Best Stampeding Poems
There’s a beguiling danger in beauty…
seduced as I was by the fickle fingers of fate musingly stroking my hair,
I envisaged
this lusciously lavish landscape
of sun-raptured heavenly hills and valid valleys
to be a lush, plush place for me to land ~
alas, such deception my naive perception did offer.
Buried beneath the facade of a fertile dream-come-true
and a mesmerizing mirage of natural light and zephyrus breaths -
where your thoughts hugged the horizons of my mind
like clouds on the edges of prairie dog skies
and where your stampeding passions trampled my inhibitions -
were delicate bandeaux of ice;
finespun and feathery like polar gossamer
that formed on the stems of your ruptured dreams
that then became my nightmare
when you had your hard freeze
while warm sap still flowed through your veins,
pumped and pushing through your broken being
and freezing on contact with the chilled clime
cocooning me, in a sudden silken surge of your glazing gauze
holding me, in the vivid wild magic of your frosted crystallized clutches -
fossilizing me, in icy opalescent ribbons of ornate whorls.
Unable to escape the grasping glacial petals of your exquisite pain,
your frost flowers plunged me into the frigid heart
of your bitter bluestem’s prairie winter...
There’s a beguiling beauty in danger
hypnotized and hijacked
as I was by the rhythmic sways of your tall grass ways -
your flickering tongue tasting my air
as my emotions were extorted
till I was bled white -
obviously oblivious
that I was being preyed upon
by a stealthy force of nature motivated by indigenous instincts.
Susan Ashley
March 13, 2018
~ First Place ~
Premiere Contest: Poetry for the Sake of Poetry
Sponsor: John Lawless
*bluestem: tall grass native to the Great Plains with bluish leaf sheaths*
*frost flower: thin layers of ice extruded from long-stemmed plants in autumn or early winter. These thin ice layers form dainty ‘ribbons’ or ‘petals’*
The Thunder Rolls
the sultry June afternoon drips with sweat
as the impending tempest approaches
the sun struggles for its last breath of light
and an eerie stillness hangs in the air
the prairie denizens have all taken shelter
as ominous slate grey clouds rumble
across the plains from the southwest
like clouds from a stampeding herd
and in the distance thunder rolls
June 20, 2019
Broken windows give no reflection
graffiti for those who can read
concrete streets are polluted rivers
passing shoes leave bodies in need
disillusion is a crumbled sidewalk
stretching to an intersection of who cares
empty eyes follow shadows that wander
stolen clothes from the morgue to wear
hope is a night's survival passing
when sounds of gunfire are heard
silence comes from gang handshakes
pigeons and crows the only bird
A bell that rings in the distance
the church the preacher will rob
players and pimps with tin cups
approach the stampeding mob
a moat of suburbs surround
gates to the castle are locked
guards at ramparts bleed blue
guns are always cocked
a cry only heard by those crying
in a dirty world of make believe
tomorrow finds another broken window
a rock by a child that can't leave
5/6/17
One more question… say
Could Mona resemble mount?
Appearing as a huge fount!
Could Lisa… if so
Resemble Li? A black horse!
The prettiest mount of all?
In Lishan’s bliss lap
Where hot springs foil blissful map
Lisa taken from Lishan?!
Lastly, could Mount Li
Be mirror mount in Far East
When Columbus spews soil’s meek?!
But I wonder how
Accurate old paintings are
Keys of clues for clever dart!
Awakening sleep-
ing giants in Middle East?!
A smart name! World’s deep history
Da Vinci did see
The beginning of the bliss
Future coming so fast… twinge?
It’s time to plant seeds
Of grains to bloom hefty pints
Of harmony beading fizz
Two thousand twelve… cheer
When peace makers garb the *****
With profound peaceful prayer…
Stampeding ugly
Prayers… so that “Sweet Rhyme” brings
Chaste lands together in peace.
By: Nadia F. Shahwan – September 2009. This poem has been inspired through observing the
portrait of Mona Lisa by Da Vinci.
a strong wind whistles
in the calm of misty dawn ~
leaves stampeding east
Haiku - Nature Themed 2 Poetry Contest (Winner: 2nd Place)
Sponsored by Tania Kitchin
5/7/5 syllable count
Checked on www.howmanysyllables.com
Date written: 08/16/2020
The winds of change, they always come along.
We get to feeling safe and lose our fear.
And then as if from nowhere, blowing strong,
stampeding Pegasuses, they appear!
They tear through sky; they trample all we know.
The winds of change - they always come along.
We welcome them, but are they friend or foe?
Is "progress" mostly right or mostly wrong?
We let them take us, for we are a throng
of humankind, prepared for a new day.
The winds of change - they always come along.
But will technology blow us away?
We change with them and think that all is good
because they start to lull us with a song
that promises some peace and brotherhood.
The winds of change - they always come along.
Sept. 1, 2017 for Julie Rodeheaver's Winds of Change Poetry Contest
Argent moons myriad known, beneath an endless zenith sky
When hotter suns unaltered and stars ruled as aperture fever of a night
Around a fire this Naabeeho song begun, sung louder than a heaven's choir
As “Soaring Feather” was tuft mothered, from Navajo out of Chief Eagle Gray's desire
But, now less wild panes opaque of Dine', behind leather eyes am I
Brittle bone to withered dust, a desert sage that dries
And I plead one last dream before doors beyond forever
Gazing east, out cross, fallen white of Navajo still November
I am blinded into vision winds, so quickened unto rapture
Swept along the swaying prairie grass, messenger of earth then after
The billowing, ghosts of buffalo left innocence roaming over head
And I rise in the morning mist, wings tall on Appaloosa's empathic wrath
Regrets ascending gallop to step upon plateau in reach of raven's tail plumose
Reborn as Yei to hunt the sky, shed the herds of swifting nimbus
A changeling caught within a current writhe, transcending into tempest, high
Quelling ages and ages of limitations, let the lightning bolts of redress fly
A warrior of the Holy Ones, my tabernacle on mother earth drifting dies
But, on painted horse run rising up, a brazen spirit storm comes alive
Free amidst the gale, thunderous beats in temporal instrumental
As clouds begin to blacken, past native spirits dance ceremonial into tornado
Hozoji drums beating round and round, whirlwind roar of nightly chants
I, Navajo dreamer stampeding across the azure plains of my once pure native land
Recompense only to scourge prejudice away and humble the most of evil men
And then stillness, a silent healing song, as forgiveness is a welcome friend
Copyright 2012 Micharl G. Smith
Energy’s Suffocating Gallop
by Odin Roark
Ancient blood soaked sand
Plumes its sticky residue
Beneath rapacious hooves
Dust storms of evil stampeding beside pipelines
Goad flow to tankers
Where ubiquitous black gold addiction
Steers toward pervasive profit-docks
Behind sweat lathered greed
Winds of historic baggage
Tether their historic words and song
Blessings and curses
Exciting swirling vortexes
Windmills of molten fire
Entitlement’s rape and pillage of breath
Of pores once absorbing purity
Evil’s global bubble
Appearing as mankind'
Robed in white zealotry
The blinded hawk-minds
Embrace the Middle East predatory contaminant
Wallowing in solipsistic riches forgotten
Awake only to pick tomorrow’s gluttonous prey
The world turns on turbine propulsion
With oceans bowing to its slavery
Delivering liquid smokestack suffocation
Silent killers preparing ghosts
Of time’s new-century-plague
Ignored
As oil gorged tankers find port
Release their pandemic sleight of hand
A destruction as innocent as rabbits from a hat
Charms the ignorant
Beguiles the wannabes
Wheeled transport
Delivers the demise of children’s hearts
Left to take a number
Unaware there is no lottery
Only loser-consciousness
Adult indulgence clinging desperately
To evil’s mane and tail
As it whips gullible eyes
Into cataract submission
Alien life hovers above
Grieving the minions destined
To find black energy’s ashen dust
Sprinkling its fool’s gold
Upon a barren planet
Oh, give me a home where everyone is free to roam,
sharing hugs and kisses with family and friends
Where there's nothing to fear 'neath the capitol dome
And my combatant countrymen have made amends
I want incivility to stop, ending the bitter hostility
Brother vs brother, hating each other with animosity
It's a misnomer to call ourselves "The United States"
when any topic discussed turns into chaotic debates
I desire a state of well-being; a country free of ill-health
Life is more important, compared to any material wealth
When did belligerence become accepted by so many?
What happened to smiles we wore? I no longer see any
If it were possible, I would paint everyone in a sepia hue
No blacks or whites; color would no longer have value
Medicine would not come with side effects that could kill
America would be great again because of man's goodwill
Freedom would belong to each man, woman, and child
We would respect nature and protect animals in the wild
Americans would live together in harmony; honor bound
Proud of our homeland, and once again world renowned
I long to see the U. S. have representatives who care
about our beautiful country, and keep oaths they swear
I want Old Glory to fly high, not used in domestic battle
dishonored by rioters, stampeding like a herd of cattle
Arguing over who's at fault has only brought us shame
What good are words and fingers pointing out the blame
I'm ready to move on and it's my hope that you are, too
Americans, remember what John Kennedy asked of you
* * * * * * *
March 9, 2021
What You Really Want Contest
Sponsored by Richard Lamoureux
What is that roaring, throwing dust in the air like stampeding water buffalo I do not know? Spinning and running up a tree It might eat us, whatever it is. Dropping some fruit We can see better from here. Look it has four big eyes and long white fangs. You think that is strange, look at its feet it’s got four alligators for feet, what kind of creature could this be? Look its got a man, in its see through belly and one long whisker on the side. POW, fire from the whisker and a lion drops near it, then honks like some deranged goose. Holding one another and shaking in the tree. What shall we call it? How about we call it, after the terrifying shrill you made. You mean we made JEEEP! JEEEP!
Flutter
Look up I see
Their souls flittering past
Down here smell carnage, hear clink, slash
neighing a warning, another one falls
Crunch of bone- stampeding to death
Screams of dying horses
Take me from here
Flutter
For the "SOUND OF EMOTION "
sponsored by Nette Onclaud
Written poem date 6/1/201
by A. Green
Lithesome lines of rapturous rhymes and torrid truths,
Written with piteous pleas and tantalized tease;
Left to others' wits to be interpretive sleuths
Of our loves, lusts, confessional musts and envies.
Rhythm ripping or cadence caressing penned words,
Weeping a caustic choice or singing a heart's rejoice;
Gathered in silken sentiments or stampeding herds
Inkwell of traipsing thoughts etched in poetic voice.
Susan Ashley
October 16, 2017
*'The Love Letter' - Painting by Samuel Luke Fildes*
"The Ghosts of All Those Lost Tomorrows"
voiceless Munch seen laughing
when all the ghosts of those lost tomorrows
come stampeding into dreams
like a forewarning, carrying the colours
of their ever changing empathy
jokes
seen through
kaleidoscopes
of dead others
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
While I dream of wild
Flower bouquets and ice
Cream kisses your nights
Consist of stampeding horses
And winter wishes maybe if
You’d let me I would be one
To love you below dreams of
Breezy underground crystal
Waterfalls you’ll hang from my
Body a chandelier of desire I to
Titivate your essence all dangly
And effervescent with ornaments
Stolen from my subconscious at only
Your arrival I lay palms at your toes
My sovereign they aid your stroll
Through my Eden rose petals at your
Spread lips I cook love potions from
The scents off our pores as we explode
In opposite directions thrilled by the
Same realization that the stars got it
Wrong and us meeting was a mistake to
Beg prayers on my knees again he’s seen
Me too many times today so many signs
I’ve seen yet they reek of more punishment
To grow tomorrow I know tomorrow does
Not come for the tulips we planted here have
Withered to almost dust in my eyes makes
Me cry so instead I close them cause this
Happened already and I lost you long
Before I dream déjà vu’s
parody of "To the Virgins to Make Much of Time" ("Gather ye rosebuds while you may") by 17th-century poet Robert Herrick
Gather ye bargains while ye may.
The big-sale days are flying.
If we don't dash to town today,
tomorrow we'll be crying.
Before the rising of the sun,
the battle will be raging.
Come on! Let's break into a run,
our own war to be waging.
The time is now. When that first door
flies open, we'll be leading.
We'll wildly race from store to store,
withstanding all stampeding.
Let's grab our credit cards and cash
and let them work their magic.
Such chances vanish in a flash.
Now wouldn't that be tragic?
October 20, 2017, entered in Lewis Raynes's Mania Contest