Written by: Vaquero Waddie
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Don't look a gift horse in the mouth
when you're chomping at the bit
the Withers of a horse is used
to measure height
Straight from the horse's mouth
believe what he say's
don't fail to wear your Halter
in your certain disipline
find yourself a true lover
one you call your freind
Backing the wrong horse
will have ya'll airing out ya'll's lungs
I could have told you she didn't
want all that kissy stuff
tire of you before
it was over
cause she plumb had enough
a great relationship
has it all
walk trot and cantar
slow when you need it slow
fast when it needs ah-cantar
you'll know when it's right
a smooth steady pace
I reckon all things like this
it the same all over the place
October twelfth
much cooler today in Kansas
If this was March I would be wearing shorts and a halter top
Since it is October
and we are sliding off a heat wave of ninety degree weather
I am reaching for my fuzzy socks and a sweatshirt
where are my snow boots?
I felt like just another and I knew it,
Hated myself but was forced to go through it.
I knew illness and self-disgust were the forces making me do it,
Leaving me with negative feelings and emotions to prove it.
Constantly wondering why I was making myself do it,
Yet here I was, allowing my person to resuscitate but I blew it.
I TAKE A BREATH
I’d be quickly reassured by my thoughts it’s because I’m a monster,
Edibl-y consumed, I’m an imposter.
Forcing my beat and bruised body to no longer halter,
I will continue to give in to life’s disgusting consumptions faulter.
Feeling low best way to alter is kneeling at the altar of the Taco my romeo
Halter stealing TexMex slaughter dealing burrito or nacho cos ends with “O”
Clever clogs in boho vlogs falter say hey “Cilantro” but it is a herb so no
Yanks know tanks finest order for lothario or marauder's below the border
Crow say tally ho a true aficionado go gung-ho for mojo halo of Mexico
Mole is not a relic a culinary medic as holy as a cleric just like Pozole
Wholly done slowly not being hasty most things tasty ends in an “E”
Alright in the larder not from the Armada friends Guacamole or Tamale
“A” senorita might say forgot Enchilada and Quesadilla or Conchinita
Sages simmer sauces for ages so many stages as the flavour rages
The most pure for many I’m sure would quip the tip “al Pastor” Taco
Their cocoa gusto & avocado bravado so come on everyone go loco
Forget the crime.. sublime..prime chime once upon a time in Mexico
.
'neath thuh prairie'z
thickets
'long it's lush open
hidden
mostly
'twere that pink
halter yo
stuck it were
in duh visible
thump
'cross mine dome
her daddy'z
warn
")
.
yesss
ourn first
met
i were try'n tuh
make my new
basketball
in the hoop
and she were
doodling with chalk
on thuh court
with hot pants and
halter
i blew that shot
Being in a rut is driving me nuts.
I feel trapped in this doldrums.
In my mind, I am screaming …
Please, somebody! Get me out!
Writing is hard, nothing comes to mind.
Going out is tough, even to the market.
All I do is read, transporting me to Boston,
and Vermont, the settings of the stories.
Need to write, but my muse is not around.
Need to move, but cannot find my groove.
Breathe! Need to do something, do something …
Ahhh, put make up on, a leather mini skirt to
show sexy legs, a halter hot pink top and now
I feel hot, hot, hot … ole, ole … bye, doldrums!
October gallops in as stolid as a gray mare,
a blunt wind snorts furiously through autumnal trees.
Foliage rattles, but does not fall, it clings still
to green stems.
Appalachian backwoods have tough roots,
shod as they are into an earth salted
with a dark gritty ore.
Bears are foraging and reaping,
their black silky pelts clamber over gusting winds
to reach the furthest fruits
before first snows overburden stoic pines.
Today the sky is unharnessed
and racing at full tilt
It whips my raw lips like a wet mane,
it rears up to stamp down upon its own
animated onslaught.
I adjust my rucksack and reshoulder a shotgun
grin, eyes watering
caught under the stampeding gale,
buffeted now by its muscular flanks.
I need to bridle this striding wind,
to halter its headlong charge,
or better yet just surrender -
turn my back on it,
let it ride me
as we leap down from the hilltops
whooping it up like cowboys.
Horses, hearty and hale,
Hither they hurry, hooves hitting the trail.
Hear their harmonious hum,
Heavy with history, homeward they come.
Heads held high, with haughty grace,
Hair flowing free, a flowing mane's embrace.
Harness and halter, a humbling hold,
Humble steeds, stories untold.
Hoofs beat a rhythm, a rhythmic refrain,
Horsepower and heart, a powerful strain.
Heroes of history, heroes of yore,
Horses, forever, we'll forever adore.
quicksands bleak inside
breathless danger spreads arms wide…
choked desires subside
frail footsteps falter
life’s flow hindered by halter…
fortune doesn’t alter
time sands never stop
with debris of dreams they drop…
shattered hopes lose prop
inner light flashes
in desolate dark pathway…
new journey begins
walk out of dismay
fight the war raging within…
future holds promise
divine grace gleams life
find winner in soul’s sanctum…
timeless bliss attained
Dress De Flor
Red Gladiolus
is the flower of August,
fashion fabulous.
A dressmakers dream?
Spaghetti stringed halter top,
and blouson waistline
Made of real flowers?
Fabrics wired to flare-up,
then crimped and dyed red.
The store owner's son
placed an order for a gown.
Dressmakers fear him.
"I want to impress,
have it ready by Sunday"
For your fiancée?
I’ll start right away.
"It’s for her bridal shower.
Just have it ready"...
..."I’m back for the dress.
It looks just like the picture.
I’m surely impressed.
How will she sit down?"
Just not on her derrière,
There was no time left
I Worked day and night
With the few days you gave me
Forgive me please sir.
Best for her to stand all day.
Walk of shame
Parades past my house everyday
Ebony girl
Laptop pinned under her arm
Walking with purpose
White halter, black shorts
And flip flops
Pass her on my way to store
She's a lot further on my way back
Going to get what I forgot
She's made tracks
Girl can walk
Eyes locked to the ground
Where's the fire
She's scared
I turn around
Stop across the road from her
Roll down my window
"Can I give you a ride?"
She gets in. I listen
21, and well, 21
First night in jail
I get her big cold bottle of water
Along with what I forgot
Take her home
She calls friend to come get her
"I don't know... some nice old man" she says
An hour later car stops out front
She turns smiles pretty pearls and waves goodbye
Some nice old man
Smiles back, tips his hat
Asks himself why
As he walks inside
Not Karma
(Though he could use some)
Nor Jesus points
(He doesn't believe)
Just do what you should
Feels good
Nigeria has a wild Walter!
A horse to hold by the halter
And drag to a Yoke-Breaking Altar;
Priests to hopefully alter
What The Devil about him did utter:
The Spirit Denizens of their water,
From there pounding him in a mortar …
Nigeria’s Euphoric Walter
Who fully kisses his daughters
And only last week a Hotel Porter’s
Just to celebrate a peppery otter
Which at first had forced out a mutter …
Always like this with Lost Walter
Known to often in Spirit falter
And along walked streets totter.
Past life is immutable, we Cannot alter
Resistance is futile, shAckles only halter
Each stRuggles to escape, their attempts will falter
Same with Plans of future, always inscrutablE
Empty of promise, enDlessly transmutable
Nothing certain, all predIcitions disputablE
Today Means life not death, thus irrefutable
August 29, 2021
Poor or too rich,
different in form or race?
Remain slave to no opinion,
identity is a label for a can of beans.
Nothing living and upright
need bow
to a tribal or common hitch or halter.
When they call you this and that,
every badge they pin on you
is a disguised condescension.
To them you will always be
a victim of low expectations.
Man is your name and woman your truth.
When they come to you
with their polls, clipboards,
their pandering unctuousness,
look them in the eye,
say: ‘I am one of a kind,
a race of becoming giants,
a living spirit of God,
imperfect - yes
but I can be seen clearly,
while you
live in the shadow of a lie.’
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