Best Whinny Poems
MUSTANGS
The ground shudders, and shakes,
Under pounding hooves.
Echoing against canyon walls.
Fast and furious wild hearts beat,
Keeping equal pace, with the prairies,
Wide divide.
From within hell's fiery furnace,
Tempered muscle drives motions sinew.
Behold evolution's die hard breed,
Built for no other purpose except,
Excessive Speed.
Racing along at razors edge,
Accelerating testing endurance's,
Brute strength.
Mustangs roam god's vast expanse,
Deserts devils burning blazing trails.
Encounters ghostly figures, dwelling amongst,
Forbidden territories reservations.
Dust clouds shadow creatures alluding,
Humanities intensive detection.
Harnessing destiny's forgotten beasts,
Freedom's native horses challenging,
Limitless domain.
Blackened pitch melting seamlessly,
Mixing with hewed grays.
Heaven's canvas erupts.
Storms rage splits lightening’s,
Aftershock,
Herding horse flesh towards,
Maximum Resolution.
Divine specters haunting thunders,
boarder lands, slick footed range warriors.
Traveling hidden roads ancient paths.
Natures raw power hardens brutalities
Magnificence.
Rival Arabians fight to prove dominates.
One lone stallion stands, dark bristling mane,
Brushed by evenings cooling breeze.
The leader takes cliffs highest plateau.
As silences experienced guardian,
He watches cautiously.
Resting at sunsets twilight hour,
Quenching thirsts, unyielding desires.
Next to waters crystal streams they ease.
Gently relieving tension's strains
Beside one another.
Comforts unity beneath reflective,
Moonlight's softness.
Mares and colts whinny in graduates,
Thanks.
Soon it shall come upon them,
Once more.
Dawn's rays cross horizons palette,
Under universal skies.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Life was so carefree for me as a child, way back when
I was just a little girl who loved to dream and pretend
that I would grow up to be a doctor's nurse and mend
those who were hurt and sick. Their needs I would tend.
Way back then when I was ten, my world was small.
Dad was the man in my life. In my eyes he stood tall.
Working on our farm didn't seem like work at all
and when dinner was ready, we'd hear Mom's call.
My siblings and I had pets, but Bandi was my favorite one.
He'd wag his tail and run with me when my work was done.
He was a hunter and cocked his ears when Dad got the gun.
Way back then when I was ten, my life was filled with fun.
We didn't have a car, but on a farm we needed a truck.
When I honked the horn it made the silly chickens cluck.
It came in handy hauling our vegetables to earn a buck.
We sat in the flatbed when Dad said, "Corn to shuck."
I was a bit of a tom boy, never wanted to play with a doll.
My sister asked Santa for Barbie; my brother- a basketball.
All I wanted was a horse, but Mom was afraid I'd take a fall.
I heard a whinny in the morn; the tom boy began to bawl.
What few worries I had at ten, when life was so simplistic.
Too old to need a babysitter; too young to think of lipstick.
I chased lightning bugs at night, taught Bandi his new trick.
Those small parts of growing up are good memories that stick.
:.............................................................................:
January 24th, 2016 Way Back When I Was Ten Contest
Sponsored by Kelly Deschler
James Hinkshaw
There once was a man named James Hinkshaw.
Who planned to go to town for a jigsaw.
He had hick-saws and jinx-saws
He even had a wink-saw.
But no penny-whinny jigsaw—
He loved riding to town in his rickshaw.
Once he drove there to buy his new jigsaw.
His new rickshaw broke down.
He was not yet in town.
So, he walked there with hacksaw and jinx-saw.
It was a long day for James Hinkshaw.
He walked into town with no rickshaw.
As he went on his way,
A bear started a fray.
So he killed the old bear with his hacksaw.
There, alone on the road was James Hinkshaw.
And the bear butchered there with his hacksaw.
Oh, what could he do?
He felt sure no one knew.
He was there with dead bear but no rickshaw.
Poor old James had not made it to town.
And the sun was about to go down.
When he knelt there to pray,
A peddler came his way.
And sold poor old James Hinkshaw a jigsaw.
James Hinkshaw then had a new jigsaw.
To add to his hick-saws, and winks-saw…
He needed to go home.
In the dark, he could not roam.
What would happen to weary James Hinkshaw?
The peddler who sold James the jigsaw,
Gladly drove him back to the rickshaw.
In exchange for bear meat,
He let James rest his feet.
Toeing home, James Hinkshaw and his rickshaw.
DEDICATED to my grandfather, who would never say, “Pudding &
Taine…ask me again and I'll tell you the same” He, instead would laugh and rapidly say,
“James-John-Hinksaw-Winksaw-Penny-Winny-Jinksaw!” (Of course, this was Not his name)
LOL His imagination and mine are now joined…again. SMILES. I love you, Granddad!
© © Dane Smith-Johnsen
February 21, 2010
Poetic form: Limerick: a story series
Around the river bend
Near the edge of the woods
There lives a Lakota tribe
Celebrating the latest rain
The steady pounding beat of the drum
The women dance a sacred dance
As the men pass the pipe
Nodding in happiness
The ponies whinny in the background
With feathers in their flowing manes
As they toss their heads about
Their hooves ponding the earth with the drums
The celebration can be heard now
As a hundred years have gone by
They will never be only a memory
For their future generations will never forget
I am a dreamer literally for I dream a lot
With most of them remembered, few of them forgot.
My dreams are always based in reality,
Although quite mixed up they often tend to be.
But this particular dream I had just yesterday,
Was different from all the rest, I have to say.
I've never dreamed before of a fantasy creature;
Never before has fantasy entered as a feature.
It seems, in my dream I had a unicorn,
The cutest little horse with a little horn.
She was pure white like I've never seen,
Whiter than the snow, all fresh and clean.
Perfectly proportioned, rather small in size,
Maybe seven hands at her withers, I would surmise.
She knew she held a place confirmed in my heart.
She was a delight to watch and so very smart.
Her soft and low nickering never let me fear
Her presence was very far but always close and near.
She'd nuzzle me gently for treats and for pets.
Such a joy to me, she brought me no regrets.
The center of attention she really loved to be
And all her little antics were amusing to see.
Her moves so graceful, a ballerina couldn't beat;
She pranced like there was air underneath her feet.
She would stamp her little foot, toss her head around,
Let her little haunches drop 'til they met the ground.
Then her little muzzle she would lift up towards the sky,
As she'd neigh the cutest whinny with a pitch rather high.
I loved to hear her whinny, a delight to my ear
And she would whinny, be expecting then to hear
A response from me in the language that she spoke,
But as I replied with a whinny, sadly I awoke.
Now I'm left to wonder why she came to me
In a dream so surreal, as though reality.
A reason for I seek, since my dreams often do foretell,
But about this one I am puzzled of my little Uni-Belle.
Written by Artsieladie/Sharon Donnelly
©2018-04-05 23:55:00 (EDT)
All rights reserved.
I heard them talking in low voices.
“I will watch her today,” one hissed.
“It is my turn,” argued the other one, in an even lower tone.
I scrunched my eyes tightly, pretending to remain asleep.
“Shh! She’s awake!” a loud whisper.
“How do you know?”
“Look at her.”
I scrunched my eyes a bit tighter, but tried to relax my forehead.
Fooling neither. Silence came.
So I sat up and began blinking around the room.
The dog was snoring loudly.
Both the clock radio and Alexa were silent.
Had I dreamed these voices?
I felt a small petite whinny.
A psychic clue.
But what horse is in here?
My eyes traveled over the top of the dresser.
There are fireflies, butterflies, raccoons, and angels represented.
But horse? No.
Snicker. A small psychic one.
Two horses. I glance sharply to my right,
and look into the face of a purple unicorn I have painted.
Suddenly knowing, my face throws herself to the left.
Where the pink polka dot unicorn is silently snickering.
It helps to have a sixth sense sometimes.
I call neither out,
glad for their protection.
Church Lady Cat was a formidable, skinny, ugly wrinkly old crazy thing.
Never showed a smile, and certainly did not cheerfully hymn-sing.
We saw her at church, and knew she would come and get the money.
No man in town had ever called this old prissy baby or honey.
Blue eyed hag had a meanness that only arrives in the lap of skinny.
So homely, many of us made jokes that she could probably whinny.
She wore a padded bar under her lacy blouse and I pointed it out.
Brother let out a not-for-church stupid horrific dumb brother shout.
Mother gave us both a mean unmotherly look that meant “now be nice!”
In the sixties, she did not have to give us that look more than twice!
Church Lady Cat’s clothes were made of drapery material I swear.
Doubt she had anything but lead in her undersized kitty underwear.
Wore a purple hat with the cluster of marshmallow baubles of pink.
She was a blue eyed woman, who never walked with a slink.
She had dainty ivory gloves that covered most of her skin.
If they had covered her scrawny face, it would have been more of a win.
I thought she was the weirdest craziest person at church for sure.
Then I got a job at the grocery store, and met her other side, demure.
She was helpful and kind, and made me feel at home, became a friend.
Now I get in fights daily to defend her. Yes, sir. I will fight you to the end!
My whinny,crabby, hungry teen
Your stinky,spoiled and quite mean
You want, you need, you have to have
The latest,newest, modern fad
Your greasy, grimy, hands smear
My wall, light switches, and the mirror
Empty snack bags,with sweet and sour
Create tall,extensive buildings that tower
Your messy,your dirty,in need of a shower
Please make it quick,not loiter an hour
Your smelly,nasty, disgusting shoes
Are slowly poisoning every room
Even with big mouth,rolling eyes and sighs
I would not trade you, I surmise
NARWHAL
Nine noted naughty notorious Narwhals.
Active admirable acrobat anonymous aqua mammals.
Restless rowdy racers rolling on rocky shore.
Whimsical whinny women whales whistling wonderfully.
Haughty horny huge herculean was haply harpooned.
Alarming appearance of angry arctic animals.
Legendary Sea- Urchins leaped laughed loud.
10/13/15
HM
Contest on Narwhal
Second Place
Contest No. 620 with Alliteration Style' By Brian Strand
*This is an actual letter that I wrote to my father, so it's not written in any form of
poetry in mind. It just comes from the heart, and I think that's the best kind of
poetry. I know the grammer is proper, but I my eyes were full of tears and that's the
last thing I cared about at the moment*
Dear Father,
I have a question for you. Do you hate me or something? Because it seems like no
matter what I do, I do it wrong, and no matter what I say I'm being whinny or rude.
I'm sorry if I've upset you, but I don't believe I have. I have been so nice to you and
helped you out a lot these past few months and all I get in return is hurt. I ndon't
understand why you always have to be mean to me. You tell me to tell you how I
feel, but when I do I get yelled at for it, because I'm just a 'PUNK 17 YEAR OLD". I
don't know why I've been so nice to you when you treat me like the scum of the
earth. So can you please explain it to me? You've told us stories about how your dad
was such a jerk and how he pushed you all away, and I'm sorry, but I don't really
see a difference between you two. You're pushing all of us kida away from you and
making us not want to be around you. You're making me cry everyday and I know
for a fact you're hurting everyone else too. I'm not trying to be whinny or rude, or
even hurt your feelings with this letter, but I thought you would want to know what
you're doing to me. And how you're me not even want to live at home anymore. I
remember back before Evony, you were way nicer and you didn't drink as much. We
actually did stuff, like play cards, just the two of us, right before I went to bed. But
now when we do that, we have to play by your computer so you can still play your
stupid game. You can't even pull away from that STUPID GAME for ten minutes to
play a game with your daughter, and show her that even though you may not show
it, that you do still love her. It's really hurting me to write this, and I'm sure it hurts
you to read it, but I'm hoping that by writing this letter, I will no longer cry because
of you every night. Even though you may hurt me all the time, I do still love you. And
I hope you still love me too, even though I'm not sure if you do anymore.
Love Sierra
The cowboy he rode on out of the hills
Slumped over his good horse Fred.
Covered in dust, the least of his ills,
Both he and the horse half-dead.
He took a long drink to clear his head,
And felt a shutter, then a long wait,
In the motion of poor Fred’s gate.
He looked back and saw no more foe
No sight of old Mad Dog Giles,
Who’d chased him hard, both high and low
For forty frantic and breathless miles,
Across endless, hardened, desert tile.
Giles had chased, determined to slay
The cowboy who loved a girl in his pay.
Over mountain slopes of broken stone,
Through a canyon of red-hued rock,
Through alkali sinks, scattered with bones,
The Mad Dog his prey had stalked.
The cowboy, his foe, could not out-fox.
But the good horse Fred was the best of steads,
And ran till the other dropped of fatigue.
The cowboy he climbed out of the saddle,
Glad to finally move his own feet.
Fred gave a whinny, the cowboy looked down
At a swollen and bulging knee,
It was broken, he could clearly see.
A flash of rage burned in his soul,
To see the chase’s heavy toll.
The cowboy fumed, ranted, and raged
He’d raised good Fred from birth!
This stallion had taken him ‘cross the range,
Through tall mountains and deserts adverse,
And now he was doomed to the Earth…
His only true friend, would soon be gone
Thanks to a mad man’s temper and imagined wrongs.
He saw no use prolonging the end,
He whispered words and stroked Fred’s face.
The gun quivered in shaky hands,
But the barrel, it found the place.
He squeezed, and Fred met his fate.
The cowboy fell down to his knees,
And roared out loud in agony.
When he rose again his stare was cold,
He made no effort to fool himself.
For the love of a horse, both strong and bold,
He’d sent that damn bastard to hell!
And through time the tales would tell:
That a broken cowboy, driven by wrath
Had made the Mad Dog breath his last…
A Horseman
https://www.youtube.com/edit?o=U&video_id=V9rXOdSslKA
Just watching the Magnificent Seven again,
Seen it many times of course,
Yul Brynner and Steve Mc Queen,
Two horsemen a sitting their horses,
When horse and man move as one,
You know, these are men that can ride,
Old drovers could tell in a heartbeat,
Yes it’s a matter of pride,
For when you have lived in the saddle,
And you feel the beat of his heart,
Your horse does carry you gladly,
gets a grip, like your only sweetheart ,
but my friend and I are now parted,
no longer his whinny or sigh,
but I still have his saddle,
just a horseman, a waiting to die.
Don Johnson
The day began with a shouting match between a cowpoke and his horse.
It became so heated and continued all day until they both became hoarse.
Old Dan maintained that the cowpoke was so obese it caused his back to sag!
The cowpoke dug in his spurs and called Old Dan a "Naggy Nag"!
NEIGH! THIS IS NOT WHAT FRIENDS SHOULD SAY... NAY!
"You cinch the saddle so tight I can hardly breathe", Old Dan declared.
"Then you ride me in the dust of the Drag with my nostrils flared"!
"Yer as lazy and stubborn as an old army mule"!, the cowpoke replied.
"At calf ropin' time you let me down...even old milk cows out-run you"! he cried.
NEIGH! THIS IS NOT WHAT FRIENDS SHOULD SAY... NAY!
"Neigh! Neigh! Stop jabbin' me with them spurs!
I'm gonna' buck you off even though I am yers!
You ride me hard and nary a word of praise do I get"!
"If'n you keep on that whinny-whinin' I'll trade you fer a mule yet!
NEIGH! THIS IS NOT WHAT FRIENDS SHOULD SAY... NAY!
"You can't even throw a loop on a cow you so-and-so,
And you need a lot more practice usin' that old lasso!
When you do git one I stand and hold the rope still...
Even though your chance of throwin' him are oh so nil"!
NEIGH! THIS IS NOT WHAT FRIENDS SHOULD SAY... NAY!
"I can rope 'em and throw 'em and brand 'em too,
If I only got a little more help from you!
Oh, you know I'm just spoutin' about that army mule..."
"Well, I know you aint that much of a fool".
NEIGH! THIS IS NOT WHAT FRIENDS SHOULD SAY... NAY!
As the cowpoke pulled the saddle off Old Dan that night,
He took an apple from his pocket and gave him a bite.
"I'll be gettin' you some better food and some new shoes too,
Just to show you I wanna' make it up to you".
NYEIGH! THIS IS MORE OF WHAT FRIENDS SHOULD SAY... YEA!
Old Dan got a little teary eyed when this he heard,
Bowed his head...then nuzzled up the cowpoke without a word.
There never was another day between them with this kind of discourse,
Peace again, between the cowpoke and Old Dan, his horse.
Co-written by: Robert L. Hinshaw and Dan Cwiak for Duet Contest
written 12/20 - 12/25/15
The
Cookie Farm
Homemade whipped cream
Cradled in a strawberry stream
Cotton bonnets as far as the eye can see
Fifty pickers gathering berries for a fee
Distant rows of fruit bearing trees
Stately greening in the breeze
Ice man with his horse and cart
Want ice? Got old iron for my cart?
Stallions whinny from the barn
Granny's on the porch twirling yarn
Over the butter barrel labors Sis
I picked some lettuce nice and crisp
Lunch bell rings we all go running
Sis took my seat Oh so cunning
Memories of these days I reminisce
Wholesome days of sunny bliss
Carole Cookie Arnold
2010
My friend is known for a horsey type grin
Along with his whinny, he can run like the wind
Through fields of clover
Don't mind his odour
Just hold onto your schnoz and try not to wince