Best Bridles Poems
Patience
Is the wise charioteer that holds the bridles of the impetus
For
To guide us safely over the hurdles of recklessness and haste!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
12 April 2021
* I would like to thank all of my friends who visit and comment, as well as the officials responsible for the honor of POTD bestowed! Blessings!
Categories:
bridles, metaphor, wisdom,
Form:
Epigram
BERSHEBA BATTLE W.W.1
Horses sensed the coming battle,
Heard sabres rattling to be free.
Fed a nose bag of oats, and the rattle,
Of bayonets on the rifles, old Brumby
Off they are now, at a good trot.
Lining up for the Turks to see,
Held in check bridles curbed, or not,
Cantered, galloped now recklessly.
Galloping over the open ground
Yelling cursing so merrily
In amongst the Turks they bound
Slashing shooting with such bravery.
So the Turkish trench is now taken
Old horse got a drink this you see
Droving job with prisoners a making
Charge of the light brigade with me
Don Johnson
Oats for strength and spirit with a horse,
do you ride well enough to try it...
Categories:
bridles, adventure,
Form:
Ballade
I am the end,
the last act, the final fleck,
the teeny, tiny terminal pixel,
but I am mighty.
I may be small but I have muscle.
I apply the brakes
and the word parade obeys.
I hold up my hand, blow my whistle,
and watch the traffic halt.
I am the language transit cop,
the red road sign painted "STOP!"
Language is my rodeo;
I corral the wild vocabulary ponies,
break them,
make them wear bits, bridles;
I am the word whisperer.
Important documents -
The Constitution of the United States of America,
The Bill of Rights,
The Emancipation Proclamation -
are what they are because of my mark;
without it, they would be gibberish.
Books would be nonsensical run on sentences,
characters shuffling willy-nilly everywhere,
no order, no structure,
misunderstood,
just silly words wagging their tongues.
I am Doctor Lockjaw;
I bar the word mill door.
Language is my life.
Copyright, September 9, 2015
Faye Lanham Gibson
Categories:
bridles, words, writing,
Form:
Personification
No 8 second ride for these cowboys tonight
As they start in the morning, losing daylight
Their hats are now ties, tethering true
Not breathing in clean air as faces turn blue
Their motive, the green, but not of a pasture
Not men of free will, but now slaves to a master
When the bell rings, it’s chaos, not for a meal
It’s a dog eat dog city, with true faces concealed
They’re just…
Cardboard cowboys in a concrete canyon
Riding steel horses, reigning in their abandon
Letting loose bridles, for no horses they ride
Spending their days, cooped up, deep inside
It’s a sad way
And a sad day
For New York cowboys
Their fishing hole yonder’s now polluted with clutter
As their southern boy drawl’s replaced with a stutter
No chaps and no stirrups, no boots and no jeans
Their lives are now over, at the end of their means
The bull that they ride are the very stories they tell
From wall to wall bouncing, not sitting a spell
They are always in a hurry, no time for the rose
Not much of a cowboy or anything, I s’pose
They’re just…
Cardboard cowboys in a concrete canyon
Riding steel horses, reigning in their abandon
Letting loose bridles, for no horses they ride
Spending their days, cooped up, deep inside
It’s a sad way
And a sad day
For New York cowboys
Categories:
bridles, cowboy-western, imagination, life, music,
Form:
Oh reason,
The bridles of uncontrollable rage, hold
Firmly into your hands
So
The edifice of my character, never to be
Demolished !
(C) Demetrios Trifiatis
15 January 2016
Categories:
bridles, anger, character,
Form:
Epigram
She remembered when they first met,
he promised her anything,
and she lay in his arms cradling the golden moon
he had plucked out of the sky and placed at her feet,
and when she asked for a necklace of stars, he had
picked the finest ones out of the milky way and hung
them around her neck, and when they awoke she had
begged him for ribbons for her hair, he reached
into the morning sunrise and selected the finest
mauves and pinks and she had laughed and tied
them into her curls for him to see..
And together they had lain on the grassy cliff watching
the symphony of the morning sun as it pulled itself
out of satin sheets and got ready for another day,
and she turned her head away from the sun and
fell into a deep sleep with her head on his chest,
and she dreamed of milk white ponies with silver
bridles galloping across the clouds, and she thought
of how much she had loved him and how she would
never stop loving him..
But when she awoke, the sun was hot and when she
turned over in the grass, he was no longer there,
and the moon was back in the sky, pale and far away,
the stars at her throat were gone, and reaching for
her hair, she wore none of the ribbons he had given her,
and when she called out his name over and over, the
words crumbled to dust at her feet, and were swept
away in the morning wind.
Categories:
bridles, lost lovemorning, sun,
Form:
Narrative
Judgement’s fine line runs betwixt Prudentia’s
Right and Left hands. In her right, the mirror
Offers serious reflection on life
Lessons learned in crucibles of choice --
Wisdom bridles rash reactive impulse.
But in her left is the serpent coil’d,
Hissing, intimidating, strike ready
With venom of conscience paralysis.
Counting the cost, thinking alternative
Courses to their conclusive end, is right.
What motivates me to action? Impulse
Of vengeance, or sure defense of the Truth?
But Fear of the Cost’s inconvenience is
Cowardice cloak for blind eyes turn’d away.
Categories:
bridles, christian, faith, inspirational,
Form:
Sonnet
she wore a shiny crown that sparkled from a million miles away
she drove her battle horses and whipped them all like slaves
blue skies all turned black as she came
trumpets blasted tormented tunes...her laughter was insane
eyes of evil hypnotized me as she flew into my presence
she captured and confined me on her crystal chariot
no exit or escape from her grip or gruesome grasp
as i struggled and i strangled like a lunatic she laughed
as the horses flew higher i thought it was a dream till she stripped my soul bare with a nod and a wink...my heart sinks
i'm shackled and chained to this cold conquest queen
now i'm killed by her kiss as she swallows my seed
like wicked weeds wrapped around a skeletons cranium i just can't break free from her crystal chariot
around and around and where it stops only God knows
now the horses are breathing fire and like bombs all set to blow
we descend into darkness as an inferno ignites
surrounded by smoke now we fall in the fire
her tongue starts to twist and her skin starts to sizzle...in a shrinking machine once large now i'm little
she pulls the bits and bridles and just flies away
my muscles won't move but my heart wants to chase...that hellbound harlot on the crystal chariot
Categories:
bridles, sadheart, heart, me,
Form:
Rhyme
Behind the stable doors of green,
the racing horses can be seen,
quite highly trained, they're strong and lean.
They must be seen! They must be seen!
All working there, they form a team;
the saddles and the bridles gleam.
Race prep'rations are a scheme
to win the cream! to win the cream!
They're waiting for the starter's call,
when they'll be taken from their stall.
They are prepared and none will loll.
The time will crawl! The time will crawl!
Returning from the race just run,
each one has answered starter's gun.
Their hides are gleaming in the sun
and some have won! and some have won!
Categories:
bridles, horse,
Form:
Monorhyme
Hello,pretty Annie...
I keep on remembering
your warm hugs and
your sensible,sweet words;
but Mr. Resenick
from child welfare
took you away from your mother...
because of Aida's lies!
Now all you can do is pray,
Brooklyn isn't going to be
the neighborhood you will love...Annie;
what you left back in Queens
is as priceless
as happiness!
Hello,pretty Annie...
can you remember the times
you rode your favorite horse
on the merry -go-around
in Forest Park?
How can I forget
the happy smile you flashed
as you held the bridles tight!
Categories:
bridles, childhood, song-
Form:
Lyric
Dad, did you think I had forgotten you,
Well Dad, I wouldn't want you to be blue,
Do you think just because you've been gone so long,
That I don't still feel those arms so strong?
I loved you Dad-you were my idol,
I remember you putting on the horses' bridles,
I remember the love you had for your farm,
I remember how, for you, it held such charm.
You loved your horses, the cows and pigs,
You loved that old sow that got so big,
You loved driving that big truck for all those years,
But you were gone so much-Mom shed many tears.
You worked many trades, my dear, dear Dad,
The depression years made many people sad,
But you always worked to feed those you loved,
God blessed you Dad, from His throne up above.
You smoked before we knew smoking was bad,
And because you started smoking as just a lad,
Lung cancer got you before you were old,
Death took you early,my Daddy of GOLD!
Yes, I loved you Dad,and I still do,
But with thoughts of your love and humor I'm never blue,
Another poem I'll write for you--later Dad.
Categories:
bridles, childhood, daughter, death, devotion,
Form:
Narrative
Firmly the bridles of a fickle heart should be held by loyalty, if we wish love to grow!
(c) Demetrios Trifiatis
24 August 2016
Categories:
bridles, heart, love,
Form:
Monoku
Wisdom is a fire, a little enlightens and much burns,
Insight and experience are an added fillip,
Some folks are wise and some are otherwise,
Delinquent in his quick temper dithers,
Ore of gold mixed with precious stones,
Man so erudite is a gem bridles ensuant yen !!
Categories:
bridles, wisdom,
Form:
Acrostic
BLACK LIVES
i
My friend bridles. Huh! All lives matter. Is she is being
deliberately obtuse? Should I add ‘’too’’ or ‘’do?’’
She adds, I’ve blacks in my family. We had
indigenous girls in nursing school. Never
treated them any differently. U.S. blacks
are lucky not to be back in Africa.
I feign agreement. How right you are. African Americans
must be grateful, living in that land of the free.
I’m sure George Floyd felt overjoyed to have such
good fortune. A cop’s knee on his carotid. Hands
in pockets. The killer whistling, while his victim choked
to death…
ii
Whites rarely experience racial slurs. Get shot in the back.
Suffer unlawful arrest. People of colour endure such abuses every day.
US parents drill kids, on strategies to survive.
Be invisible. Don’t answer back, even if the cop is wrong.
Never argue with a white. Keep car radio down. Blacks
are stopped for loud music. Or shot reaching for their
license. ‘’Illegal’’ U.S. kids, from babies to teens, are locked in cages.
So much for a country founded on immigration.
iii
Colonial settlers in both countries stole indigenous land. Gifted themselves black
house slaves. Cattle-yard slaves. Money never seen.
And what sort of men shot innocent blacks after church?
Set fire to their circular homes. Poisoned wells.
Rigid in the belief of white superiority, they denied tribal links to country.
Ignored their knowledge of survival.
But sorry began our crucial journey of healing .
iiii
Don’t close your eyes to acts of violence.
Hundreds of Australians and Americans have
died in police custody.
And - oh yes - they were black.
Let’s step forward in unison, kin under the skin.
Protect police whistle blowers.
Hear them speak the truth. Get rid of crooked cops.
Educate and create an honorable force.
And, yes: Black lives do matter.
Decima Wraxall
Categories:
bridles, 4th grade, abuse, america,
Form:
Free verse
The man who grabs fate by the neck
gallops wildly into the storm by her side
doesn't flee
but with endurance and persistence
bridles her
to the stable leads her
and tames her eventually,
this man, when he perishes
can never be replaced,
he goes down in history
Categories:
bridles, life, endurance,
Form: