Long Coronet Poems
Long Coronet Poems. Below are the most popular long Coronet by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Coronet poems by poem length and keyword.
Clans, Ilks and Tartans
Woven into threads of red and black,
Girded by grids of white,
Distant plaintive bagpipe memories
Of sunset over Kilmaurs –
A crest that bears a unicorn
Touches royal roots
As a poet’s tribute to a patron lost
Watches neighbors Campbell and Montgomerie
Then looks out on the seas from tidal lands
Of Ayrshire in flings and reels with swirling kilts
When explorer’s feet recall on new world shores
The mew of seagulls soaring –
Politicians, engineers and entrepreneurs -
Over Fork Over – Cunningham, a clan of auld.
Blocks of green and wine
Stripped with blue
Look back into the heather
Covering highland hills of country dances
Where spring wanders in hunting kilts
Beneath clear cerulean heavens,
Boldly enduring;
A crest that bears a coronet
Of storied noble and knight
Whose melancholy legend
Whispers in glens and gloaming
Of standard bearers for a king
Watched by Ogilvy and Stewart
Lindsay, a clan of auld.
Like sunlight bouncing off of autumn leaves
In crimson, golden amber, umber greening hues -
A sword dance of squares and lines in twirling kilts -
Near the sparkling waters of Loch Lomond;
Clan neighbor Graham and cousins MacCammon
See the crest adorned by a coronet
Prize of battle;
The wind remembers
Tiny windswept island Clarinch -
A battle cry of Clar Innes -
Campaigns of kings and exiled queens –
Chieftain’s seat sees a president and prospector -
Hence the brighter honor – Buchanan, a clan of auld.
Cousins of the same ilk
Bear the names of families -
Of highland lands
And lowland memories -
Seaside and mountain territories -
Kilts wearing colors interwoven patterns
Born of clans with
Tartans telling legends and the stone of destiny,
Plaids dancing at the piper’s hand,
Ancient names, though maybe hidden, still live –
Cunnyngham, Lindsey and MacCammon
Of Buchanan –
In Celtic refrains like iridescent whispers
Woven through clans of auld.
This is the story of my Scottish heritage through the mottos, the tartans, the history and geographic references to the clan homes.
I sit at my table - I sip onion soup
It's good for my cough - bad case of the croup
I could do with a meal and something to sup
But the bar is now closed - the buffet locked up
The dry glass of flowers long started to wither
I yell for the waiter to make him run hither
The air con is broken I tell the garçon
It needs a regas - kindly put the fan on
Feeling light headed - the air closely stifles
I open my backpack and check on my rifle
I take out my weapon - look into the muzzle
The waiter just hoofs it - he answers this puzzle
He returns with a bottle and drinking glassware
A plate of moule-frites with some haricot vert
A slice of French brie in a fresh French baguette
And a royal dessert - an ice cream coronet
I pick up my glass of cool German hock
With fake deference I fake tug my forelock
He takes from his apron some pen and some paper
He's taking a poll - so how was your waiter?
I've gone four lines over - the limit I'm hitting
But hang on a second - this might not be fitting
And where are the horses in this French venue?
With snails and frog leggies - they're on the menu
Uses (sort of) the following words (in bold): muzzle, forelock, fetlock, hock, withers, stifle, poll, croup, gaskin, frog, hoof and coronet.
What on Earth inspired me
In life when I have to compete
I'm sometimes a little offbeat
This time I split words
Used meanings absurd
And wrote about menued horse meat
Reposting date: November 6th 2016
This contest: Take the dagger from my heart please - 3
Original contest: Horses
Original contest finalised: October 30th 2016
My life seems to last forever now that I’ve start aging
The sudden onset aches and pains start engaging
My home is in a theme park petting zoo where other animals live and rest
Each day zoo attendants feed, water, and groom us to look our best for our guests
These little creatures called Children come into the petting zoo
With the sounds of ooohs, aaahs of surprise as they walk through
Sheep, goats, rabbits, to feed and interact physically with safety
Some of these little creatures try to chase me, some of us get shaky
A tall creature with a long mane and forelock yells, “Wait a minute baby!”
Is this tall creature going to save me?
A young pony, a true friend is 7 hands at the wither not as tall as me
Wearing a blanket and saddle for a rider to sit, and bridle to guide in safety
Zoo attendants teach the proper ways to handle animals
while brushing my forelock, poll, croup, and withers
They lift my gaskin the area behind my leg between the stifle and hock pointing to my fetlock explaining that is actually more like the ball of the foot on a human
Naming my coronet where it meets my hoof down to my frog; a highly elastic wedge-shaped mass on the underside of the hoof and supports both locomotion and circulation
When all is done the attendant extending a hand placing a treat close to my muzzle treating us with love and kindness, as we bubble full of admiration
10/20/2016
Horses - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Shadow Hamilton
use the following words
Muzzle, forelock, fetlock, hock, withers, stifle, poll, croup, gaskin, frog, hoof and coronet.
Uniwest
Perceived as crown from heavens, mini kingdom of isolated tribes. Its beauty is painted in the wall of beholders eyes. The story of ancient Biblical thoughts. Kingdom of named after stones. Mahikeng camp of jacks and jelly, chain of Gladiator, Bichua Italy land belong to Spartacus. Roman-jungle of miracle.
It’s Powerful and dictatorship is well known by its five kingdoms. Its status is spotted like United States Doll er-sin in every vision. Its mission is preaching keys that opens kingdom of paradise, Mount Kilimanjaro Glory of success.
Its five discipline disciple impregnate every prostitute found on its street, through martial arts. Exam constitute of justice and true. Power and selection of murder. Agle Janam Mohe king of kings’ shaka to Zulu. Well protected like language Setswana. Uniwest; its kingdom have eleven department of prison.
Start with James entertainment, gift given to Lional messie. Ikanlha, Dr Mandela residence to Hopewell till lost in city prison. Jail of education as a mother of children who need guidance. Laws of success, numbering and commence is their daily bread while agricultural science and technology glorify their success bone with china.
Mortal salute your beauty, oh uniwest coronet. Your kingdom is spread with Fresh active juveniles of Adam and Eve pitch. Crowded bash, event of the year. Sasko bread at its best political success. “Cheese to new comers” Enjoy Full years of searching for key to you Final year to success. Let’s see life to our last journey speed like “Benz” car of a dream: speech from the next president. African boy, Benz I will drive at graduation parliament of Uniwest.
Ooh...this... just an amazing grace note
recalling how I felt like an ass
and wanna toot 'bout me getting steered
(as a heavy metal kid Rocker)
toward befriending a brass
see gutsy, horny,
and MainLine snooty upper class
action button down
(grace fully slick as vaseline), airily glinting
forcibly hawked, laundered, and pawned
by the instrumental
Mister Deangelo O'Donnell, High School
(mud flapping, ornery hearing,
and quid juicing Ska Welch ching)
music teacher oompah crass
tone deaf when aye trumpeted desire
to master the Coronet
analogous to pursing lips
blowing tightly held grass
blade between two abetted,
cinched fastened opposable thumbs,
which tooting a supposed aural aphrodisiac
to attract a zaftig well proportioned lass
(ideally shaped like a miniature Tuba)
with one steel funnel like mouthy mass
that probably explains, how such a gal
could easily emulate
facial pucker earning pass
to illustrious honorable first chair
and blasts gratitude akin
as Gabriel would declare
heavenly expressions conducting
angels thru atmospheric ether
alighting on mortal ushering melody
with rites of harkening
springtime Renaissance Faire
solar rays golden raiment
splays rainbow fragments off
beveled, bellowed, and
bedecked polished flare
audiological sound waves trick
saw toothed reflected
silhouetted orchestral shadows
to dance as conductor's baton gear
musicians horns ensemble
epochal feast to hear.
The first time I thought of him
His name was playing shortstop;
Too few siesta’s spent, he’s found eighteen.
Stingy Time did swiftly pass us forth,
Spinning nurture, spanning missteps,
Till foundation definition was writ soul-side.
Sparkling child, Number One,
All expectations overthrown
Set the mold against the measure
No one can meet, nor treasure find,
To manifest such precious boy,
Announcer of next family tone.
Since crawling days no motor
Stopped the quest for dinosaurs and sharks.
Pets for none, terror for most,
Hardly fodder for a lesser lad,
As he pursued magnificent fiendish friends
At intensity predicting future scope.
Relentless, that full pursuit, the intrepid ‘tween
Dog-chased antiquities' cold blooded beasts
And much maligned circling jaws of wet death.
High School contributed a Docent step,
To hear, close beside, bold lion roar at feeding time.
No tremble there, nor sweating palm, just awe-filled chill
Affirming joy in long sought thrills
Replaced with focused urgent yearning,
Bent to learn to read the fearful roar as script
Acknowledging coexistent travels
‘round stale Earth’s ailing wonder grounds,
Emulating lost garden’s destiny Divine.
And so, forthwith, traveling north to
Lumberjack U. to accelerate in craft,
Prized manhood horizon near at hand,
We’ll follow unabatedly our rising squire
As, pursing lip to coronet, coaxing contemplative calm,
He envisages trumpeting Eden’s second dawn.
They were on the summit of the hill as if poised in a portrait.
The breeze ruffling the stud's forelock and mane as he arched his head
responding to the reins he moved on as his rider leant forward and
rubbed his poll in affection. Tensed up his withers quivering he sprang into
action careening down the slope pulling up lame. His rider dismounted
and ran his hand down his legs finding some heat in the fetlock. Lifting
his leg he found the cause a stone lodged in his frog, using his hoof
pick he dislodged it thanking his lucky stars that it was not a pulled stifle.
Checking his hind legs for heat in the hocks and gaskin he found all to be well.
He patted his croup in affection and re-examined the front leg still a little heat but his coronet seemed fine. A week's rest should put him right allowing the bruised frog time to heal. It would be tight to keep him fit for their big show in three weeks time but a strained stifle would have put him out of action for at least six weeks. On foot he lead Silver back to the stables and there applied a poultice to his hoof which he would change daily until the frog recovered, leaving Silver munching happily on hay. He walked into the tack room and replaced his tack and stood admiring the rows of rosettes that lined the walls.. The upcoming show would give him the final proof of how superb he was and then people would flock to bring their mares to him and his line would be perpetuated long into the future.
At the foot of the mountain lies a wide verdant plain
With rich flowing breasts tend its enchanting brethren
A cuddly care that nature does, in collaboration with men
Catered to those gallant souls, nurturing the best it can
Every morning, when sunshine unfolds its resounding grace
Charming horses in auspicious race, dock their tails, all in graze
Glorious creatures they are when viewed near and afar
Precious stone-like muzzles adorned, each shines like ritzy car
Glossy fur is prominent, from withers, poll to forelock crane
The sophisticated look they have while galloping in any range
When the sun grows brighter in the middle of the day
Cowboys with their hats and chaps shout, hurray!
They run to check their rides before they saddle with glee
Patting stifle, gaskin, hock down to fetlock ‘though they’re jerky
Thorough inspection of hoof, coronet and frog they do and peek
And see if shoes are fixed, they’re good luck charms, shown in kicks
Stallions or mares, palomino, topaz… horses in any color and kind
Riding like a roller-coaster on their withers to their croup is so fine!
How I wish I can go with those cowboys in their pony-trekking
I want to be their horsewoman as they’ll be all my prince charming.
Oct. 17, 2016 1.40pm
Copyright2016Leonora Galinta
All Rights Reserved
Ninth Place
Contest: Horses
Judged: 10/30/2016
Sponsor: Poet Shadow Hamilton
I sit at my table - I sip onion soup
It's good for my cough - bad case of the croup
I could do with a meal and something to sup
But the bar is now closed - the buffet locked up
The dry glass of flowers long started to wither
I yell for the waiter to make him run hither
The air con is broken I tell the garçon
It needs a regas - kindly put the fan on
Feeling light headed - the air closely stifles
I open my backpack and check on my rifle
I take out my weapon - look into the muzzle
The waiter just hoofs it - he answers this puzzle
He returns with a bottle and drinking glassware
A plate of moule-frites with some haricot vert
A slice of French brie in a fresh French baguette
And a royal dessert - an ice cream coronet
I pick up my glass of cool German hock
With fake deference I fake tug my forelock
He takes from his apron some pen and some paper
He's taking a poll - so how was your waiter?
I've gone four lines over - the limit I'm hitting
But hang on a second - this might not be fitting
And where are the horses in this French venue?
With snails and frog leggies - they're on the menu
18th October 2016 - entry for "horses" contest
Uses (sort of) the following words (in bold): muzzle, forelock, fetlock, hock, withers, stifle, poll, croup, gaskin, frog, hoof and coronet.
The Anatomy of a Horse (written for children)
Horse's feet have a hoof, the hard part which he can pound,
back of this is his frog, bottom part that stays off the ground.
Between his hoof and his leg is a coronet, not like a crown
it blends into the pastern the start of his leg, now don’t frown.
Next is his fetlock, sort of an ankle, not a real lock.
Horse's rear ankle turns backwards and that it is called his hock.
His fetlock has a callous called an ergot, can you see?
Then comes his harmless cannon, just below his hock or knee.
On the front leg, it's a knee between forearm and cannon
His hind leg has a hock which joins gaskin to his cannon.
His elbow in the front and his stifle in the back, no fibs,
connect his upper legs to his barrel which is our horse's ribs.
Topside of the barrel, where a rider sits, twixt tail and head,
highest part of horse's rump is called a croup instead.
The dock is the soft part from which grows his tail, what the heck;
above his high shoulders are withers, right beneath his neck.
Behind his ears is a part called his poll, close to his brain?
From his poll, hair makes a forelock, back down his neck, a mane.
We’ve finally reached his head and the last part, called his muzzle,
his jaw, his nose and mouth. A horse can be quite a puzzle.
written October 28, 2016 for Shadow's contest, Horses