Best Stabled Poems
Let me tell you a story from the old wild-west;
Of a terrible lawman with a star on his vest.
His title was “Ranger”; not bound to a town
He studied the outlaws then hunted them down.
One long hot summer; played like a pawn
He’d failed to take down the man called “Big John”.
He was tired and thirsty, his mood like black jet
As he rode into Dodge his sights were still set
On Big John!
He stabled his horse, and checked out the saloon
‘cause he’d heard the big man liked to drink there at noon.
Through the wide swinging doors, he strolled to the back
His face as long as a wagon-wheel track.
The scowl on his face told me this man was risky,
But I was the bar keep, and he needed whiskey.
So I poured him a double in a clean mason jar
And slid it down deftly to the end of the bar.
He quaffed it and gave me a tip of his hat.
I thought it was over, except for the fact
That his mood was still dark, like rain in a flood,
I knew in my gut there was bound to be blood.
There in the corner; his back to the wall,
He waited with patience; said nothing at all.
Just stared at the space ‘bove the wide swingin’ doors,
His hands at his sides, drooping down toward the floor.
It was quarter past noon when the room darkened some,
Big John in the doorway; blocking the sun.
Two shots rang out from the man in the vest.
Two blood stains emerged on the big fella’s chest.
Big John just stood there; there in the door,
Then the glasses all rattled as John hit the floor.
Dry-gultched, like a fox at a watering hole
Big John was finished; so, likely his soul!
The old wanted poster said “Dead or Alive”.
They just didn’t care how Big John arrived!
The Ranger just smiled and sighed, “One more round!”
Then he gathered his pony and rode out of town.
May 9, 2017
IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE : Part XXVIII
IF you pull a long perplexed face
You could be watching SUMO in Tokyo Bay
Or reading this without a NIHONG-GUO dictionary in front of face
Rather I'd say you were the victim of WATENAGE
If you gasp at me pulling - pardon me - long dude face
Most probably you landed on your head due to ****ANAGE
Little use then pulling that long RISHIKISHI enigmatic poker face
Even if you were a 400-pound local HEBI-KYU god YOKOZUNA
Yet if you insist on pulling your long-slapped face
It's your own funeral living stabled in a SUMOBEYA
When all around GEISHA fans dream behind rice-paint face
Of what use then 30,000 YEN KENSHOKIN PRIZE nets you each day
If you can't help pulling that long-repressed face
Think you can gouge eyes out kick grab groin pull hair
Think again you had better throw salt to purify SHINTO DOHYO ring space
Or else find your MAWASHI loincloth ripped-off your shame hair rare
So if you must pull that 1500-year long SUMO face
Make certain you perform KAMI salt-throwing ceremony
First of all at TOKYO MEIJI SHRINE like all RISHIKISHIS
Before you digest 5000 to 7000 calories of fried diabetic chow each thumping day
© T. Wignesan - Paris, February 3, 2019
I did that!!!
I stabled the child
In his chaste, and kill his dreams
While he wanted help
I saw his pain flew
Before the wick act of mine
Felt his field of pain
I could help him from
His savage time under woe
But I show no love
I could make a spark
Of light made a difference
But I was too sloth
He wailed with strong pain
That I myself felt his wounds
But I was still numb
He was a gold child
‘Cause of his youth or future
Of change, the oil o’ it
I should help him ‘cause
In my times, I was in his
Place, and eke hurt
I had all to help
Him, but I ignored him.
It was my dark eyes…
Whatever his pains
Were, I had the hands of pelf
For I show no clack
Thus, he died under
My sight indirectly for
People, but me – no!
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.
A brilliant moon casts its mellow glow,
O'er fields covered with glistening snow!
Skeins of geese fly on high silhouetted 'gainst the moon;
The scene is all set for a sleigh ride, so very opportune!
The sleigh has been shed of a years build-up of dust,
And its runners have been waxed, a requisite must!
Dashing Dan was harnessed with jingly bells of course;
For generations he's drawn the sleigh, this gentle and faithful horse!
Mom, Dad and the kids snuggle 'neath quilts warm and snug;
"Giddy up" says Dad and Dan leaps forward with a gentle tug!
They sing 'Jingle Bells' and other Yuletide tunes with joy;
Dad reminisces about sleigh rides with his Grandpa as a boy!
They sip mugs of warm cider and coffee to ward off the chill,
Hailing others with 'Merry Christmas', wishing them goodwill!
Arriving home and after Dan was stabled and the sleigh was stowed,
They sip cocoa nigh the hearth to warm up from the cold!
Precious memories were met this night for future family lore,
As they anticipate next year's moonlight sleigh ride once more.
Entry for Constance La France's "Writing Challenge - Write A Christmas Poem" Contest
25 November 2022
Bevy of swans in a sea-fowl cloud,
starling mumuration,whispering aloud.
Wray of quail,where teal spring,
tiding of magpie,as larks nesting, cling.
Nightingale watch a hover of crows,
herd of wrens,hosting sparrows.
Flight of doves,lapwing deceit,
charm of finches,swallows sweet.
Kindle of kittens,knot of toads,
a yoke of oxen shed their load.
Den of snakes,skulk with fox,
shires stabled and boxed.
Business of ferrets,labour with moles,
span of mules in a string of foals.
Harrass of horse,husk of hares,
rake of colts with a stud of mares.
Drove of cattle,with a tribe of goats,
downs of sheep,pack of stoats.
Spider cluster in a thatch,
brood of game,hatched,matched
and despatched.
In scratchy swales emitting Clorox gas,
Matador houseflies cross paralyzed eyes;
A kaleidoscope scene where jagged glass
Cracks beneath footsteps of love’s promised lies;
Forgotten by choice through hell-flickered sight,
Confusion screams at a dead mobile phone,
Gripping slick sanity ever so tight,
Un-stabled by speaking to Nothing’s tone.
Tormentors nearby prepare their escape,
Entrusting blindness to suffocate truth;
Black swans are they, drinkin’ ‘shine to undrape
Wounds nearly healed from a vi’lated youth –
A normal day in an abnormal cave,
Where hatred rules whipping peace claimed its slave.
How many reindeer does Santa have stabled?
Let's take the count, as in the fables.
If you count eight then you are off,
for that, I cannot but scoff.
You might say nine but to no avail,
That's if you include the red-nosed one in the tale.
No, Santa has ten reindeer in all,
If you don't believe me, just give their roll a call.
We know Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, and Vixen,
Comet, Cupid, Donner, and Blitzen.
And if you will recall,
Rudolph became the most famous reindeer of all.
But no one ever speaks about number ten,
Perhaps, it's because no one thinks of them.
I want to cry when the fuss about Rudolph I at Christmas hear,
Because everyone forgets Olive...Olive the other reindeer.
Who was this One born meek and mild,
this infant, Mary’s baby boy child ?
Why was He born in dark of night
beneath the star of brightest light ?
Countless in number the angels sang,
above the hillsides their praises rang.
Below in the fields were those thought least:
frightened shepherds whose wonder never ceased.
Who was this One of whom angels did sing:
the question of those with little to bring.
Even those stabled there knew that this night
because of Him, all would be set right.
Heralded in time by men from the east,
they came with great treasures upon their beasts.
Bowing low before the King of Kings,
they paid Him homage with finer things.
But what was so special about that night,
that which puts Christmas in it’s truest light ?
O, who is this One of majestic worth,
This One with rightful claim to the earth ?
Of all the horses I have known,
And I have known a few,
It's of Rebel, my daughter's first loved horse
That I'll be telling you.
Her girl friends on the nearby farms
Had horses theirs to ride.
That she could not have a horse too,
She just could not abide.
We lived in a little pioneer town.
Our home had a tiny yard.
To fulfill my small girl's wishes
Would truly be too hard.
One day I found her crying and
It broke my mother heart.
I told her we'd look for a horse.
At least we'd make a start.
Well, that was all I need to say.
There was no reneging now.
We'd have to ask her daddy
And I didn't quite know how.
Her fresh tears won him over
And he told her he would try
To find the perfect horse for her
if she would no more cry.
We had an old unused garage.
If was mostly filled with trash.
She and her dad hauled to the dump,
What they couldn't sell for cash.
In June she went into the fields
Picking strawberries to help pay
For the horse for which she'd been looking
And would be finding any day.
At last there was one advertised
At we thought, a decent price.
She called her horse savvy uncle
To ask for his advice.
My brother checked the horse for her
And said that it was sound.
Exactly waht she wanted to hear,
She plunked her money down.
She cared for her horse the best she knew
And before long had proven she
Knew more about a horses's care
Than either her dad or me.
Rebel was quite a tall horse.
She had to climb to get astraddle
And sit up on his bare back.
We could not afford a saddle.
Rebel was the perfect horse
For a loving ten year old.
He was docile, slow and gentle.
Only when loose did he get bold.
There were times when he would get away,
From where ever he'd been tied.
He'd whip around and run again,
Just when we reached his side.
She and her friends had lots of fun
In those happy carefree days.
Swimming across the Swinomish Slough
Is a memory that stays
Our daughter got her money's worth
From that big sturdy horse,
Until his age began to show
And Nature took it's course.
Our town has become more lucrative
It's residents a richer crowd.
A horse stabled in garage these days
Would never be allowed.
My daughter raises horses now,
With the purest of blood line
But our Rebel of unknown heritage
At her age of ten was fine.
For Horse contest took 7th place
A PROSPEROUSING TECHNOLOGY
(BIOTECHNOLOGY)
The life Meliorate
Is the innovative way of
Biotechnician;
Explore around the world - by
Dispensing unique technologies and
Made into ocean!
An Myraid roles are played in our
Prosprousing technology - BIOTECHNOLOGY
Treasury of the Medical Industry ;
Healer of the Biowar!
An Epic creation of Technical World!
Consistency of
Bioethics are prolonged and stabled,
An Bio Prosperousing Technology!!
C. J. Thanushika
On my way to the pub
I was walking to the pub at sundown
when I reach my destination the last pink rays
on the sky was vanishing,
a promise of a sunny tomorrow.
On the road, I was overtaken by a horse
that neighed politely,
on its back, a crow sat using a foul language.
On the way back home I was late had
been playing poker with matches,
I lost a box.
I met the horse it offered to
take me home the foul crow hade gone.
I stabled the horse in the garage
gave it bread and water.
Next morning it was gone.
The crow sat on the window ledge
demanding a silver soup spoon and
an assortment of nuts.
Intricate dull summer, autumn's scourge,
Dog day noons, sultry dusk undress the night,
Mirage, sweaty foreheads entertain an oasis,
Rise of Fall, leaves, plot ere barked disguises,
Autumn's quarrels, chartreuse hawks verdant green hue,
Spar shades, tones, pigments re, imagination,
Expelled from hold, abandon o'er cold,
Huddled neath shedding sunshades,
Sun pierced, stains owned ardor brown,
Wrinkled facing fertile lengthened passage,
Refreshed, sprouts anew,
Laments a stabled tree near a rippling brook,
Transpires driven, meaning sustained, neath or aloft,
Gravitation charters its progress,
Ingenuous source served natural throat that thirsts beyond,
Prompt wintry ice, obscure its way, not bar its exemplary flow,
Gratification expounded, outpours inside the expanse,
Breeding fluidity, according to varied species of life on Terra.
2019 October 07
howmanysyllables
14 lines x 10 syllables = 140 syllables
Bevy of swans in a sea-fowl cloud,
starling mumuration,whispering aloud.
Wray of quail,where teal spring,
tiding of magpie,as larks nesting, cling.
Nightingale watch a hover of crows,
herd of wrens,hosting sparrows.
Flight of doves,lapwing deceit,
charm of finches,swallows sweet.
Kindle of kittens,knot of toads,
a yoke of oxen shed their load.
Den of snakes,skulk with fox,
shires stabled and boxed.
Business of ferrets,labour with moles,
span of mules in a string of foals.
Harrass of horse,husk of hares,
rake of colts with a stud of mares.
Drove of cattle,with a tribe of goats,
downs of sheep,pack of stoats.
Spider cluster in a thatch,
brood of game,hatched,matched
and despatched.
AUDIO: Vienna Boys Choir, 'Pachelbel's Canon in D Major'
Trees II By Alfred Joyce Kilmer's Admirer
Methinks thus I
shalt naught e'er see,
A poem lovely
as this here tree,
Doth sun thus shine
its countenance,
Gift tree whose loft,
spreads its expanse,
Its girth above,
neath midst remained,
Flicks of light burst,
like windows stained,
The trunk weighs down,
the cradled youth,
Internal weave
exploits the root,
Limbed tree who hath,
purged forth hugged vein,
Thereon, ventures
long with its frame,
Styled tree stabled
in wonderment,
Our learned life begs
our testament,
The tree tilled naught,
nor didst we toil,
Providence hath,
sprung from the soil,
God giveth life,
sips and savors,
Graced from seed thus,
tree He favors,
Seasons race on,
timely fashion,
The Divine hath
shewn compassion,
A poet writes
in praise of trees,
Songs made of these
sweet melodies,
'Tis well-rehearse
endowed in verse,
Fool cool's elbows
and stubbled toes,
A quill at ease
a chapter seize,
Joyce 'Trees' as goes
only He knows.
2020 December 23