Best Corralled Poems
Corralled in Plato’s cave,
groupies of untenable shadows,
silenced their intuitions to the smoke and other sighs.
Jamaica’s capital hosted a convention
giving an ever-leaving coward’s play a stage,
now his work is done.
Senior partner and the oldest liar —
the younger roo’s handler —
watches from his own Whitman’s tower;
one man walking past the fire,
brave enough to look at the sun,
his integrity can see behind it.
Hate moved a biased hand against him,
but the truth is like The Cross,
and vanity will always seek a mirror.
Beyond any conviction,
immutable.
Forever keeping themselves,
beautiful.
----------------------------------------
Written: 05.01.20 – 05.03.20
Inspired by the bravery, intellectual honesty and integrity of my friend Mark Koplin.
Awake through afternoons and ageless nights,
the poet waits for a muse to sneak.
His brumous mind reminisces,
frantically exploring a galaxy of words.
He looks for a lofty mountain hiding in the fog.
He looks for a crimson fireball hiding in the ember.
Wriggles out of the cocoon,
in swirls of slow steps,
tiptoeing in twirls,
shriveled and fragile, the butterfly beau.
He looks at it in passion...with lover's eyes....
Oh!, the poem is still in a grey stupor state.
He sews embroidered thoughts...
Stroked in color, the canvas now veiled,
scrambled cryptic, his emotions corralled.
The enslaved bird in his heart, was now a fugitive,
singing a pellucid song of sweet somber notes.
A virgin music now played in the air,
Thrumming hearts rhyming in bewitched rhythm.
Invisible wind nestled the hair,
he could see the poem smiling.
Silent wind rustled the tree,
he could hear the poem whispering.
Like a blind man enlightened in a dark room,
he could feel the poem coming alive.
He could touch the words in Braille,
the cradle of blind love, caressed the poet's tale.
Resubmited on April 1st 2019/
2019 Poetry Marathon Final Placement /
Sponsor: Mark Toney
Written on 9th January 2019
Placed 8th in Chantelle Anne Cookes Favorite Free Verse Contest
Placed 6th in Mark Toney2019 Poetry Marathon Mile 13 Contesy
On a sultry, sizzling July day
I swear it happened just this way
In a tidal pool, a lifeless seahorse lay
He’d not galloped to meet his fate
But was caught in a wave’s cruel wake
High tide retreated, closed the gate
Oh, to have seen him in his prime
Not corralled by diminishing brine
But free to romp near the shoreline
Confined, he withered, but sparked some thought
Of the delight he might have brought
If, for an aquarium, he’d been bought
Tenderly, I cupped his sad remains
And placed him into the sea again
Where others of his kind were still in reign
Yet, before I could utter my last goodbye
A sudden movement caught my eye
In shock, my elation began to amplify
Kissed by cool sea, this sleeping equine
Proved the strength of his endangered bloodline
By swimming away from the sandy coastline
A once-in-a-lifetime moment for me
I cheered aloud as he trotted out to sea
So ponder this and I’m sure you'll agree
This magical rebirth is a lesson to share
When you think life is beyond a prayer
Just give it some help; hope is still there
*April 17, 2018
Horses wearing woolen coats
of red, green and grey,
Gather round their daily bale of early morning hay.
Nodding, blissful heads, musing as they munch;
The earth beneath their steady hooves feel the snowy crunch.
Corralled behind sprawling, mended, wooden fences,
Curious they gaze with acute and focused senses.
Nostrils wide, clouds of breath, circling in rings,
Listen closely, hear them softly neigh and sing.
February 4, 2017
March 14, 2024 6th place win in Brian Strands #1294 Poetry Contest
Corralled Beneath A Slow Sink Of Half-Moons
{ After: Section LXIX of Memoriam by Tennyson}
An angel of soft and wanted touch,
she delivers, serenity in tow;
can this sunken vessel proclaim, as much,
agreeing to lift the pain from my soul!
Will this humble plea root within your heart,
shall acceptance grant the gift of joyous song?
Chilled, my spirit dreads another false start,
corralled beneath a slow sink of half-moons?
My angel, my heart, I have deep desires.
Could you deny that ever blessed meal
by roasting my frailty upon hell's fires-
would your beloved healing, hands, my soul feel?
Hearing now this saddened desperate plea,
fearing not, your hand reach to comfort me
Robert J. Lindley, 2-07-2016
Debbie Guzzi's , 6/6/6 Challenge
First poem, Beginning of the Line Rhyme Sonnet.
Note: A new sonnet dedicated to this short excerpt--
In Section LXIX of In Memoriam, Tennyson dreams an
allegorical angel who may or may not be the transformed Arthur Hallam:
I found an angel of the night;?
The voice was low, the look was bright;?
He look’d upon my crown and smiled:??
He reach’d the glory of a hand,?
That seem’d to touch it into leaf:?
The voice was not the voice of grief,?
The words were hard to understand.
driving away
from a long pristine shoreline
where waves roll upon sand
corralled by crumbling cliffs
driving toward
a haven for sunbathers
listening to ice cream vendor’s jingles
on boardwalk backed beaches
In the rear view mirror
darkness touches the ground
out where thousands of freedoms
shine in a sapphire sky
through the windscreen
an orange glow reaches to the heavens
a million incandescent possibilities
illuminating the avenues of advance
and you in the driver’s seat
lit by dashboard lights
your hands commanding the wheel
persistently pursuing promising prospects
You told me
when I stepped into your bad dreams
that cloudy day,
you were on a midnight bullet flight
to Phoenix from L.A.
Smoking barrel infidelity blues
was the red-eye, insomnia jet lag that had
you on a pillow cry toss-n-turn night
You said all your tear ashes
had fallen out of a love be-tray
So you were moving into the desert
to get far, far ...
Cold feelings faraway
We spoke gaze intense, of so many stranger things
But the spark that lit your damp eyes
was my exotic flame, cactus-shaped heart burning
You got so sky-high curious, instantly ...
Demurely saying my half-finished, gypsy story
was so Prince Charming to ear read
As all of your scarlet-hair, corralled desires
broke loose bosom mustang untamed
Your aroused heart rubbed next to mine,
and passion sparks burst into flames
The fiery color of your cerebral glow filly mane
had me first date blinded
With starry eyes, we torch burn fell
head-over-heels at the scorched touch beginning
And you loved the Indie speed
of the desert fox chase nitro-turbo accelerating
Shifting bio-rhythm gears ... adjusting to the carotid flow change,
you let me slow pulse merge into your lip fast lane
Then at crescent moon nightfall,
when it’s the best twilight time to crash ...
To walk away from the wreckage of the past
We vowed to get buried together
with the same name ...
Thus, the smiling other half
of our bohemian love story dreamily unfolds
in a fiery rainbow:
Free of former accusations,
no shame ... no blame
My burning cactus heart
touched your unfulfilled, thirsting desire
And you stepped into the fire ...
casting aside your rightful, maiden claims
Now we lay always
in a bed of passion pyre
Having tears of joy pumping thru our vow veins,
our hearts keep blink bursting into liquid flames
Love fever cold sweat
of golden ecstasy skin rain
Lava kisses pleasure pouring
onto the desert oasis plain
With gaze smouldering yawns at every dawn,
we Phoenix love rise again,
and again
And twin again and again and again ...
from the sensuous
ember ashes of each nightly burning
At first, the view from my window looks bare;
abandoned streets and empty parking lots.
Yet things I hadn't before now, noticed there,
entice my muse and captivate my thoughts.
A pigeon lands on my balcony rail;
its iridescent feathers inked with light.
And as though this virus lifted a veil;
suddenly, its beauty came into sight.
While Nature can't be corralled or contained;
this lockdown allows me to observe Her.
And when anxieties and nerves get stained,
She reduces white noise to a whisper.
Though my body is under quarantine,
my mind is as free as it's ever been.
Azure blue skies weep in rent glacial torrents,
iridescent earth sun trap poised to garner sympathy,
dark red cloud’s indignant float might yet rumble,
toxic deluge drenches mudbank plot as toilers whine,
thunderstruck I gaze at wild indigo sea mist on brine-fleck shore
Edge of seat terra firma species orange alert mere bluster,
grim altitude apocalypse for amber moon orb,
rampant shower pockmark with visual scar as trenchant plague,
vapour trail from lachrymose horizon now a shrunken haze,
alarm bell’s doleful peal across an impact cratered expanse once sumptuous mint green
Stream of gurgling silken brook upon reciprocal bright cadence,
otherworldly pine from volatile nebulae’s damp swathe,
vapid biome acreage a gaunt reflection though surreal,
despite magenta stardust twinkle whose infant phase corralled
by wayward drizzle
Hemisphere by half redolent of sombre devastation,
yet exotic visual haunt is that vaunted shadow zone,
sweet maple leaf ether bound refuge from monsoon rife,
pot of gold opal strewn paradise escape hatch,
from lesion blight topsoil or open sore empyrean
Purple leaf and bell pepper cascade swirling o'er panic stricken globe,
perfume clad hillock under hawk-eye squint,
denizens idyllic foster atmospheric canny urban vault,
they hobble gingerly on salmon pink stone bridge en route to harried terrain rescue
You're the soul of God Apollo teaching,
A pied piper delighting followers.
The Shaman giving hope to those seeking,
You gave an image of life unfettered.
Your life was a fight, you dreaded sheep life,
And your lips in hell burn before you tell.
Guiding sight giving needed life insights,
Demi God unknown to self, born to help.
You were a bright sun with a golden hue,
Welcoming door, an un-corralled stallion.
You’re the greatest teacher I ever knew,
To live a life as you, to inspire youth,
Who will quest for you, and I say I shall.
Our sprits locked, miss a lot, Professor Al.
A dusky passage, winding streets, ventured by merlot,
Walking through the alley, a blind man will go.
Nights bliss walks a homeless man, chin up, heart so kind,
Imagination through the pine trees, trails he can only find.
The chirping of the crickets as woodland creatures scour,
Serene, Rim top camping, a peaceful midnight hour.
Pallets on fire, mice scattered thru the street,
Carried on, a blind man, Mother Nature’s his retreat.
To the left he will climb, finding shelter from the bears,
Excitement from a childhood, reminiscing tears.
Died down local traffic, no honking of the cars,
Desolate, departed streets, corralled in the bars.
Best part of the day, a nature hike, his life’s highlight,
Walking the streets smiles a blind man, his enchanting twilight.
Twilight- Poetry Contest
Dated 09-23-2016
Love is not known and
can never be known, for
love cannot be weighed
like bullion or flour,
love cannot be roped:
a wild mustang running
free, never tethered,
never corralled, freer
than the North Wind....
Love has its own mind:
it comes when it comes,
will not hear entreaties,
will not beg its bread...
for love rules all worlds
and love soaks all life.
Love is a gangster,
obeying no laws,
taking what it wants.
And love is a priest,
making holy life's dirt,
redeeming then the
wreckage of hope by
pouring its holy water,
quenching all longing.
Love is a magician,
appearing in two hearts
at once, transforming
the beast into a man,
a girl into a woman:
an alchemist always
changing lead into gold....
And love can never die.
When the heart it holds
beats its last beat, then
love will soar with soul
to the next world...
for love is the only key
that can pry open
heaven's heavy door.
Love is not known and
can never be known,
for love is God,
and God is Love:
love without end....
[rec'd N/A in Brian Strand's 'All Yours' contest, 4/23]
Board fence entraps three Angus cows
who would much rather go
out and about to their content
than hear from freedom's crow.
Corralled within their space so small
constrained by pride-filled squawk
no grass of green, no grounds to graze
so here they gaze and gawk.
"Of what does SHE have to complain?"
crow hears a lowly moo.
Indignant cry spurs raven queen
to do what she can do.
She picks the pin which holds them in,
gives them the needed boost.
So free they run until the sun
invites them home to roost.
Queen Raven waiting on her pole
views "thank yous" on each face.
And when the cows have passed the gate,
she puts the pin in place.
March 3, 2012
I chose GIF #5
common meter (abcb) with personification
i think they expected blood
when they first cut him
with their razor sharp piano wires
wrong
ink not blood cells flowed
poems and stories
plays, essays and jokes
his ideas
her thoughts spilled unto the streets
covered the concrete
the pavement too
each and every dash of white
that mark the roads
a verse became
first one and then another
lined up
in a chaotic
disciplined
structured
straight
double line
the yellow lines bucked
fought like wild stallions
but eventually she won
and he corralled them into simple thoughts
they came looking for death
they found us
we don’t bleed
i warned them
they are
morally
blind
deaf
dumb
they dare to raise a foil
the pen is
and always will be
mightier than the sword
the moral i fear
you can not
delete
satisfy
pay off
over feed
a taste for meat
humans came upon the earth violent
the species behave like vampire
left to their own devices
one day we would be down to one
and the winner is
we all know how that story ends
we will not let it happen
pens in hand
we will write
swirl
curl
punctuate
underline
we will strike the keyboard
like drums of peace
or
even speak through a microphone thing
we will win by any peaceful means
a ruthless peace
be afraid
be very afraid
we are armed
olive branches
words of love
poignant
full circle ideas
we are armed
with the word
one
en guard
Slim was pigeon-toed and bow-legged from allus bein' astraddle,
Of his faithful hoss Old Dan and his well-worn creakin' saddle!
He'd spent 30 years gazin' twixt Old Dan's ears ridin' the spread.
Now both is retired and he took up writin' cowboy poetry instead!
On the porch of the bunkhouse he propped his boots upon the railin',
To muse upon many things he'd write about in this new unveilin'.
He wrote about Cooky's chuck of the usual taters, bacon 'n' beans,
And dressin' up Saturday nights to do-si-do with dance-hall queens!
Brandin' time in the old corral and fixin' fences he put to verse.
Ridin' herd on stormy nights when he thought it couldn't git any worse!
He wrote about cattle drives and the hell cowboys raised in Abilene,
Drinkin', fightin' and gamblin' 'til marshals drove them from the scene!
He expressed his views on wimmen-folk and why he chose to stay free!
He wrote of lakes, streams and valleys and distant mountains' majesty!
Of how fellers lolled about the camp fire enjoyin' a terbaccy chaw,
And how cowpoke Pete could fashion a roll-yer-own with his 3-fingered claw!
He wrote that he warn't a pious man to be corralled by a congregation.
He preferred to git his spiritual grub from the magnificence of God's Creation!
Fer his final verse he wrote, "I reckon cowboyin' was allus in my genes.
When I come to the end of the trail boys, jes' bury me in my jeans!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
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