Best Rider Poems
I wish to return to beauty
instead of the mundane
To marvel at rainbows
glistening in the rain
To feel melancholy
Life’s mysteries to explain
Choo Choo engine progress
days chugging like a train
The mysteries of oceans
far deeper than my pain
Why do I live carelessly
while others have to strain
I was born out of love
yet love is hard to maintain
My spirit begs me to listen
why do I yield to my brain
Yet desire keeps growing
I pray it will not wane
Life’s a horse to be ridden
I’ll cling tightly to its mane!
An old man sits peacefully in deep thought
Missing teeth, milky eyes . . . leathery skin
Wind Rider his name – a shaman
The young man seethes in anger
Strong, excitable . . . limbs in constant motion
Standing Bear his name – dangerous and violent
Smoke curls lightly into the sky
A sacred moment upon the plain
Old to the young – a story
The soft voice rises . . . catches the wind
There is a battle that rages within each of us
. . . two wolfs circle each other
One is evil . . . it’s spirit is angry filled with
jealousy, sorrow, greed, arrogance, guilt
resentment, inferiority, lies . . . ego
The other wolf is good --- it’s spirit is filled with
joy, peace love, hope, humility, kindness, empathy
generosity, truth, compassion . . . faith
Each wolf is strong and howls into the night wind
Yellow-red eyes flair, deep throated-growls, bared fangs
Breathing hard they attack
Wind Rider lifts his heavy head
Feels the sun . . . waits
Standing Bear thinking . . . finally asks
Who will win?
Wind Rider smiles
The one you feed
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David Meade
11/28/2014
Live Generously
An expert rider, a solid horse, what greater pals can there be?
To stretch the land amongst the hills, to charge past the wind and be free.
The horse's hooves slam to the earth like an auto's fiery pistons.
His mane flows like a mighty river while his wild wide-eye glistens.
Rider balances, holding the reins, and moves as one with the horse.
She gentles her steed, who knows he's safe, and so they complete the course.
How great to ride with the speed of a 'comet' on an Autumn day.
How great to pace with the thrill of the ride, to live what comes your way.
Alone figure stands,
On sunsets rock.
Summers hot breezes brush,
Against bare skins flesh.
Stalking the ageless path.
Behold histories Indian brave,
Man, and horse intertwined.
Symbiotic beings joined,
They are one.
The spirit rider gallops,
Across freedoms trail.
Cautiously, allying arrow unto bow,
Aiming swiftly his shot to kill.
Guardian’s raging bull charges,
Forward.
Protectors sacrifice, blood mingles,
Amongst dust clouds aftermath,
His majesty lies slain.
Dark brown eyes close,
Glimpsing blue sky for the,
Last time.
Heavens prairies, welcome destiny's,
Honorable foe,
The hunter kneels beside the giant's,
Stilled heart,
Giving thanks, singing chants rise,
Ascending heights greener,
Pastures unto a higher plain.
It echoes in valleys deep,
Touching the lands of his,
Fore fathers.
Tonight beneath flames tribal fires,
Rhythms beating drums, gives praise,
Many shall celebrate, feasting,
In memories tribute,
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
In a mass grave so long ago,
They spoke to me before they died,
I saw their souls, the outward flow,
All hope buried beneath that tide.
The many starving, sent afar,
With wearied feet and hunger's burn,
Impel them on - my repertoire,
The children that fail to return.
I rose up tall against the shore,
Wood and iron to hold them fast,
Freedom vanished for evermore,
Slavery's journey to the last.
I set you fighting, tribe on tribe,
The dogs of war so fierce to roam,
Ensure no safety to describe,
What has worth if you can't go home?
He caught a ride to somewhere going nowhere;
first hopped inside a slowed-down limousine.
The driver felt a chill and turned to stare
at someone seated in the back unseen.
A new car’s scent; the passenger smelled nothing.
The seat of luxury he could not feel.
The driver then off-key began to sing
to no one as he slowly tapped the wheel.
His passenger joined in and crooned unheard
that ancient tune “It was a very good year,”
his old blue eyes once clear becoming blurred,
and down his cheek there rolled a single tear.
Again compelled, the chauffeur turned his head -
then saw a small spot where the tear was shed.
**From my collection of poems: 'Apollo's Diary'
I wonder if she thinks of me,
at night, alone.....
in her melting-bed;
With moon full as her curiousity
....my breath, the wind in the late hour
the stars I shall tease with,
and phallic-lavender to ignite her bosom;
I am all things gentle, yet mighty,
soft as her silk sheets.....
Dark and tall in her bedroom shadows,
but candle-light makes me real
with the night so young,
if a king should come ----
he will not do.....
She longs love, not adulterous power;
I shall whisper upon a balmy breeze.....
(I wonder if she thinks of me)
at night.....
Slowly she climbs aboard
through darkness of shadows cast
her noble steed awaits
anticipating the joy of being ridden
through valleys and mountains
full moons glaring upon howling wolves
through waterfalls of sensual pureness
one can hear the breath of hoofbeats
always she rides at night
afraid of false impurities
never understanding
she glows in the dark.......
when you love somebody, nothing should ever be hidden, especially that which
you give unto each other....Peace
*****This poem was fairly popular, though I'm re-posting it for the ladies****
**From my collection of poems: 'Apollo's Diary'
I wonder if she thinks of me,
at night, alone.....
in her melting-bed;
With moon full as her curiousity
....my breath, the wind in the late hour
the stars I shall tease with,
and phallic-lavender to ignite her bosom;
I am all things gentle, yet mighty,
soft as her silk sheets.....
Dark and tall in her bedroom shadows,
but candle-light makes me real
with the night so young,
if a king should come ----
he will not do.....
She longs love, not adulterous power;
I shall whisper upon a balmy breeze.....
(I wonder if she thinks of me)
at night.....
She gave the man her ticket stub
To see the 'Doors' perform
She always liked to hear them sing
'Riders on the Storm'
She got lost in the melody
As the music took her higher
The rhythms ignited her passion
As they played 'Light my Fire'
She loved lead singer Jim Morrison
His poetry kept the music alive
The band then took her for a musical ride
With 'Moonlight Drive'
Then the music reached a fever pitch
As rhythms began to spew
She went wild when she heard
'Hello I Love You'
Then the concert ended....the music, died,
Some weeks later, she heard the news....she cried
Jim Morrison had given the Reaper his ticket stub
And joined the infamous '27 club'
He went away on a Crystal Ship with silver wings
Sailing on waves of guitars strings
In the distance, dark clouds began to form
And Jim soon became, a 'Rider on the Storm'.....
4-28-19
Writers On The Storm Contest
Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cooke
...Jack went down in a heap,
the shot biting his thigh.
The rider drew near, gun in hand,
said,”You do not need to die.
“Though you’ll not believe it,
I will still to you explain:
You’re brother was a rapist,
and with young girls he did play.
“And when a daughter of a friend
fell to his twisted appetites,
I did what I had to do,
and sent him to that dark night.
“I know you will believe think this,
to you he was family,
but that monster is worth no revenge.
His death, in fact, was a duty.
“But sin belongs to those who sin,
and not to any other.
And I see not the ravenous beast
in the eyes of his young brother.
“And though I’m a forgiving man,
I’ll warn you this one time,
don’t ever come for me again,
‘cause I'm not always so kind.”
He tossed Ed’s pistol aside,
then mounted up on his horse.
He rode off, resigning himself
to a night sleeping outdoors.
It had been such every night,
since his own loss, long ago,
when he’d crossed that bloody line,
when he’d lost his own.
No more smiles, or boyish laughs,
no warm nights by the fire,
his woman gone, and his boy too…
nothing remained by the ire.
Sometimes he did like to think
that he could go on back,
return to what he once was,
give up these duty tracks…
But deep down he’d always know
that inside he had grown cold,
since he’d walked from their gravesides,
against evil now he rode.
Forever on, he rode.
He trotted up to Hamlin’s Bar,
stopping in for a quick drink.
He sat a tall, blue roan Mustang,
with a hide like darkest ink.
He paced into the noisy saloon,
amidst gamblers, drunks, and whores,
walked up to the simple bar,
and ordered whiskey, nothing more.
The burning shot was warming
after a cold night on the tail.
Barkeep tried to sell him another,
but he tried to no avail.
Rider found himself musing about
stopping in a town like this,
leaving behind the endless hunt,
getting out of the prairie winds.
He thought about a warm bed,
about cafes with bacon and coffee,
but as he did the old rage surged
and the thoughts all came to nothing.
In his mind came strangled cries,
the choking smoke and flames,
the dark cackle of evil men,
echoed through his brain…
With that he got on up to leave,
but a figure blocked his way.
A youngish man, vaguely familiar,
though why, he could not say.
The man growled and he said:
“I’ve seen you once before.
I watched you kill my brother Nick,
back east in Pellan’s Forge.”
The rider cocked his head and said:
“You must be young Jack Burnside.
I suppose you want revenge,
so let’s go take this outside.”
Jack nodded and they walked,
the young man’s eyes enraged.
To the street, the men went,
the town watching as they paced.
They stood off, then Jack’s hand
flew down for his gun,
but the Rider was a bolt of light,
and the draw quickly won...
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
Now the villager’s are waking from the dreams inside their heads,
They’re locking doors and windows, and they’re hiding in their beds;
It’s a yellow rainy morning with a mist across the sun…
You can hear the hoof beats coming, terrifying everyone.
It’s a legend sprung to life, and it’s a horror story true,
You listen in the silence and you know you hear it too,
And the sound is getting closer till it’s beating in your bones,
And it’s hammering and clattering upon the cobblestones.
Yellow Rider coming
Through the early light of day,
Hear the hoof beats drumming…
Too late for you to pray.
And the Rider’s coming closer still you stay inside your room,
You’re looking at his saddle, and his giant hat and plume,
But you cannot see his face because it’s hidden by the brim,
Still you recognize his saddle so you know it must be him.
For it’s silver-mounted leather from a Gypsy caravan,
His uniform is yellow silk imported from Japan,
And his sword is Spanish-crafted, and his pistol made in France…
And there’s nobody escaping, everybody’s had his chance.
Yellow Rider coming
Like a bandit through the rain,
Hear the hoof beats drumming…
Till they echo in your brain.
Now the Rider is departing just as swiftly as he came,
He’s taking someone with him and I will not tell his name,
But it’s either you or me or maybe someone else we know…
Now the Yellow Rider’s leaving as the sun begins to show.
And the people are appearing at their windows and their doors,
The merchants all are opening their markets and their stores,
And the villages will make believe he never came at all…
But away out on the high road you can hear his mournful call…
Yellow Rider going,
And he’s taking someone new,
Someone we’re both knowing,
Is it me or you?
Is it me or you?
You ride through shadows, chasing dawn,
But you never saw the storm you spawned.
I’m not the girl you left behind--
I walk the dark with purpose, spine.
Your wheels may spin on borrowed fate,
But I was born to navigate.
I don't chase ghosts or beg for grace;
I set my fire and claim my place.
The night knows me--I wear its name,
Not weeping soft, but burning flame.
No chains to break, no debt to pay--
I forged my freedom, kept the way.
So ride, lone wolf, your distant mile.
I walk in boots, not in denial.
You had your shot, your smoke, your song.
But I’ve been midnight all along.
Authors Notes: poetic response to Midnight Rider by The Allman Brothers Band
Spirit Rider
So comes there spirit rider
On his comet past the moon
does he have a new sweet bride there
will he find her really soon
passions heat in spirit flows
not to be denied there
the searching on it always goes
until he sits beside her
a distant spark it pulses
and indeed it draws upon
at speed of light the rider
and the pulsar says come on
will he find her the rider
will he see her shining face
will he finally sit beside her
cos he’s in the outer space
but then the gap it closes
and they each embrace
smell of love the roses
and it all falls into place
Don Johnson
5am 19th april 11