Best Hooves Poems
Written: December 30, 2023
_________________________________________
Embrace the oxymoron, if you will.
Shall I fool you with monsoon wrath?
Despite tears of rain, life will prevail.
via shattered aspirations.
clouds flirt with slate-azure moon
sunlight kisses the sea at dawn.
wind sighs to trees in plains of lustrous dew.
and scoff at me and you.
as trilling robins show up.
A radiant core of nature's elixir
yet, sunlight will flicker.
cloudless white will appear.
as gold, zenith, and amethyst adorn the sky.
Flaming saffron is poised to streak.
Cureless by modern science.
bare ribs, limbs, and joints fried.
Whispering winds hindered dexterity.
My vertebrae melted, were bare, and broke.
senseless failure to stand or fully expel.
weakened and can't sleep or thrive.
Wairua Worth dark wrath wrecked while
tethered as terms tumble to thrill.
Quill Genesis grows with glorious grace.
while the vile sword is versatile.
Cast aside vanity; dangling merely fits.
Rhapsody hopes to work; ponder if sick.
in shape, rekindled with sunshine
Life waltz beyond light, its nodes drew.
Slightly erratic amid a black haze.
feeling weak, leaving me bewildered.
My soul is cunning and cynical.
earned seclusion as slight streams.
Only gloomy storms entice me.
I hope for sunshine and a light breeze.
Shimmer! Sheer light!
dimming shadows ensue.
My life is on a slippery slide.
spaciously clear passageways.
shimmer! shimmer! before I leave.
subtly allow the warm rays in.
dance around my fading bed.
across the faintly lit abyss.
I should set upward...
The thundered hooves of horses wild
In faded thoughts still softly sound
From distant thunder Mustang style
The thundered hooves of horses wild
Still echo back from times beguiled
Of olden days and men renown
The thundered hooves of horses wild
In faded thoughts still softly sound.
Timothy I. Brumley
as tambourines pulse...
stallions rock with gypsies' whirl
firing dance of hooves
12/27/ 2016 John lawless Contest
The TROIKA- (Haiku with hooves)
Thundering hooves tease
Pound the distant horizon;
Wild mustangs at play.
A stone turned up
where no stones turned up
where stones turn up,
where we dug today...
A stone turned up
when no stones turned up
where stones turn up,
when we dug today...
Maybe if you saw it with
my eyes, and from my
cracking heart...Maybe if you
held it in my shaking hands,
maybe if you saw it through my
steaming tears...
Maybe if you saw it there,
where stones turn up
when, today no stones turned up.
You, too woulda seen the
heartstone I saw
as I buried the heart I buried
where stones turn up.
hear the rush of hooves
in the first blush of the day
I see a head trip
01.05.17
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.
long turbulent nights
galloping horses roam the
prairies of my mind
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Contest: The Troika
Sponsor: John Lawless
© 2nd January 2017
There is a celestial movement in our blood streams. A bird of hope singing in my rib cage. Choking on Holy Ghost ashes, I carry on this journey that is my life. Onward driven. Upon cloven hooves we ran, up the mountain on our sanctified paths to absolution. Upon elder cross we bled. Shedding dead skin. Eyes illuminated. She, the guardian of my heart. Devotion rests in steady palms. I have no fear within me,… For we forge our lives together as one. Brutish savagery is my hunger for you, for your love. Yet I harness it with total control. Gently I reside beside you, with total control. Animal instincts are deafening within my mind. Yet I stay silent, and hang on your every word.
History’s horse-hooves are clattering by,
Cobblestones ring with sound,
Dinning our frightened ears
Over the future’s ground,
Signaling coming years.
But hooves trample you and me.
Damned history.
I taste the spring
With tongue so wicked and wry
I feel the grass between my toes
Hooves so cloven and high
If you walk beside me though the meadows
I'll assure you only the best times
But know that if you walk beside me
I'll take until you're dry
Oh the times we'll have
Dancing through days and night
Believe in me and you will fall
And warned you
I surely tried
At North Pole stables, liquid spirit flows
Down the hatch is where the brandy goes!
We bust all the moves
And raise our big hooves
That's why Rudolph has a glowing red nose!
Nov 13, 2022
Fun holiday limerick
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
Checked on rhymezone and howmanysyllables
hooves beating
on the pavement-
drums
Can I say this is a Friesian,
that one a Hereford?
I lived so long in a town
and can say I have forgotten
my recollection as I wander in streets
among cars and bikes.
And yet am I so much missing
beings with four legs,
and those hooves that clomp
when stomping in the road,
ambling from one of those green fields -
chewed down a little now -
to another;
beings with their beauty,
yes, beauty that moves with abundant grace?
(March 2022)
The graveyard is brighter than usual this night
With snow tinted blue in the full moon’s light
He climbs from his grave for his Halloween walk
But cloven hoof-prints in the snow make him baulk
For right here and now on this All Hallows’ eve
Though October snow he can see and believe
He lingers aghast on that snow covered floor
Where two more hoof-prints make a tally of four
He puts down his head and it’s face is irate
As it studies the hoof-prints in snow by the gate
This night he must wander the graveyard alone
So four cloven hoof-prints he shall not condone
Two devils or maybe two mischievous imps
Cavorting and prancing like demonic chimps
But where are those two tiny demons residing
A holly bush moves, is that where they’re hiding?
Retrieving his head which he holds by its hair
He asks in a guttural voice, “Who be there?”
First comes a grunt then the mist of a breath
But no human breathes when he be in death
The juice of red berries or blood of the dead
Whatever it be it be splattered and red
He glares at those dark crimson stains in the snow
and says, “If you’ve eaten your fill you must go.”
Out from the holly a dark shadow moves
The corpse makes a count of the four cloven hooves
He says, “I’m the one who must make this night gory
So, Rudolph, you’re early, get out of my story.”