Best Muzzles Poems
Behind the mask there is a frail and fragile me
Enigmas clothed in conundrums; that the naked I can’t see
'Behind the mask is concealed, my authenticity
Examine my history to unravel my perplexing mysteries
Behind the mask it is unseen paralyzing, piercing pain
With arrogance and self-assurance camouflaging the shame
Behind the mask is hidden my true Identity.
Seek and survey the signs of my obscurity
Behind the mask is veiled a heart that’s been broken
Held together by unexpressed resentment and animosity unspoken
Behind the mask is where my insecurity hides,
Like realism wrapped in riddles, you must read between the lines
Behind the mask is where I cover my falling tears
Dig just below the surface and you’ll unearth my crippling fears
Behind the mask there are cloaked secrets unexplained and untold
Decipher the symbols to crack my encrypted codes
Behind the mask you’ll uncover my True expressions
Remove and reveal parodies, and expose the false impressions
Behind the mask, it is hidden, my Individuality.
Not acting out some script of who I’m thought to be
Behind the mask is obscured my, vulnerability
Suppressing the mounting manifestation of the inner me
Behind the mask it is disguised, my true reflection
Underneath open wounds inflected by rejection
Behind the mask rest crushed and shattered dream
Where fear muzzles roaring whispers and screeching silent screams
Behind the mask is buried, my stolen youth
Deception, and cover-ups, masquerading as facts and truth
Behind the mask is where I screen the confusion
Look close and you’ll find, trickery and deception, draped in fantasy and optical
illusions
Behind the mask it’s stifling; it is hard for me to breathe,
The walls of deceit that i have built ,are quickly closing in on me.
I am trapped behind facades of smirks and phony smiles.
So may I please remove this mask just for a little while?
Chiquita Baity
4 White Horses called to me
from across their field on that 1 day
They called my mind to come and see
their everyday scene so...overlooked
The gazes were steady the hearts true
as innocence pulled us together
Their knowledge of my soul was a wondrous feeling of trust...
their warm soft muzzles like velvet in my hands
Though fence between us...
I could feel their wild hearts racing across the plains
Massive white clouds rode the wind past the sun
sweeping shadows over the land like prehistoric birds
The scene calmly arouses memories of peace...of youth...of freedom
I feel a oneness with this land...with this moment...with this dream
I feel a oneness with these creatures so Majestic and Serene
Time could never change their hearts
or even taint their souls
and I could not tear myself away when it was time to go
Deep breath in... Deep breath out
I wished silently that all creatures could be at such peace
on that 1 day
-hope you enjoy this inspiration of a creature that changed my heart
Left And Right
Either side the cannons roar
Took of blood and wanted more
Salvo after salvo into the valley
Point blank range to deter the rally
Water poured over steaming muzzles
Russian gunner at this sight puzzles
Tis madness against this cannonade
Tis the sacrifice of the Light Brigade
The quicker they fired the faster they came
Under billowing flags and the Queens name
Torn and shredded they carried the fight
And many a soul, never saw that night
The Redout
The Russian generals looked in wonder
Stood in awe at the total squander
The cannons barked and took their toll
Removing horse from man, man from soul
Rifle, cannon, spoke the same
The Light Brigade on they came
Thundering hooves and yelling cries
All for the sight of the Russians eyes
And at the distance of a lance
The Russian soldier in a trance
Sabres cut and slashed in violence
All was death in the cannons silence
The Russians fled in disbelief
Last shot fired to the Brigades relief
Bleeding soldiers and tattered flags
Stumbled, tottered, like wizened hags
Down The Valley
Looking back along that mile
Bodies, horses, pile on pile
Wounded men lean on lance
Said a prayer in skyward glance
On the ground a sleeping parade
Remnants of the Light Brigade
Depleted souls but not of honour
Yet a picture of battles squander
On the conclusion of this battle
Fingers wag and tongues will rattle
But nought should be put to shame
The Light Brigade and its day of fame
At Night
When the moon shines that longest mile
Hear the hooves on lush green pile
The rattling sabres and rippling flags
And how he rode the horseman brags
In the night the ghosts they ride
Full of honour and full of pride
Neath shimmered strings of starlight’s breeze, crepuscular in night
on trodden soil he lay with slumbered eyes.
Lashed to oak, his chestnut mare in dream just out of sight
snaps free as lightning flashes; flares the skies.
Bounds to foot with double stride; yet late his capture earns
a feeble grip on equine hoof afoot,
his trusty steed, as mist might drift through juvenile sown ferns,
has vanished like dark ebbing motes of soot.
Miles from home, no transit back, bewildered by events
considers how to forge his journey home,
perplexing state, a quandary, unravels and presents
the only choice he has, which is to roam.
Through thicket thick, forest green, cross arid plains of dust
unto the homestead poised for his return,
discordant thunder stills his heart; wriggles in as thrust
compels him, for he knows they too do yearn.
For passage spry and safe, and quiescent nights on swag
now rolls his bed with reins onto his back;
through sheathes of rain, in startled fright, a lonely Sambar stag
hoof striking ground, preparing to attack.
Muzzles drawn, the beast is felled yet antlers gore both arms
as motion peters awkwardly apace,
bandages his wounded wings as parent-like alarms
resound upon the visage of a face.
Hidden by the brush, the physiognomy not seen
now trundles to its father’s fallen side,
its death is beyond doubt, lest his hand does intervene
to raise the fawn the way the buck had tried.
A careful snouted nudge from the fawn as sunup blooms
arises him from sleep, but only just,
passes over arid plains then through the vista looms
the iron gates of home bedimmed by dust.
Collapses through the gates on the soiree of her birth
returning home disheveled and delayed,
bent on being present so she’d never know a dearth
of every night, his whispered serenade.
Strength, in time, would vivify, recouping over weeks
the erred reason for his sullied trip,
remains on blocks, left un-repaired, despoiled by the leaks
and placed the fawn forever by her hip.
Eyes well up recalling, every year from that day on
his little girl’s elated monkeyshines,
when the gown was given her, how happiness had shone
into his heart his journey’s worth entwines.
Two Dogs at the Gateway
By Sy Roth
They slurped their saliva,
huge globs,
big, barking mouthfuls
dripping from their jowls like milky icicles
Teeth-bared lips,
They guarded the gateway.
Pleased by their vacated spittle,
their noses now sniffed the air, and
like a marching band of electric ants
they ogled the nearing invader.
Anew, the soppy, conglomeration of spittle
wells at their muzzles
forming a frothy milkshake
determined to expel the approaching trespasser.
His hands stretched out flat in peaceful kindness,
prophylactic, heavy-breathing
moseying him to the gateway
wraps him in a pulsing eagerness.
A satyr’s blessing upon him as he approaches
Where the two dogs growled ominous presentiments--
Twin Cerberuses,
Headache kin of dashed wishes.
Evening shadows stifle all desires.
Lips part in anticlimax.
He rolls to the other side
away from the yapping hounds,
away from the uncomfortable pauses,
away from the anticipation
onto a sterile, flattened field
where done yet reeks of a flaccid fantasy.
A grotesquery of mordant imagination
content to sleep on the other side of the booming roar
away from the slurping beasts,
he drops hands down to his side.
Tomorrows march on and the gateway,
a finale wrapped in the twins’ slurping,
slams shut.
At the foot of the mountain lies a wide verdant plain
With rich flowing breasts tend its enchanting brethren
A cuddly care that nature does, in collaboration with men
Catered to those gallant souls, nurturing the best it can
Every morning, when sunshine unfolds its resounding grace
Charming horses in auspicious race, dock their tails, all in graze
Glorious creatures they are when viewed near and afar
Precious stone-like muzzles adorned, each shines like ritzy car
Glossy fur is prominent, from withers, poll to forelock crane
The sophisticated look they have while galloping in any range
When the sun grows brighter in the middle of the day
Cowboys with their hats and chaps shout, hurray!
They run to check their rides before they saddle with glee
Patting stifle, gaskin, hock down to fetlock ‘though they’re jerky
Thorough inspection of hoof, coronet and frog they do and peek
And see if shoes are fixed, they’re good luck charms, shown in kicks
Stallions or mares, palomino, topaz… horses in any color and kind
Riding like a roller-coaster on their withers to their croup is so fine!
How I wish I can go with those cowboys in their pony-trekking
I want to be their horsewoman as they’ll be all my prince charming.
Oct. 17, 2016 1.40pm
Copyright2016Leonora Galinta
All Rights Reserved
Ninth Place
Contest: Horses
Judged: 10/30/2016
Sponsor: Poet Shadow Hamilton
a care
FIVE WINTER HAIKU
frozen is the moon
every star an icy tear
odd sort of beauty
frost nipped the pumpkin
charmed us all but never left
strange jack-o-lantern
hear their forlorn howl
misting muzzles raised on high
cruel winter’s heralds
sitting by the hearth
old dog asleep and dreaming
hot woodfire crackling
mantel clock tick tock
two mice in breadbox eating
i without a care
October Thirty-first
creature after creature
carefully finding their way to your
chaotic world
cyclops and
chimeras
carelessly chasing humans around like toys
camazotzs and
coinchenns
cramming young human and animal flesh into their
considerably terrifying muzzles
creatures creeping around every
corner
caged in the coldest part of hell
circumvented for one day of every year
circumspect the worse for
creatures are free on
October thirty-first
FIVE SEASONAL HAIKU
frozen is the moon
every star an icy tear
odd sort of beauty
frost nipped the pumpkin
charmed us all but never left
strange jack-o-lantern
hear their forlorn howl
misting muzzles raised on high
cruel winter’s heralds
sitting by the hearth
old dog asleep and dreaming
hot wood fire crackling
mantel clock tick tock
two mice in breadbox eating
i without a care
Prime pretty play
Stream special say
Ply piquant plot
Live laughing lot
Treat tedious tact
Apply apt act
Sensuous sighs speak
Pique precious peaks
Meek moments meet
Succinct sounds sweet
Zesty zeal zooms
Rich ripples room
Niche notions nice
Sights sparkle spice
Ply profound play
Sense scheming sway
Little lots lure
Play prompting pure
Bright blossoms brief
Glimpse grumpy grief
Taste tender touch
Mind muzzles much
Lift luscious looks
Bright blooming books
Jumpy joy juice
Oomph offers ooze
Glad glory grooms
Rouse rustic room
Being booms best
Query ***** quest
Sad sojourn strays
Wise words weave way
Dice dazzles date
Poise pickles plate
Wounded words waste
Troubles teach taste
Final fate flings
Sense seeking spring
Leon Enriquez
12 May 2015
Singapore
the blinds die and end of story,
There is no story...What to talk about?
when there is nothing to talk !!
Keep the silence for the flowers.
and "The smell of lilies and Fridays
And as a target ...
the world among others and acts,
And did not hesitate and did not hesitate
Or low and does not get up ..
Or up as not to break...
And ... simulated and Kali, distressed
Or in the strange world,
of many twists or excursions
And the naked climbers,
unbelieving and amazed
Or sauces and visceras,Or ovens, volcano fumes
frozen diarrhea dung, or pride and pedals
The impossible or routes and fear?????
imprisoned more than the chains
? or fear is the prison. Yes. Fear paralyzes
Prison maybe ,small or maybe large
The Ethereal and Ephemeral game
and the castration ..give hollow of the actions and eruptions born ..
Why are they returning to the scene?
To the dry valey of tears ... where have feeling hurts?
And destinations ... unfortunate project ...
Burned in communion and the pipettes and the breezes
and anus in rockets and silos ...and not the sky or ceiling;
the Mare Eva, gave birth on ,rats and unclean from floods and sewers
Creating facebooks ... sample of the small muzzles
and kills them in eternity ..those chimpanzés from hollywood movies
Those revenge stories,stupid milks and veneric vessels,
... the end-of-the-century poisons,
By pissing on the millets...those invertebrates venoms,
and ruthless of mud and mire of an unnamed planet
I am from the synthetic turf,
Of which I never wish to touch myself.
I’m from beyond the mint juleps and fancy hats,
Where there isn’t such thing as wealth.
I’m from the steeplechase barns,
With the sharp hooves,
And soft muzzles,
Trainers, Jocks,
Personalities all like puzzles.
I am from the races,
Bonding with angry little men,
Sarcastic faces,
Drunken to a 10.
I am from the winners circle,
Screaming, laughing my ass off,
Crying the happiest of tears.
You win some, but you sure lose some throughout the tiresome years.
I am from the stirrup irons,
Forgetting what it’s like to enjoy food.
I am from the scales,
Watching my legs grow longer and longer,
As my chances grow shorter and shorter,
Yeah Pops, I know, I know, a Jock’s life is crude.
I’m from the top rail,
Learning things I shouldn’t,
From people I’m so glad to know.
Laughing, cursing like sailors,
Holding my breath for a second,
That will always feel like an eternity,
Never making a sound,
Though the hoof beats drum on internally,
As the round the turn that I would so love to know,
The flashes of goggles, bats, manes tales,
Friend against foe.
I am from a family of two,
Not caring who or where the others might be,
Where I’m from,
We’ve got more than we need.
I am from the line,
For where the dot is- I wish not to see.
I’m from the land of ‘it ain’t over till it’s over’
The land of coming up from behind,
I’ll tell them that my intentions are not kosher,
That Zenyatta surely has my state of mind.
I’m from the Sport of Kings,
I wish to someday be its Queen,
Though I’m just a cheap claimer- don’t worry Pops I’ll make it,
Only at the racetrack,
The bell of my heart forever rings.
The forest exploded,
A deer and fawn poured out of the green
like Brown streaks of lightning,
(wide, alien-eyed)
They jumped so high
they brushed against Jesús's feet.
Men with plaid shirts, orange vests, and black muzzles came next.
Stalking, looking for blood drips.
Sometimes for fun men worship a gun
To shoot a recruit, to vanquish a victim
Whose only fault lies in a bun
The poor nibble in a starving team
Barrels and muzzles dominate
In thoughts, actions, deeds and priorities
Held high in fake media to disseminate
Philosophies and heresies propagated in sororities
With convoluted creeds
Infants decry when refugees die
In droves as their faith pleads
On its knees for the dissolution of the lie
Shouted aloud by a boisterous crowd
Gathered despite a genocide
Perpetrated by the mighty and the proud
Who pronounce their side innocent of fratricide
In the DRC, South Sudan and Syria
Where Christians suffer untold humiliation
Malaria, starvation, indignity and diarrhea
And unprecedented persecution and the violation
Of human rights
While the UN watches inept
In the face of blatant veto fights
Pursued with vigour kept
High on an agenda of futility
Arguing a fruitless case
Resting on the volatility and motility
Of the talk shop whose base
Inspires revulsion
At the incompetence and pretence
To take action on the expulsion
Of sanity and competence
Hitherto worshipped as holy grail
By the General Assembly
Whose voice and choice are shot off the rail
By the mighty and bubbly
Who appoint themselves arbiters
To determine nothing gone wrong in Yemen
Despite the death of powerless characters
When the Security Council in unison shouts amen.
in the valley of victims...with their lips sewn shut
blind to beauty and deaf to love
beat into submission like mindless soul slaves
in the fog of their own fury they keep digging up their graves
like psychopathic puppets with artificial smiles
they do their masters madness on wretched endless miles
steely whips slash minds apart like peices of a puzzle
mad dogs with foaming rabies tear through their flimsy muzzles
like raging bulls and triggers pulled and bullet holes in uniforms
they choke the cracker with the whip until they spill his blood
they long to be departed from this worthless wicked world
like twisters in their thoughts and whispers turn to wind
sin after sin they run like runaways
you'll never take them back to hell because heaven just got paid
shots from guns and torches burning holes in nightmare nights...someone pulled a can of raid
a million roaches died on site
standing on their feet the silent ones now speak...shattering the silence
now mighty are the weak
[email protected]