighted ©:  1/7/2014
                by:  MoonBee  Canady

_________________________________________


Growing up in West Texas (oh yeah, I love horses) ... 
there was a riding ranch that opened up near my family's 
home. So, I've ridden horses ever since I was in my early
teens.

I came to appreciate that the horse is a sensitive, noble
and beautiful creature.  Hence, I felt I had to state my
affinity and admiration for this unique beast, (not just 
with one poem but two) 

The horse has been in such close association with man 
and mankind's history ... So that is why I wrote the posts
enumerating the qualities of the magnificent creature
that is the horse ...

Now, I'm not the greatest equestrian (by any
means, but I've got a good seat for riding (lol)

And if you do, find yourself on a sunny day, with time
on your hands, take a leisurely ride on a horse and you'll 
be hooked for life (I know I am) (All you Horse-Riders
out there, know what I'm talking about, I know)

Hope readers enjoy ...

MoonBee



Copyright © MoonBee Canady | Year Posted 2014

Details | Light Poetry |
                                     
As I gazed into the sky in the middle of the night, to my surprise I saw an object coming towards me from the moon.
From an object it turned into a fascinating creature, from a fascinating creature it became an indescribable paragon of beauty.

She was so seductive and attractive. I could not resist her. Her love is like an ocean that has o end. 
She is like an angel that has no spot or wrinkle.
Her hair is like the expensive wool of Lebanon.
Her lips, so smooth and attractive
Her tongue, instinctively seductive and ravishing

To my surprise and amazement, she turned her back at me methodically and rhythmically.
She mysteriously shook her waist and I saw the most well carved art work of the Creator.

I saw her well-constructed behind invitingly stirring at me.
How could I resist such one in a lifetime offer?
Then turning directly towards me, I saw the most tempting and sensuous breasts in the whole universe.

Both breasts danced like a football in the field of play.
Now, I am trapped. No way out. Who will rescue me from this illusion. Illusion? No, I would rather call it fantasy. But no, it became a reality that I cannot but face.

Oh! Queen of the night you are just a relic of pleasurable island of paradise and unending love.
Please take me on a ride to your world of Eldorado.
Queen of the night 
You are my queen of the night.

Copyright © Raphael Adegoke | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |
ON THE ROCKS
 
Talk about bad luck, I hit rock bottom and broke a leg
One advantage to hitting rock bottom is at least I know which way is up now
I hit Rock’s bottom and he promptly kicked my bottom from one end to the other
It usually bottoms out when I hit rock bottom

WAXING PHILOSOPHIC (YEAH YOU MOPPED, BUT DID YOU WAX?... I THOUGHT NOT!)

A tree fell in the forest and a hearing impaired gentleman was nearby so it did NOT make a sound
You think, therefore you are and just who do think you are, anyway? 
What does not kill me only makes me weak in the stomach when I am presented with the hospital bill
People who live in bakeries should not throw scones

DONCHA’ JUST LOVE IT?

Love is blind and keeps bumping into things
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways!  Um…
I loved her to death but got off on a technicality
Star-crossed lovers occasionally get crossed up and can get rather cross about it too

I SAW ONE THE OTHER DAY I SWEAR TO GOD I DID
 
I made a Snowman that frankly speaking, looked Abominable
The Abominable Snowman retired to Florida and melted on the spot
Bigfoot treated The Abominable Snowman and family to dinner and footed the entire bill (however, things got pretty hairy when his credit card was refused)
Bigfoot often puts his foot in his mouth and he’s got a big mouth too

YOU’RE A REAL PAIN IN THE ASS AND STOP ACTING LIKE A HORSE’S ASS, SMART-ASS AND MY ASS CAN WHIP YOUR ASS ANY DAY OF THE WEEK TOO

A mule got a species change operation and made a real ass of himself
So WHAT if I’ve got it all backwards?  (You whole-ass- b_tch-of- a-son!)
Secretariat lost his ass in a High-Stakes poker game
A horse was unjustly discriminated against because it was a horse of a different color

 

Copyright © Tim Ryerson | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |
A young squire set off
through the dark woods
he was on his way to town
to find adventure and fun

When he was set upon by villains
bravely he fought them off
his sword now blood-red
on toward the town ahead 

Then a fearsome dragon
blocked his way with fire
he strung his longbow
and shot it dead through the eye

He passed by an old man
his cart stuck in a rut
the squire lent a hand
his gaze he could not advert

He has e-spied a comely maiden
hair of gold and lips like satin
a twinkle in her blue eyes as she gazed 
struck by the bolt of love

He rode with them to town
saw them settled in the inn
then to the lord of the manor
to swear his fealty on bended knee

The lord knighted the young squire
"A boon, I ask," my lord, "I am in love
and wish to wed. Will you grant my wish"?
"Indeed I will," the lord replied,

"Lets all feast and be merry
as you take your bride's hand",
a banquet spread before them
they exchanged their rings

Now they retire to the boudoir
there let us leave this pair of new weds


written 03/22/2013

contest: medaeval idealism

Copyright © Shadow Hamilton | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
Where did my horse go? Spooky was off
in a flash.A horse with lightning speed.He
made his ungrateful dash.Because the barn
door was open, and ole Spooky was gone.
Maybe it was a grizzly bear, or possibly the
grey fox, or even a mountain lion? Whoever
or whatever it was, it got ole Spooky crying, 
and now that ole gray stallion is off a flying.
Spooky the spooky horse was his name.
And running real fast was always his game.
Lately! Spooky would wonder off to places
where nobody could find him.Hiding behind
trees deep in the dark green forest.But when
his master came a calling.Ole Spooky came
a crawling.Crawling back to the barn he knew
so well.Then came a night that was dark, and
full of fright.Spooky heard noises, he had never
heard before.This time Spooky was spooked
so bad.He crashed right through the old barn
door.Off he ran again, into the wild blue yonder.
Didn't wait a minute to look, or even ponder.It
was Spooky the spooky horse again.When 
does the story continue? And how does the
story end? Becase Spooky the spooky horse
was off in a flash.. 

Spooky Horse Poem by Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 2003,2014..All Rights Reserved.

Copyright © Kim Robin Edwards | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |
Black and white, in a line

Some are heavy, some are fine

Changing, creeping, cunning

Smoothly, quickly, running

Some are found, some are not

Isn't safe- destroy the lot

 

Poem written about a manual DOS scan to find Trojan virus ;)

 
My  brain is literally just full of poetry. I mean who the hell writes a poem about a Trojan while their computer is scanning?? Me.

Copyright © Kate Moore | Year Posted 2011

Details | Light Poetry |
" The Horse and The Lion ... "

(From The Solomon Studies Series)
(Eccl. 3: 11 / Prov. 6: 6 / Matt. 6: 26, 28, 29)


The Horse and The Lion
Both Have Beautiful Manes

The Horse and The Lion
Both Stand Up To Powerful Claims

The Horse and The Lion
Both Rule Where They Range

The Horse and The Lion
Both Have Battled On The Plains

Tho' One Neighs Shrilly and The Other Roars!
One Is A Mighty Hunter / The Other Rides To Wars!

Tho' One Has Teeth & Claws, Like Sharp Talons
Everyone Bewares The Hooves & Ground of Wild Stallions

The Horse and The Lion
Both Are Like Muscled, Courage Unchained

Yet The Horse, Eats Oats and Hay
and Sweet Apples and Grain

And One Day, GOD Said
... Lions Will Do The Same

Both The Noble Horse & The Pride of Lions
GOD Made Them Man's Super Adventure-Trains


                 Written & Copyrighted ©:  1/7/2014
                         by:  MoonBee  Canady

_________________________________________

Growing up in West Texas (oh yeah, I love horses) ... 
there was a riding ranch that opened up near my family's 
home. So, I've ridden horses ever since I was in my early
teens.

I came to appreciate that the horse is a sensitive, noble
and beautiful creature.  Hence, I felt I had to state my
affinity and admiration for this unique beast, (not just 
with one poem but two) 

The horse has been in such close association with man 
and mankind's history ... So that is why I wrote the posts
enumerating the qualities of the magnificent creature
that is the horse ...

Now, I'm not the greatest equestrian (by any
means, but I've got a good seat for riding (lol)

And if you do, find yourself on a sunny day, with time
on your hands, take a leisurely ride on a horse and you'll 
be hooked for life (I know I am) (All you Horse-Riders
out there, know what I'm talking about, I know)

Hope readers enjoy ...

MoonBee

Copyright © MoonBee Canady | Year Posted 2014

Details | Light Poetry |
Trade-off
in the school yard-
soccer cigarette cards
equals five stones plus my sixer
conker.

Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2007

Details | Prose Poetry |
UNINTEGRATED YOU

Hello parts of you,
I can see you’re 
Standing, wondering and
Pondering the use of limbs 
That would caress and 
Enclose or
Push away
And urge the many
To the fray
Where horses
Fire manes and 
Whips 
Lost in canyons
Of misty delusions
Turn in the dark and 
Huddle together,
Waiting for a 
Rider whose 
Mind is set on
A path definitive.
Yet the froth on
The coats of 
Tiresome colts 
Say something else,
And look 
To golden afternoon light,
Stop for a moment, 
Breath all steamy and rising,
Before gambolling away 
Into the early night,
Spirits unbridled and 
Tempers alight.

Copyright © Josh Roelink | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |
4.
on this spine 
having a mouth of crocodile
always jump down 
the climate     

everyday 
the sunglass changes 

look at the soil and the sky 
no one of them has any body-guard 

the open mouth of the light 
swallows the grey coin 

here the wall becomes more tamed 
the wild jasmine comes nearer to the heart 
and hums 

then ripping open my veins 
should i also vomit the blue elocution 
accumulated on the cock-pit 

after recovery of the flower-mill from fever
the harmonium is being played on  

even introduction with the gas-balloon 
has not been done yet

5.
arrangements are being made
 
the green shirt will gradually 
turn reddish 

the culverts that have become exhausted 
within the travel-format
will get recharged again to sit up straight 

and the hawker will get passed the silent-home 
shouting with undressed coconuts in hands

from the lap of the stand-still rocking-cradles 
of the children-park 
the amaltas will say 
i’m ready 

then to escape the sun-shine 
the boy who comes to attend the private tuition 
will embrace… oh margosa … its your pierced-heart 

you may tell him that the name of the girl 
who is eating guava and swinging her legs 
sitting on its branch is munni 

6.
the horse is running 
just above 3 feet of the yellow cornice
 
his back is full of dreams 
or a girl named miss dorothy  

around it is the mid-night 
around it is the wind that wants to be printed 

and in every corner of its flying 
are hundreds of skirts
  
all are of free-size 

what may be their market-price 
there is no shop-keeper there

in that valley 
a shadow is proceeding on 

do you know whose shadow it is
he is philip the teacher who gets irritated easily
 
this time there is no thin cane 
in his hand 

in the pieces of papers dumped in the waste-box 
under his window there is a manuscript eaten up by the worms 

there is ‘darling’ there 
and ‘yours beloved greta’ 

in which skirt 
a touch of that greta does remain  

is it being searched even today 

is it greta or margaret or eliza  
there is no bar if it is dorothy
 
in whose smell there is no greta 
who has no such horse flying just above three feet 
of the yellow cornice  

each mid-night fills the fountain pen 
with the flow of blue ink 

Copyright © murari sinha | Year Posted 2010

Details | Haiku |
Skeletal remains
naked to the elements
iced by winter's breath

The yawning giant
awakened by spring's nudging
unfurl sticky buds

The bustling leaves
an emerald factory
absorbing sunlight

Golden crispy leaves
flutter and carpet the earth
skeletal remains

Copyright © Rosie Cusdin | Year Posted 2016

Details | Light Poetry |
If wishes were horses,
they would all be unbridled
and bolt, all at once,
from a neighbourhood stable.

The neighbour would cry
"Where are all of my horses?"
and wish them back in there,
but by then they'd have gone.

They would gallop together,
remembering genesis,
that wishes had formed
them so long ago.

They'd never stop, never,
not even for water,
and all of the wishes
would come true, you know.


Copyright © Julia Ward | Year Posted 2017

Details | Light Poetry |
If I had a buggy
and you had a horse,
we’d hitch my buggy
to your horse
of course.
You’d do the driving,
I’d sit by your side.
You’d snap the reins
and I would just ride.
The fuel it would take
would be hay 
and grain
the emissions 
so healthful
we’d use them
again
as compost for 
gardens.
Now isn’t that fine,
your grand stepping horse
and that buggy of mine?
We’d drive up the road
and over the hill.
We wouldn’t mind if
we had a big spill.
We’d wave to the people
passing us by.
You’d say, “Good morning” and
I’d tell them, “Hi”.
We’d be so happy;
just  you and I
in my beautiful buggy
with your horse
of course.


For Robb's contest" Eco-Friendly Vehicle"

Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2011

Details | Light Poetry |
There once was a horse named joey that a little boy had as a pet.
As the war came to town the boy's dad took joey the horse to sell it to the army.
The horse was in the war for 4 years before the boy joined the amry and he was eventually reunited with his horse joey again.
When the war ended they both went home toghter.

Copyright © cindy leon | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry |
 
Inches make feet without inches there is no foot without beginnings there is no work without measure there is no dearth without a ruler there is no worth there must be rules and there are rules but eye will let them all apply to them my enemies at work and never eye. The horse runs well it has a heart so then they fill syringes from the start to inject the muscles of the neck to make the beast faster than the wind oh heck the animal is dead it never hit the ground but flew too fast and lost the race and life. Desert life is winterless but not without some weather life the sun is always shading and the water is found in sub altern placing near the animals for killing under the ledge of apprehension near the fire of desperation comes the frog and toad and watercrest nut sandwiches. Eye had been to the desert on a horse with no namme it felt good to be out of the rain. Voices come out at me from the air into mye membrain eye call it Disraeli musick it is usually someone in the area with a boom box or even cars with the windows rolled down can be the culprits they hound me when eye am hicking place to place. There is other answers to the crazxy place eye hear noises mad mostly by people in the other cubicles the walls are just invisible the talking is allowed. The thief cannot sneak in sneakers they squeak like he is sweating in his shoe laces. This brings me to mye priority eye. The reason that no one wants to be a Detective is the movies the guy may have had DAMES by the score but he had fights and was so sore the men were ruthless and left him spinning on the side of every road. The streets of New Nuevo York has gum shoe on them. The American idea of Indians and wampum has brought us to the test of food in rest or rants of foreign style they smile and bring the menu back to make certain that the orders write the man has pointed several times at five bills a whack. One from Column A and 2 from Column B brings us to a bill of $23. Well eye wanted some meat too but you are so expansive. Rice and curry hot mustard radishes. Try finding food in the summer time how careful now that eye a homeless one should be then tossing caution to the winding blowing wind when it seems only wrapped so tightly to keep flies at night away. To feed myself is easy to offer some to others almost impossible a few times eye have asked to share they slide that nostril in the air and leave the food to the one that found it in the lair of tossed and discarded things the general city the loose leaf cabbage so nicely adds a bite to the membrain of mye priority eye. 

Copyright © charles hice | Year Posted 2008

Details | Prose Poetry |
One fine blustering autumn day an old man puts on his boots pulls up his trousers off he goes,
If anyone wondered where he was going it was to a forest a good long walk it was a fine day,
The old man walked at a leisurely pace stopping every now and again pulling up his trousers,
Looking over fences just to see what the farmer’s men were up to and who was ploughing today.

In his days, the prime of his life, he and his old horse would plough the fields from early morning,
Working through the day stopping for a bottle of cold tea a loaf of bread and a large lump of cheese,
The horse had a nosebag and while they rested, eating, the clapper of the bird boy could be heard,
He would work on until the sun went down on a blue horizon and shadows disappeared with the day.

As he paused he took pleasure at the sight of fat cattle and poultry roaming around the farmhouse,
Duck and geese and turkeys busying themselves beside the big barn doors pecking out the chaff,
And he could hear the flail, or the swipple, knocking the corn, as the bails piled high in the barn,
Happy that all was well he carried on walking, smiling and made his way up to the brow of a hill.

As a young farmer he leaped over stiles and ran in the corn, the land was his workplace and home,
There was no job he could not do or did not enjoy doing, whatever needed doing it had to be done,
His arms were so thick, strong, the farm girls giggled but could not get their hands all the way round,
He used to blush as each girl tried, he was a bit shy, but it made him feel good to be so very strong.

He also stopped at stiles, or a rustic bridge casting its arch over water, fish swam in the shallows
Breathing in deeply through his nose, sampling the fresh autumnal air, a bonfire in the distance,
After looking all around he wished he had brought some tackle to catch some for his late dinner,
Never mind he thought it’s another day tomorrow I will be up here to fish at the crack of the dawn.

In his young days he was not allowed to fish the river, so in the moonless nights he would poach,
Beautiful brown trout as fresh as a berry from a tree eaten with warm bread a feast fit for a king,
It would not be long before he stopped again getting his breath resting for a few short minutes,
As his lungs filled with the purest of pure air he restarted his country walk and relived his life.

He passed by clusters of rich, jetty blackberries hanging from a hedge and took time to pick a few,
And clusters of nuts hanging by the wayside through the copse on his way along a little old lane,
And in all this natural beauty the old man seemed to have enjoyment of a child one more time,
The world moved around but this time backwards he saw the things he used to see as a young boy

Copyright © Terry Trainor | Year Posted 2013

Details | Tanka |
Tons of rolling iron Clip-clop down a wooden track The iron horse is worn. A powerful rolling beast has its share of bad days, too.

Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rhyme |





Your blogs are like beating a dead horse
It's the same old thing over and over again but, you never show remorse,

You write or type each sentence so carefully
To me it shows some one whom is very forcefully,

Reassuring yourself that others like me are the blame
Are you becoming an actress because you seem to be seeking fame,

I guess you feel better after downing another person in your long blog
But, it seems to me you have your head in a fog,

Half of what you is not true or it is spam
You see it doesn't matter to me so frankly my Creeper I don't give a damn.



Written By: Unique Poetry 2015

Copyright © Michelle Born | Year Posted 2015