Best Horseless Poems
Salami for a Horse.
Driving home from the man whose profession
is to study people´s entrails, rice pudding he
had said and no booze- and for this banality
he charged me 80 euros; the car stopped and
I opened the back door- of the car- and let out
my horse. It is a small horse my feet reached
the ground and I helped the horse by walking
too- sitting. Nearing home it galloped which
was painful for my ankles.
Stabled it on the veranda, but as I had no hay
it eat the wicker chair, which displeased my cat
that used to sleep in it. Morning, the horse was
on the road the cat sat on top of it dressed as
a musketeer, looking like Tony Bandera, the cat
swung its hat the horse neighed; I opened a tin
of low fat rice pudding, - had wanted salami
on warm loaf with butter- rang for a tow- truck
and horseless began walking to the car.
Categories:
horseless, dedication, health, horse, humorous,
Form:
Blank verse
A lot of fancy gizmos befuddle me in this technological age,
Where perplexing computers, texting and twittering are all the rage!
I can empathize with the feller who renounced horse and buggy days,
To subdue the baffling horseless carriage that became all the craze!
Clyde Schlunk reluctantly retired his faithful horse and buggy wheels.
He was the first in town to own one of those new fangled automobiles!
'Twas simple to harness a horse, feed him oats and shoe him all those years.
Now he must master complex clutches, cranks and shifting gears!
'Twas hard to break years of habits spent driving a buggy and horse.
He still had his buggy whip near at hand in the automobile of course!
When trying to stop the machine he'd yell, "Whoa! Nellie! Whoa!"
As he tried to avoid a tree or slid through slippery sleet and snow!
His erratic driving terrified chickens, horses and little old ladies,
As he whipped about that sedate little town like a bat out of Hades!
The only pain he suffered from his horse was a kick now and then.
But when cranking the carriage he busted his knuckles over and over again!
He still hollered "haw" to turn to the left and "gee" to turn to the right!
Did the town folks' ridicule bother him? Not by a blame sight!
Clyde never learned how to control those forty horses under the hood.
He couldn't rein 'em in causing all sorts of havoc in the neighborhood!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Placed No. 2 in Joyce Johnson's "Your Very Best" Contest - February 2011
Categories:
horseless, funnyhorse,
Form:
Rhyme
Cowboys in the Badlands
The horses need be reined tightly
lest they show better judgment
and head back to the barn. The
cowboys, driven by the dust cloud
of following hoof beats, were less smart.
A Gila monster smirks as they pass
knowing what waits ahead is to be
more painful than the rope they flee.
Driven by the torments of a lost war,
a lost home, a lost dream, they had
lashed out at the hunger, fled the
hovels of a shanty town and swore
to exact payment any way possible.
The consequences of the decision
pursued them, consumed them,
as they rested the horses. The horses
must rest, they never would.
They stood overlooking the badlands,
shimmering heat’s forever fallacy,
that somehow you would cross to
safety, find an oasis, escape. Oh,
you may escape the posse, maybe
even the past, but you will not
escape the bitterness of these
bad lands and their unforgiving
demands. Few have come here
willingly, fewer have remained
once tested by the dryness, the
drought, the wind, sand, and
anger of a land seeking to be
left alone. And so they rode into
the abyss of sand and stone
leaving only the hoof prints
of fading memory. Bandanas
covered their faces, hat brims
covered their eyes. They rode
until the horses fell, unable to
continue. Horseless, they staggered
in the shifting sands laughing
as they recalled staggering from
the saloon on that awful night.
The night they gave up, the night
they gave in to the desperate desire
to be free. A desire that was now
to be fulfilled in these Bad Lands.
For Isaiah Zerbst – Cowboys in the Badlands poetry contest
9/15/2014
Categories:
horseless, culture, life,
Form:
Free verse
When the final Autumn leaf spirals to the ground,
and a warm Chinook breeze is no longer found.
Bears retreat to their seasonal slumber,
as snowflakes approach in abundant numbers.
Mother Nature steps down from her post.
As old man Winter prepares as new host.
A starving North wind arrives in his horseless carriage,
preparing to join hearts with the Earth in marriage.
Thus for many eve's they shall bind in wedlock.
Till Spring rises from the shadows to create a new flock.
Categories:
horseless, nature, seasons, autumn,
Form:
Free verse
Year 1488
Daring to hide it in verses and score,
Mother Shipton predicted her scrolls would not be understood until years after her body’s release.
Read aloud by an educated nephew, almost five decades after they were protected by a family of peace.
She may have been burned at the stake for her predictions of America’s Civil War, simply for being a she.
Her prophesies included horseless carriages, and men’s future unfathomable plans to conquer both the sky and the sea.
Understanding that a metallic monster, would change education, and the menfolk from farms would flee.
Pictures that feel alive – computers, U-tube, I-pads, video and their predecessor – TV?
Mother predicted all this and more. Daring to hide it in verses and score,
Nostradamus had protection of patrons, medical background, sublime.
Mother Shipton knew her predictions she had best write down in decipherable rhyme.
England’s most famous prophetess, born in Norfolk, England in 1488, she dared not share her fire. Prophesized that women would cut their hair short, and wear trousers, practically three hundred years prior.
When I think of her brilliance at hiding her mystical savvy, hiding psychic self in her moods,
Her declaration that “men will live as hogs” makes me smile, predicting processed foods?
London fire seeing before the fact, she knew of the Catholic Church’s fall, the rise of Elizabeth,
Me thinks a comet is coming that will circle the earth for six days, six nights, causing us instant death.
A homely woman, she may have been, but her ideas were sound, as they came right in.
Daring to hide it in verses and score, Prophetess Mother Shipton, forevermore!
Categories:
horseless, inspiration, london, mystery, perspective,
Form:
Rhyme
Dinner Date or Date for Dinner?
When the harvest moon is full and bright,
And the wolf bane blooms on an autumn night,
If the guy whose kiss used to make you swoon
Starts to lick his lips and howl at the moon,
You'd best decline if he asks you out for a bite.
A Midlands Urban Legend
A village somewhere in the Midlands
Was harassed by a bodiless dead man,
But sans charger or steed,
How could they, indeed,
Be afraid of a lone horseless headman?
Categories:
horseless, halloween,
Form:
Limerick
Lessons on Head Containment
People lose their heads
It’s what they do
And should it happen to you
Someone could use it for bowling
Let us pray for containment
Generally and specifically speaking
It is advised
Don’t be born
At the time of the guillotine
Or be of any political persuasion
From that
Or any other era or period in time
Though guillotine is
The great weight loss program
(“2 pounds off the top please!”)
Keep your head with you at all times
When going for a walk
Place your left hand firmly
Over the left side of the head
Place right hand on right of head
And do not prance
Do not look at the sun
It’s already compromised
Decapitated
Removed from other celestial bodies
If someone chases you with an ax
Run…. (Aspirins won’t help)
Bring a bread sized basket with you
If something should happen
Avoid the cost or loss of head containment
Soak it in cool water
Hide your head under covers
From headless horsemen
Or is it horseless headmen?
Beware of pigmies with their stitches
Try not to dangle in the wind by rope
It makes you look silly & dopy or worse
….. Dead….
If all else fails
Go gambling but
Don’t lose your head
Categories:
horseless, change, education, encouraging, fun,
Form:
Didactic
(The husband of Henriette is in a casino, playing
roulette, and not especially concerned about her
plight. The Hotel Dieux is a hospital alongside
Notre Dame Cathedral, in downtown Paris.)
5. Joseph Caillaux
When? The chips are down. This is a marriage,
this black and red. Rien ne va plus, he said!
Let's go! We came here in a horseless carriage,
tonight we'll have the sidewalk for a bed.
(My little joke.) What's that you say, mon vieux?
The Tax Bill? That's how politicians play it.
(This wheel will put me in the Hôtel Dieu!)
A private confidence -- you don't betray it.
A public face (it can't be otherwise)
is oftentimes at variance with the private.
But Calmette's type are sneakers, peekers, spies,
would wreck a man (and frequently contrive it!)
Mon brave, I'm not the man to fight a duel.
You risk your life, your health, or prosecution --
for what? You lose, you're dead. You win, you fuel
the anger of your foes. It's no solution.
She said she would. (I'll spin, and win for us!)
I've long since left off thinking of it. (Thus!)
Categories:
horseless, history,
Form:
Rhyme
Vehicle Island
While the owners of parked cars at the seaside
sat in overcrowded restaurants and was served
by sweat dripping waiters the cars started and
drove in a neat formation into the sea.
A mass suicide that lit up the sea for hours, but
more cars came and they became an island
and when there were no more cars left, motorbikes
were used as top soil.
Up from this mess grew traffic cones filling the space
with stop signs and pelican crossings.
A bike, a fortune for a bike, the moneyed class said
and there were the street fights; “it is my bike no I saw it first”
the veneer of civility broke down.
When the populace stole the horses of the Gypsies
undelaying social hatred broke out; it was their right
to steal to defend their country and the Gypsies
horseless now had to live behind tall walls this because
prisoners don’t need cars.
Categories:
horseless, growth, guitar, hair, halloween,
Form:
Blank verse
Late Night Movies.
I wear denim trousers and matching jacket in winters, this because
I always wanted to be a cowboy, the simple life, what can be simpler
than herding cows. I can’t afford to buy a horse, but nearly bought
a donkey once, I have no stable and couldn’t leave it indoors you
can’t toilet train donkeys. Oddly enough, once upon a time my living
room was a stable; a pile of manure was the first that greeted me
when I bought the dwelling. Time moves on there are no beasts of
burden left, only tractors litter the landscape and the good smell of
sweat animals has been replaced by diesel fumes .I wouldn’t mind
being a monk though especially now that my sexual drive is in a steep
decline, but I’m not ascetic or contemplative enough to fit in. So I’ll
stick to being a horseless cowboy while trying to walk like john Wayne
and watch late night western movies.
Categories:
horseless, funny, night, night, time,
Form:
Blank verse
Once again here I stand
No violins or marching bands
Among the confusion in which I live
A large parade in my name they give
How my mind goes spinning to the ground
Watching the horseless merry go round
I know that they are speaking to me
And can almost hear them say "ticket please"
So I reach into the open space
And upon the counter my heart I place
Entering into the rod iron gates
I realize to turn back it's much too late
And so I move to the music in time
Knowing all that appears so elegantly to rhyme
Is nothing more than what it is
And has nothing to do with inner bliss
There was a sinking feeling within myself
As I watched them place my ticket upon the shelf
1985
Categories:
horseless, introspection, sad
Form:
Rhyme
Evil fingers caressing the face
Every line they do trace
All the silver strands of hair
Take the ride so you won't care
Hide the many scars of pain
Get back on the horse and ride again
Why do such good men
Allow the evil to come in
A child's cry they do not hear
While they wonder why they're not held near
A woman standing on the brink
If only they would stop and think
She wouldn't have to look away
Hide herself from the light of day
Here goes another trip
Now you're feeling a little sick
Takes one travelling back in time
When nothing at all had no reason or rhyme
What's it gonna be my dear
Who'll be the one's wiping away the tears
Always consequences you see
Nothing from the Devil comes for free
Hear him whisper in your ear
Feel the need as it appears
Breathing fire that burns so hot
No touching the pain or hitting the spot
More. More. Just one more
Then promise yourself to walk out that door
The head pounds as he speaks
Louder the call to claim and wreak
Havoc and pain all around
The price for riding the horseless merry go round
Dizzying. Whirling. Feeling high
Swear you could almost touch the sky
Then suddenly wonder why it's never enough
Everyone's gone and you're feeling pretty rough
Talk to yourself cause you're left all alone
Go on beating yourself with the jagged stone
Dare to forget the dues made to pay
If in the Devil's rhealm you choose to play
Can't you feel it as it goes
Each little piece of your soul
Categories:
horseless, recovery from...pain,
Form:
Rhyme
Horseless Carriage
We have reined the mind
“blindered” sight
hobbled with restraints
a voiceless choir
led the thirst-less
to un-quenching waters
muted the joyous roar
of truth’s waterfall
9/29/2016
Categories:
horseless, political,
Form:
Free verse
Once I was so full of life,
Teeming with children, struggle and strife
Every day,
Mother got up and made Papa some coffee,
Made herself some tea.
Then she would gently shake the little ones awake,
Making sure that they could get to school on time,
And for themselves a future make.
Then the times changed,
The family, they got a car
The children all moved away and the parents
With them.
I hoped that someone would come back,
Someone to fill me again with life,
But now I sit here, lonely
Thinking of the olden days,
Slowly, so slowly eroding away.
I awake in the morning and discover,
A tree has fallen next to me.
This pavement thing is on my right,
With horseless carriages speeding by.
I'm just an old cabin now,
Remembering the good old days.
Before I fell into myself and started to waste away.
They say that houses are made of other things now,
Plaster and metal and tin on the roofs.
None were made as good as I was,
Wood and mud to chink up the walls.
My windows were glass, and sometimes plastic
My floor was the earth itself
Life was much better
And in the bad weather
The family would take the cocoa off of the shelf
And talk of the day when they would get a new house,
One made of plaster and metal and tin on the roof,
Then they wouldn't have rain coming down on thier heads
And rain spots soaking into thier beds.
But I enjoyed them.
Now the family is gone, never to return
And so, in this great wilderness the cabin falls,
Never to be missed.
The cowardly taste death many times, but I, as a valiant man, taste it but once.
Categories:
horseless, family, history, life, nostalgia,
Form:
Year 1488
Daring to hide it in verses and score,
Ursula Shipton predicted her scrolls would not be understood until years after her body’s release.
Read aloud by an educated nephew, almost five decades after they were protected by a family of peace.
She may have been burned at the stake for her predictions of America’s Civil War, simply for being a she.
Her prophesies included horseless carriages, and men’s future unfathomable plans to conquer both the sky and the sea.
Understanding that a metallic monster, would change education, and the menfolk from farms would flee.
Pictures that feel alive – computers, U-tube, I-pads, video and their predecessor – TV?
Mother predicted all this and more. Daring to hide it in verses and score,
Nostradamus had protection of patrons, medical background, sublime.
Ursula Shipton knew her predictions she had best write down in decipherable rhyme.
England’s most famous prophetess, born in Norfolk, England in 1488, she dared not share her fire. Prophesized that women would cut their hair short, and wear trousers, practically three hundred years prior.
When I think of her brilliance at hiding her mystical savvy, hiding psychic self in her moods,
Her declaration that “men will live as hogs” makes me smile, predicting processed foods?
London fire seeing before the fact, she knew of the Catholic Church’s fall, the rise of Elizabeth,
Me thinks a comet is coming that will circle the earth for six days, six nights, causing us instant death.
A homely woman, she may have been, but her ideas were sound, as they came right in.
Daring to hide it in verses and score, Prophetess Ursula Shipton, forevermore!
Categories:
horseless, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form:
Rhyme