A trad wife boomer woman I know has quietly seethed for almost an entire week.
I had no idea because I am far too focused on writing poems with cool mystique.
I have been connecting with kind new people and keeping my wits sharp and sleek.
But her feelings don't mean anything to me anymore because she is sadly very rude.
For the last two years I have endured her jealousy and her prejudiced, sour attitude.
We would all be much better off if she went to therapy and developed some fortitude.
when they made a goof
we had found proof on the roof
saw prints made by each hoof
we did see spry deer
which on our roof would appear
knew Christmas was here
we opened presents
would love in every essence
with perfect pleasance
Written: November 07, 2023
____________________________________________
Am I condoning a state of affluence?
In recent desultory decadence
Have I drawn a swan dive of choice?
Don't you hear your mom clamoring?
Don't you grasp her voice?
Backward between and beyond riverstone?
Holler—herald hidden phylum, hunt voice
of failed fulfillments
The hind hock hoof is hermitic.
With any accismus to anthropomorphize beasts
Winter wolf moon wakes up her litter
for sustenance, the man in me would slaughter
the wolf.
Tracks—that permeate darkness
their compulsory murder. Everyone needs
a meal
drifted and whistled from hair to heel,
things outside seem odd, ghostly, surreal.
Amid snow—hooves slowed to soak in
across the waves—why my soul seeped
a sailor has been seen dozing off
whilst the riverside weeps
trust—my footprints feature
fear—cynicism.
Their hoof beats pound into my dreams
Spanish mustangs, weighing over a ton
Florida cracker horse saved by breeders
Marsh tacky from South Carolina
Arriving in dun, bay, roan, black and grullo
There are eighty thousand feral horses in the US today
Wild mustangs living off the land in Utah, Wyoming and Texas
They would probably scoff at the dinky Choctaws in Mississippi
For those specimens e a mere thirteen to fourteen hands high.
Equidae fossils have been found in Wyoming
Proof we had horses here three million years ago
Before climate change made them extinct.
Luckily Cortez brought them back in 1519.
A hop, a skip and a jump
will get you over the hump
Unless you're in a car
in which case
you can't jump too far
In Solitude I Wander
The countryside I roam
Like a fox without a den
I don’t possess a home.
A minstrel on a fiddle
Plucking strings, come rain or snow
With furry friends a-following
To hear this one man show.
Little birds cheep out in tune
Their tweeting symphony
As all of nature comes alive
In joyful harmony.
The trees bow down their branches
As this chorus walks on by
They rustle leaves in honour
Raising spirits to the sky.
12th October 2020
Completely your choice (25) any form any theme Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
*
Two players were vying at darts,
there’s chaos when somebody farts
Both players deny
letting a fart fly
and suddenly the trouble starts
Maybe their gut gave them some gyp,
and secretly they just let rip
The smell of rotten eggs
wafted between his legs
This wasn’t deemed good gamesmanship!
The farting was done with precision,
and captured on the television
The stench lingered around
till the winner was crowned
It’s lucky it’s not smellovision!
I couldn’t resist writing after reading this article in the press!
https://news.sky.com/story/darts-players-let-rip-as-they-accuse-each-other-of-farting-during-match-11557078
11/19/18
He’d eaten baked beans for his brunch
Then onion rings he did munch
He built up so much gas
Which he then had to pass
The odour it sure packed a punch
Poor Michael was quite broken hearted -
His fiancé asked if he’d farted
To disguise his foul flatus
He stood by sweet clematis
Then into the bushes he darted
His fiancé said ‘you silly goose
It’s okay to let little farts loose
You should alter your diet
It’s easy, just try it
There’s no need to become a recluse’!
9/1/18
My uncle whose first name is Hedley
Does farts that are silent but deadly
Rancid food in his belly
Makes his farts really smelly
If distinct, then we'd hear a medley!
FICTION WRITE
07-26-17
Notice how the devil
keeps one foot pulled back
so you do not know
who he really is.
In the distant thunder I can hear the sound of riders drawing near
A gathering storm that will soon hit with great force
The first rider will ride in on a white horse a bow by his side
He comes in the name of peace and good will, but he practices to deceive with
flattery and great skill
A red horse follows close on the first riders heels
He comes with a sword to take peace from the earth and cause men to kill
War shall ravage the land and the blood of men will flow as a river across the desert
sands
A black horse closes the distance
He will cause a great famine to spread over the land
Many shall cry out in hunger and pain as food shortages cause great strain.
Many shall die in this dark hour of need for there shall be found no grain or seed
Riding in at full gallop the fourth horsemen approaches
The name of this rider is Death and Hell follows close behind him
Men shall watch in defenseless terror, for unto the pale horse
Power is given to kill by the sword, with hunger and the beasts of the field
The time has come to sound a warning through the land for the approaching hoof
beats
of the apocalypse is nigh at hand
Hoof beats has shattered our silence
bringing forth unspeakable violence
death riding the very air
coming soon if not already there
guns and bombs in foreign lands
sold from our side to wicked hands
soon they'll return to our own land
with wicked returns, guns in our hands
when will they teach of Ghandi
or Martin Luther King
have they made a vow
never to turn the other cheek
if they can not learn from India
or even hear the words of God
their fortune is misfortune
and oh so terrible a fate
why can't there be peace there
must they threaten violence everywhere
why do those who speak peace even dare
speak peace to those who do not care
the vengeful, the robbed
those who dare to question God
blinded by hatred so thick
it clouds the mind
with happy thoughts of vengeance
hatred fueled by love
the most powerful thing on earth
death is arriving in the very air
hoof beats of horseman silent snare
Death, I've seen your face before,
heard your knock on my son's door,
that time you came without forewarning,
the shock, the grief, the endless mourning.
This time I felt your hoof beats thunder,
dark horse tearing all asunder,
cold hand of death would seize another,
lethally, you chose my mother.
Death divides us like a wall,
no encore, no curtain call,
and though we can't be side by side,
our love can cross this great divide.
Life is short, or so they say,
but grief elongates every day.
Time, they say, will heal all wounds,
but mine are deep and widely strewn.
The midnight sky is bright with stars,
I whisper to you "Au Revoir,"
a gentle breeze-my cheek is kissed,
I hope you know how much you're missed.
©Danielle White
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