Best Stirrup Poems
I’m sick of hearing from old Bill that I’m a whimpish sort of bloke,
Because I don’t care for rodeo’s and can’t relate to outback folk,
That I prefer to travel in a car, when I go from A to B,
When I should be riding horses like Billy does you see.
I’ve never been upon a horse; in fact I’ve never patted one,
But at times I’ve been a victim from the damage that they’ve done,
When they’ve thundered down a racetrack with double-digit odds,
To leave my pockets empty and the good luck with the Gods.
So it was just a whim and foolishness that struck me at a guess,
That could have left me comatosed and in an awful mess,
When in a flush of inspiration of adrenaline attack,
Without a lesson or experience, I climbed upon a horse’s back.
I threw one foot in the stirrup and threw the other one to straddle
The horse’s back now that I’m on, while sitting in the saddle,
But with the motion of a gallop at a steady rhythmic pace,
I started slipping from the saddle and I quickly lost me place.
In fear I’m grabbing for the mane, but I couldn’t get a grip,
So I threw me hands around its neck, but then began to slip,
And I could see the ground below me was aiming at me head,
So I grabbed its nose to stop it, but it bucked on me instead.
It was futile hanging on now so I made a desperate move to jump,
But instead of reaching safety, me body lurched and I went thump,
For me foot’s caught in the stirrup so I’m bouncing in the fray,
With the horses pounding hooves close to just a foot away.
Now limply hanging upside down from the battering I took,
In me haze of consciousness I saw a crowd had formed to look,
Then me missus ran to save me when she took off like a rocket,
Over there at K-mart where, she ripped the plug out of the socket.
Categories:
stirrup, humor,
Form:
Rhyme
Confucius was confusing
speaking of tones in long
ago bones found in a stone
carving of sorts. A King
with legs too short playing
hot!kee indeed.
Hold my sky.the Scribe isn't falling....
It's Just, as described the Kitten
purrs calling eYes that are gleaming
in the Knight the light is beaming.
Speaking OSsilly.ations
about a pyramid and a
notion of motion reaching
for truth. Sitting on a
throne not really knowing
what to look for?
Hammers, Anvils that Stirrup Two....
They say CinderFella wears a glass shoe.
Care.the mirror doesn't smear the glue.
I can read a.head.board.too.
Lefty found a Foot.Note
Balancing act.on a Book
and took it. Seriously.
Strange thing art.ee.facts
They sing when ping.ing
Especially so when reading
The sWing. Reaper said
ree.pare. and we are dear.
reeding....
C.me near the Mall.Sue?
Hear us call.in your bones?
HOT is a spot on The One
and a flare in the air is a tOne.
reeds the same.spinning alone
aligns with a Lion a dog and
bone....
..."O0oWas this your toy?"
It's The Twi.light.O.z.O.ne
:)~ Now we're plaYing....
Know Vertigo Hear.
Categories:
stirrup, adventure, friendship, mystery, nature
Form:
"I'd bet on Someone Just Like Me", the lovely stranger said.
"I know the odds are long, but I just have this lucky feeling!"
The bookies gave a 10 to 1 for her prized thoroughbred,
I knew the odds for Reader Of The Stars were more appealing.
I placed my bet, the race began, my horse led out and out,
He passed by Harry Trotter, and had Hay Girl on the run,
He'd hold off Maple Stirrup, and beat Princess Peach, no doubt
But then, as though she'd seen a crystal ball, her longshot won!
Just like her odds, my hopes seemed dim in searching for a wife.
I hoped that lovely stranger at the track might be my honey -
The lucky day I'd longed for she would enter in my life?
I looked - the woman of my dreams was gone, just like my money.
Written 7 Sep 2020
Phrases in Bold are required by the contest
Categories:
stirrup, horse, loneliness, longing, race,
Form:
Rhyme
"shhhhh.....shissssssh"
"be quiet"...whispered
"Can you hear that?"
.
.
"What is that sound?"
Is it far...a faraway
train whistle lonesome
from song of mainline?
Is it the soft ting
of the tea kettle
cooling on the stove,
bending it's metal?
"What is that sound?"
It is the slow creak
of old wooden chairs
as mortise and tenon
slowly adjust, torqued
to a shifting weight.
Could be a mantle
clock tiptoe ticking
away Sunday afternoon.
Why don't they make
digital clocks tick?
Is it that catlike scratch
of the Autumn branch
gently scraping the window?
"What is that sound?"
It is the hushed hum
of computer fan lulling
a digital brain.
The Venetian blinds
rhythmically tap half-open
double-hung windows.
The vibrating whir
of some electric motor
compressing or orbiting
the periodic table.
Mountains of Quaking Aspen
leaves relaxing the winds.
When is alone welcome
and when is it forlorn?
The weight of near silence,
light as the dust that
floats the sunlit room,
or heavy as a cardiac
anvil under ancient
spreading Chestnut tree.
Did the bell toll at
the village church,
ringing all comers
to awake momentarily, or
was that just tinnitus?
Unable to open eyes,
sounds belie surroundings
and alone might be
fallacy or welcome.
Deceptive senses afoot
in the stirrup, and hammer
tapping anvil might only
be a mindful dream.
© Goode Guy 2011-06-13
Categories:
stirrup, imagination, introspection, life, mystery,
Form:
Free verse
Depressed
Stressed
Anxiety from tests
But still well dressed
We must be the best
Although I must confess
That my lack of sleep
Should be more of an interest
Than the books you lay on my desk
They tell you there’s nothing to stress
Then they tell you they want nothing less
Than some four page essay on their doorstep
Don’t forget to keep your school rep
We’re nothing but dollar signs in their seats
Nothing but liars and cheats
But wait
How can you take a precious child and push them until they’re beat?
You ask,
That’s exactly it
You’re blind to see how we feel such defeat
Under your tests
Under your feet
You’re too blind to see it
To see how this is affecting how we thrive
How the pressure makes students want to end their lives
Over something as small as a test
You say you’re a community that builds people up
But you were truly the one that made the stirrup
Categories:
stirrup, anger, deep, depression, school,
Form:
Rhyme
Although there be some debatin’
‘Bout if ol’ cowboys wear socks—
I can tell you fer a dern fact,
That true cowboys don’t wear Crocs.
They just don’t fit a stirrup right,
And bright colors scare the stock—
I’ll sure nuff shoot the first cowboy
I see wearin’ a new Croc!
Oh, we talk of Old West legends
Like our Jesses’ and Hickoks—
But I hope I never do see
Cowboys herdin’ in their Crocs!
And when that great cattle Master
Lays me low beneath the rocks—
Just make sure I’m wearin’ my boots
And not a pair of them Crocs!
Categories:
stirrup, cowboy-western, funny, social,
Form:
Cowboy Poetry
If humans chirped, chirped, chirped
What would it sound like if they burped?
Would it sound like a chirp-up?
Or like they got their leg caught in a stirrup?
If humans chirped and ate and burped
Would it sound divine or like they lurched?
Would it sound as if they ate worms?
Or ate lobster and with the cook they came to terms?
Ahhh, lets just wonder what it would sound like
if humans chirped and if they would use a mic?
By Susan Mills
Categories:
stirrup, funnysound, sound,
Form:
Imagism
You can tell a cowhand by his trappings
Head to toe.
He’s not a drugstore cowboy
who tries to fool you, though.
His boots are manly footwear
and they’re pointed at the toe.
They’re made to fit a stirrup
and show the way to go.
The boot tops climb toward his knees
and turn back thorns and fangs.
Their soles are smooth and scoot on floors
where he dances as he "sangs".
He cleans them both fore he steps inside
so he won’t make a mess.
But I don’t think he takes them off
even when he’s at rest.
His jeans are straight cut at the leg
and stop atop his spurs.
His chaps protect his jeans and legs
from abuse that often occurs
when his mount maneuvers the heavy mesquite
To turn a cow around.
And if you check his pockets
a wallet won’t be found.
Instead you’ll see a circle worn
where a can of snuff is bound.
He wears a plain old leather belt
and the buckle’s just as simple.
His trophies are in a trunk, at rest.
to win them all was ample.
His long sleeve shirt is made of cotton.
He wears it no matter the season.
If you go to church on Sunday morn',
there’s a white one for that reason.
A cowboy wears a hat for a crown.
It’s a signature of his character.
And, if he ever lays it down,
it's best for you if you leave it there.
Yes, a cowhand has a certain look.
You can tell by the way he dresses.
Those drugstore boys are too flashy,
their hair in those beauty shop tresses.
They can dress like a cowhand, but still,
when you look them both in the eye
you’ll know which one is the cowhand.
Just gaze into his eyes and see why.
Categories:
stirrup, character, clothes, culture, drug,
Form:
Verse
Mother In Law Tree
What if I was to see a certain tree
Appearing in poem written by me
Saying what tree was and was not
Never sweating or ever getting hot.
Next to tree was field that had stone
While it was always standing alone
Then again to me it had occurred
Never heard my tree say a word.
When I saw tree from sea or land
Branches looked like fingers in a hand;
Never saw it sitting on a throne
Tree always stood there all alone.
God with bark tree did dress and bless
And couldn't ever hear tree confess
All around tree was soil and dirt
Did not see it with a shirt or skirt.
God for me my tree He made
On one side you will find shade
Road horse by with feet in stirrup,
And from tree came maple syrup.
When tree experienced a mishap
Down it would drain much sap
And when on tree it did rain
Water slid off and did not remain.
Walked around tree wearing boots
And underground were many roots
Had been respectable and brave;
Beside it had been buried a grave.
Did die and last time tree I saw
They had called it a mother in law
Around tree grass was all green
Two graves, tree grew up between.
James Serious Mysterious Horn
Retired Veteran and Soldier
Categories:
stirrup, allegory, analogy,
Form:
Couplet
final dismount, final ride
pasture waits for dappled roan
girth mark of the lonely byways
lather from the battles flown
dew eyed weary, spinal backed
stumble step'd and nostril blown...
stirrup brass with bugle hung
faded strap and leather worn
bridle twisted, crackled spur
broken packboard, blanket torn
carbine scabbard, saddle sore
salt and stain wrung round the horn...
cosmoline and splintered stock
powder burned and pointed lead
flashpan crusted, blackened sight
ramrod tamped and barrel fed
faceless names etched in the action
thunder echoed, eardrums bled...
now the rider, less the man
mustered out a thousand suns
restless eye and palsied hand
scattered mind behind the gun
drumbeat sigh and breaking heart
no true glory grasped and won...
in the world
of the world
in joy's cascade as much as grief
season turns
while seasons end
wind blows down the autumn leaf.
Categories:
stirrup, metaphor, veterans day, war,
Form:
Heroic Couplet
"Our horses are well-trained and subdued!", blared the stable sign!
That made a lot of horse-sense to me and suited me just fine.
I'm not an equestrian and had never ridden a horse before.
"Not to worry", said he, "you'll soon establish a fine rapport!"
I paid the price agreed and he produced an elegant steed.
Says he, "Why, he's so tame that little kids ride 'im, yes indeed!"
His name was 'Killer' which aroused in me some suspicion,
But I set that aside anxious to get on with my expedition!
I approached the beast with not a little apprehension.
He stood there paying me not the least bit of attention,
'Til I put my foot in the stirrup then he turned his head and stared,
Glared, stomped and snorted with his nostrils fully flared!
At last I managed to climb upon the well-worn western saddle.
The guy slapped Killer's rump and yelled, "Now, y'all skedaddle!"
Off we galloped like a bat out of you know where,
Me holding on with all my might proffering a hasty prayer!
I've flown upside down in planes, done loops and other gyrations,
But that cayuse gave me the wildest ride despite my supplications!
Back at the stable I straightened my back with a visible wince,
And fellers I'm here to tell you, I ain't rode another horse since!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Categories:
stirrup, animals, funny, me, horse,
Form:
Rhyme
one leg in the stirrup
swing the other leg over the top
ride off into the sunset
Categories:
stirrup, funny,
Form:
Haiku
Phantoms
In male six, psychiatric ward at night
there live ten patients burning bright,
their thoughts are with their missing
mums, while eager for breakfast wait
their tums
Now here, as not before, it’s all about who’s
first through the dining room door, theirs eggs
and bacon and toast with butter, it’s enough to
make a man’s heart flutter
But romance has now long gone, with shirt
needing help to put on; and in this slight
miscarriage, a moral judgment say, they
take their medication and live another day
But then there’s lunch, what delights await?
with biscuits, cheese and cream and tea, to
fill old hearts with tempered glee, a taste of
butter, a square of fudge, a barely felt old-
fashioned grudge
Five square tables, two at each, if they move
they make a screech; which brings us to the
main event, evening dinner heaven sent,
with pastries, pies and soft fried chips,
and bread and butter for trembling lips
And interspersed amid all this, there’s
medication from the list; black and blue
and white round pills, so designed to
soothe all ills
Ruminations-trembling- hallucinations
too, popped in mouth or drank as syrup,
tis the steed and you’re the stirrup
But here’s not to dwell and dally, on visit
Saturday comes aunt Sally; with choc
and fags and pink smoked salmon, raise
the spirit, mood does rally
But alas now all the wards have gone,
white coats and patients they’ve moved
on; and if one day you pass at night,
remember them when burning bright
Categories:
stirrup, memory, men,
Form:
Verse
He kept one foot in the stirrup
And one foot on her porch.
Wasn’t sure what he was doin’
But he shor' had the torch.
Didn’t know just what he wanted,
Or just what he should say.
If she’d just give a little hint,
He knew he’d gladly stay.
But she was quiet, so was he,
Hoss was gettin’ jumpy.
He had to move one of his feet,
‘Fore he got plumb grumpy.
About that time a cat run by,
Was follered by a dog.
A bark and hiss, the hoss took off
And drug him like a log.
He bounced along about a block
Before his boot came loose.
He laid there in the dust awhile
An’ wondered “What’s the use?”
She strolled right up to where he lay,
Said, “Cowboy, you’re a mess.”
He gave a sheepish little grin
Said, “That’s what I would guess!”
She said “Just come along with me,
Dad’s old clothes you’ll borrow.
Just spend the night with me tonight,
Get the horse tomorrow.”
She said, “You’ve got to find a way
To say what’s on your mind.
A better way than bein’ dragged
I’m sure you’re bound to find!”
The next time that they kissed goodnight
And he was homeward bound
The hoss had noticed that his boss
Had both feet on the ground!
June 2, 2013
For Contest I Got Zero, Nothin, Nada-2
Judged N/A in Contest 101 in a Row -6; Judged 7/23/16
Categories:
stirrup, drug,
Form:
Cowboy Poetry
I wear a veil of iron mesh,
it sheilds me from sensation,
it's like the one that Jackie wore
after Jack's assassination.
I was just a youngster then,
but, deep inside, I knew,
that with that act of violence
came the end of Xanadu.
My childhood innocense was gone
along with Camelot,
Pandora's box had opened wide
because of Oswald's shot.
Our world came tumbling down that day
an avalanche of evil,
it mowed us down, unstoppable
and crushed the souls of people.
The event was filmed and broadcast
and showed repeatedly,
until the images were burned
forever, indelibly.
The coal-black steed was riderless,
a boot in stirrup reversed,
the symbolism so powerful that,
to this day, it hurts.
And John-John with his little flag,
oh, how we ached with grief,
the look on Lyndon Johnson's face,
stunned with disbelief.
Our world received a lethal wound
still gaping to this day
and evil wrapped its tentacles
and many were lead astray.
Oswald shot on live TV!
The man who killed those nurses!
The Boston Strangler whistling,
the Devil loosed his curses.
Shots rang out from campus tower,
they slayed the Reverand King,
and then they killed poor Bobby,
he would never see the Spring.
But Spring would never be the same
once evil was unleashed,
gone were the days when we were safe,
our innocense was breeched.
Then wars broke out and haven't ceased
and millions have been killed,
and poisoned minds bring guns to school
and hearts are hatred-filled.
Innocents abducted,
babies raped and slain,
mothers drowning children,
the world has gone insane.
Don't turn to church to save your kids
so priests can then molest,
the Devil's even infested them,
he's made the church his nest.
Trust no one; lock your doors at night,
don't let your kids run free,
for evil has ensconced itself
and erased humanity.
Categories:
stirrup, angst, childhood, death, historyworld,
Form:
Rhyme