Best Hoofed Poems
REVISED OCTOBER 16, 2019
New Jersey’s cloven-hoofed devil
makes his way to the jetty
beneath the blanket of twinkling stars, anguish unabated
his appetency growing stronger each day
her song rose like mist upon salty tide
creating an irresistible allure
perhaps a mermaid so fair
can be the auspicious boon he badly needs
he calls to her, certain she will listen again
as she has done so many nights before
his soul’s torment she has learned to alleviate
patiently, she clings to one boulder, waiting
for she alone can absolve him of past misdeeds
she motions for him to draw near
“Kiss me now,” she begs,
“Before anything more can go awry.”
he moves toward her, still in atrocious devil form
holding fast to the rocks as a storm approaches
perhaps this time their magical kiss
will forever end his loneliness
October 14, 2019
For John Hamilton’s “Crazy A’s” Poetry Contest
The New Jersey Historical Society provided information about the New Jersey Devil and the mermaid he is said to connect with each night by the shore.
Categories:
hoofed, loneliness, love,
Form:
Free verse
"The Circe Effect" (Part 1)
Circe, Goddess of magic, nymph, witch, bold enchantress
daughter of Helios, Sun God, her father, can you imagine? ...
let me paint you further, the tree of this wacked-out family canvas -
daughter of Perse, her mother, wild Oceanid Nymph, spawned not on landmass,
but in the vast deep blue deep.
Aeetes, her brother hung tight to his Fleece
and Pasiphaë, her sister, given in marriage to King Minos of Crete,
had a fling with a monstrous White Bull,
a gift from Poseidon, ain't that so sweet?
she bore a bastard child, the Monataur with a ring in his nose,
horns and hoofed feet.
Now there was a family of total dysfunction
and Circe, poor dear, betrayed for remaining herself,
remaining non-function
was banished to Aeaea for murdering her husband
the Prince of Colchis.
There on Aeaea, as revenge, Circe drew out her magic wand - not a sword,
transmuted her enemies, all those who offended her into wild beasts,
where they were left to circle her mansion and roam to eat swill as their feast.
Docile not dangerous, drugged and delerious,
these beasts never gored -
they were fawned on by all newcomers, who were simply just curious,
never bored.
These entranced beasts lured newcomers to our girl Circe
with a woof and purr.
Enter Circe, quite disturbed, in a logical kind of way.
“More pets for me!”, she thought, “they will never stray”.
These lonely, adventurous vagabonds who ventured into her lair,
well, she showered them with all her incantations, but they never heard
her words of Love ever there –
Circe would finally reveal who she truly was,
for you see by now all that pain, all that hurt
had converted our dear old Circe into a siren
otherworldly, deadly lethal, mysterious, re-birthed;
all that ventured into her Kingdom now were
captivated by her spells and
then promptly, with a wave of her wand,
transfigured forevermore
as creatures,
of her Elysian Fields interred.
(Lovejoy-Burton/ Dec 2017)
Categories:
hoofed, adventure, betrayal, mythology, symbolism,
Form:
Free verse
I've spanned these banks for many years,
made evident in the rusty tin adorning my roof
My sides are scarred , colors been stripped
from angry storms through hundreds of seasons.
My river bed ran dry back in late October
then Winter snows frosted my planks
but I was still fit for anyone crossing over
from one side to the other of the Kanawha River.
Come Spring, rushing water will flow under me
splashing over rocks as it rushes to the sea.
Bird droppings will build along each window sill
when nest-building robins arrive in flocks.
People walk across my wooden floor
some hesitate before taking each step
for my trusses tend to creak now and then
and I swell in places; curses of growing old.
I've been crossed by deer, hoofed by cows,
wheeled over by bicycle's and horse-drawn buggies.
They were all kinder than the smelly fumes spread
by those disrespectful autos that never slow down.
My weathered brows face North and South
making me a tunnel for bold Nor'easters
that swiftly tear through me and chip my paint.
I like to think it enhances my pastoral character.
I might be 'rickety,' but if you call me 'shabby'
that rumbling you hear will be me grumbling.
I'm proud of the state I'm in, physically sound
and geographically, two miles outside of town.
As long as I can stand on my supporting piers
I'll relive memories made beneath my roof.
A covered bridge spans more than the waters
of the gentle river where life flows free beneath me.
August 25, 2017
Categories:
hoofed, environment, river,
Form:
Personification
Grant me pancakes trolleys
Rocket-fueled swingsets
Marmalade mountains
with high-crusting cream.
Seattle strings its polite passers
Among misting choirs of clouds,
So begging I go for dixie cups of chili
Steaming block by block, as a harsh July
Has every fourth day blue.
I wish for weather with wiggling hues
of pinks, rouge, and mauve,
Landscaped with blazeberries, lazer lemons, and fudge.
Fudge, fudge, for all with small children,
Young puppies, and dwarfed camels,
So we can ride slow, strong, and merry
in bliss-hoofed patterns.
My final wish of this corrugated ten,
Is to speak of such long tales, once rested and spent
Along the shores of our Lord, at the edge of these dreams.
Categories:
hoofed, imagination
Form:
Free verse
"All animals are equal. But some animals are more equal than others."
—George Orwell
A dozen of chickens and a number of horses, a cat and a raven, a few cows and other hoofed ones—all of which are perfectly silent. Poor wolfie. He can't even find a voice to growl. "Your Honor, if I may request for a short recess," I whisper, humiliatingly like a dying dragon. But my timid voice is drowned by a sly-looking pig's pouring of whisky into Dis Honor's gilded cup.
"Have you no respect or have you no eyes?" Squealing, he deafeningly squeals. He reminds me of that scaled wyvern whose head now sits in my living room. It roared deafeningly loud but breathed no fire. "His Honor is having his brief period of refreshment at the moment!"
With eyes too dry to cry and throat too hoarse to howl, the defendant meekly weeps. But only I hear it; the jury listens to only the silence, loud as a baby serpent's inaudible hiss, of two semi-digested pigs in his gut.
Who on earth build houses with flimsy hays or sticks nowadays anyway? And was it my client's fault that the third genius Doctor Porkchop got killed when some stray earthquake crushed his oh-so-unshakable fort built brick by bloody brick? Just whose brilliant proposal is it again to have Napoleon presiding the trial of the so-called Big Bad Wolf? If only he was a dragon—a pig-dragon at least— I would fain put the beauty that is my sword into good use right now.
Countless charges of premeditated murder, culpable animalicide, et cetera. Of course, do sentence us all to another life. I turn to look at the audience right behind me: a mare, a goat, a donkey. A soft motherly neigh followed by an intelligent baa, then by an astute silence.
"Please, Your Honor," Ridiculous. This stupid courtesy reminds me of tiptoeing past a mother Couatl guarding her eggs. "Shall we resume—"
Slams of gavel.
"Objection! Objection! Objection!" Dis Honor oinks vehemently, his mouth reeking of poorly brewed whisky—and I thought Tiamat's droppings were bad. The way he repeats the slamming of his gavel with every disgustingly pronounced objection gives me a headache as if it was my head he keeps hammering on. For the first time, being hit by the Basilisk's tail doesn't sound so bad at all. "Here you call me 'Your Honor Napoleon' in full," Oh, believe me, the honor is fully mine.
Categories:
hoofed, animal, discrimination, horse, proposal,
Form:
Narrative
We dragged the slopes to our feet.
On the summit, we burnt our clothes
for wood and there shuffled our feet
in the hush of the falling snow.
We had come out of the scuffed grass.
With one look back in unbelief
exhuming the long trek
the silent keen
puffing through blubbery fingers.
We pulled the hoofed trail through
the trapdoor of our unchained links
foisting for new heights.
Beyond the Appalachian Mountains
the hanging fern on pine dripped snow
on moles burrowing in gashed hollows.
We paused. In that doubtful moment
we rued the climb, succumbing to the assault
upon this stilled millennia’s eerie silence.
All that time the swivelling blizzards raged
shifting soil, eroding avalanches.
Below, burgeoning customs
unmaned the silent dignity of bisons.
All bore testimony to a familiar preparation.
And then, suddenly before our eyes
the solemn ground rose with the breeze
the spangled map changing to the quick:
Chicago Pittsburgh Kansas City
wild barnyards dry-coughing, pop-corning garages
horrent timber ribbed the coasting steamboats
the linoleum walls
the mild Indian piqued he was
by the mahogany cubism of our speech.
We wondered if coming so far
only mattered, we would be content
to build a fire, here and now
and unpack our horses.
We saw little need to go on.
One night the summit might open
up and swallow us all or old age
would come upon us like a lonely neighbour
on a pretext to the door.
© T.Wignesan 1964
London, U.K.
[from the collection: tell them i’m gone, 1983; published in Fire Readings (A Collection of Contemporary Writing from the Shakespeare & Company Fire Benefit Readings). Paris-Boston: Frank Books, 1991, pp. 36-37.]
Categories:
hoofed, inspirational, fire, fire,
Form:
Lay
The old man lived out by the desert, selling postcards and gasoline,
He sold road-maps and Navajo silver, and True West magazine.
And under his Gabby Hays beard beat the heart of a dashing young man;
With arthritic fingers he cleaned off my windshield…he once was a Dapper Dan.
He said “Take care on the desert, carry plenty water to spare—
And look out for mirages that float like a dream—there’s all kinds of dangers out there.
“And you better watch out for that sweet senorita, the travelers all agree…
They call her the Queen of the Mojave Desert…but she once belonged to me,
Yes, she once belonged to me…”
I thought the old man was demented, from too many years in the sun;
But there in his gas station office I noticed a Winchester gun…
And I saw a faded brown photo—a Mexican beauty was she…
Right next to a newspaper clipping…about a murder in 1953…
Then later that night on the desert, my car overheated and died—
And I saw the Queen of the Mojave Desert…with a bullet hole gaping wide!
So I hoofed it on back to the station, ‘left my automobile behind…
And that grizzled gas station attendant, he told me one final time—
“You’d better look out for that sweet senorita, the travelers all agree,
They call her the Queen of the Mojave Desert…but she once belonged to me,
She was unfaithful to me…back in 1953…she was unfaithful to me...”
Categories:
hoofed, son, song-lyricold, sweet, old,
Form:
Ballad
The horsemen have arrived on their menacing mares,
Whose stiletto-hoofed horseshoes click-clack on an achromatic static;
Silent staccatos inside an ultraviolet light.
As vidalian-dampened eyes drip viridian veneers before the mounted steeds,
And embrocations of nuclear infernos' fumes simmer their cimmerian shades,
A penumbral eclipse gallops atop the sickened sky.
Diaries dug from the barren breasts of Chernobyl,
Inscribed with cautionary caveats of the terrace's truncation:
Of the kudzu and its vehicular veins sucking its captured prey,
Gobbled by mushroom sombreros with barbed electron brims.
No more shall zephyrs sing the azalea thistle.
No more shall blackened dahlias dance upon the dungeon drapes.
No more shall lightning lick the leathery land of ozone.
At last the poisoned atom's apple has been bitten.
Down it goes through the three mile throat that thickens with silica,
Oxidizing the once electric crepuscules with a toadish croak.
And at last, this system of solar spheres will be but a dream,
Hidden away in supernova starlight; locked with skeletal keys behind your mind.
Categories:
hoofed, future, grave, holocaust, psychological,
Form:
Free verse
Cloven hoofed I am striding across sanctuaries lands
Not what was expected in their sanctimonious plans
Have I ever existed or am I a figment of their imagination
Or am I simply more perfect which angers their frustration
Me, I'm cloven hoofed and one thrown against their black
Is it I whom lacks belief or am I an excuse for their lack
But it's always me that's ostracised, or do I actually exist
Do you really know who I am to continually persist
Good or bad, black or white, like left and right we're twinned
Hey, let's open our eyes and smell the air, who has really sinned
Categories:
hoofed, angst, corruption, dark, destiny,
Form:
Couplet
The horsemen have arrived on their menacing
mares. Whose stiletto hoofed horseshoes click-clack on which
Achromatic static staccatos inside ultraviolet light. As vidalian dampened
eyes drip with verid veneers before the mounted steeds, embrocations of nuclear infernos' fumes simmer in cimmerian shades; A penumbral eclipse galloping atop the sickened sky. Diaries dug from the barren breasts of Chernobyl inscribed
cautionary caveats of the terrace's truncation, just as the kudzu
and its vehicular veins suck from its captured praying prey, the
mushroom's sombrero barb grabs in gross excess all around.
No more
shall the zephyr sing with azaelian thistles, No more shall the
blackened
dahlias dance in
this dungeon we've become.
No more shall lightening
lick the leathery lands of ozone.
At last the poisoned atom's
apple has been bitten. Down it goes
through the three mile throat that thickens with silica,
Oxidizing the once electric crepuscules of the
toad's croak. And at last this system of solar spheres will be but a dream, Hidden away and locked with skeletal keys behind the mind.
Categories:
hoofed, dark, death, imagery, nature,
Form:
Shape
All my life, from day one it seems,
owning a horse has consumed my dreams.
I was intrigued with horses right from the start
and the four-hoofed critters captured my heart.
I would wear a little western hat of felt
and two cap pistols on my plastic gun belt.
Then I’d straddle a stick from our pile of wood
and ride that “horse” around the neighborhood.
Later on, when I was a grade school tyke,
I’d visualize a horse when I rode my bike.
I’d pretend I was taking a horseback ride
as I pedaled across the desert countryside.
This dream didn’t stop even in high school,
for I was still a horse-loving fool.
I lived in town and hung out with the cool gang
but the car I drove was a Ford Mustang.
For years I labored in the city grind,
but horses always lingered in the back of my mind.
Finally I decided to pursue my own course
and went out and bought myself a real live horse.
I kept my equine dream alive
and my one little horse soon became five.
It’s incredible how much money I spend
but I don’t want my horse dream to ever end.
Categories:
hoofed, animals, happiness, uplifting, dream,
Form:
Cowboy Poetry
Pony Express Christmas Card Ride
You asked about our Christmas here.
Do reindeer pull the sleigh
to carry loads of gifts and cheer?
Hoofed beasts we have, they eat fine hay
and in the rain or snow and cold
deliver Christmas cards, as gay
and warming as the cheer of old.
You’ll hear the hoof-beats – not on roof
but Main Street paved with lamplight gold.
The Pony rides on clopping hoof
with saddlebags packed safe and tight –
good leather and quite weather-proof.
Chaps and Stetsons, what a sight,
they leave the packs of mail right here.
An Old-West sort of Yule delight.
Categories:
hoofed, christmas, history, holiday,
Form:
Terza Rima
Here comes Santy Claus,
Here comes Santy Claus,
Bringing you Santy Claus pain.
Vicious old bastard
with sharp-hoofed reindeer
pullin' on the reins.
Bells are ringing,
children screaming,
all is scary with blight.
Say your prayers
or hang by your hair
cuz Santy Claus comes tonight.
Categories:
hoofed, children, christmas, death, evil,
Form:
Lyric
Rooster Lost His Crow
I wanted to enter her barn door
I wanted her farm to the very core
She said no, we lost rapport
Our tongues then went to war
Our bulls hoofed in ink galore
She fell deaf to my words implore
I wanted her farm to the very core
Our paths lonely forevermore
11/18/17
Rhyme Time II - Poetry Contest
Categories:
hoofed, lost love,
Form:
Rhyme
Over the fruitful forests, I saw the trees
I hoofed over sleet, slush, ice, rain n' snow
On my any which way journeys
Wandering kookily at the yearn of heaven's glow
I bear on my back a bodily spirit flow
Whilst traveling in tracks undreamed of
In vasty wind depth visits, so
To kiss the creator's old sod of soil ruff
Many I saw, rip current ocean shores
Sunny and clear, potshot rain sprees
Great stones and rock on steepy cliff floors
Umpteen alpine in the deep forest trees
More than that, wild geese in clean blue air
In elevation over n' under
Heading home across the landscape fair
Hasteningly, avoiding hunter and thunder
In all my travels, I found no answers. Only wonder!
Categories:
hoofed, travel,
Form:
Free verse