Long Halter Poems
Long Halter Poems. Below are the most popular long Halter by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Halter poems by poem length and keyword.
When I read my old poetry, I'm quite saddened about the lines,
ones filled with pain, sorrow and anger, all those of my declines.
I looked back at the decades of my life, and found myself pondering,
how life is like a parade, people passing by and just keep wandering.
Choices I've made along the way determine who I am and why.
The voices I hear every day make me laugh, some make me cry.
I've looked through envious eyes, but those visions were too dark,
when the old personality dies, it's easier to find a new path to walk.
I admonished the one I used to be, but she wields my pen and ink.
She writes poetic verses about all kinds of things before I can think.
She pens stories of past longing and of loves that were left behind,
of the need for belonging, and of the memories that tickle her mind.
I let her have a free hand; she's not an easy muse to hold down,
and when I try to take the pen, she draws a face wearing a frown.
She's my conscience when I falter, a voice guiding me from wrong.
I'm the horse that wears a halter, she holds my reins all day long.
I'm content with life and no longer care about what could've been.
I looked down at what she'd penned; a smiley face wearing a grin.
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
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
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.’
High-heeled Ferris wheel riders,
cackling as if their tails were afire.
Red mouths agape, screeching at stars
round and round spinning to black.
Rouged rough riders finally seduced,
stumbling from buckets into the sequined night...
Bargain beer freely flowing
cut-offs and halter tops glowing.
Everyone's tongue becoming a knife in a sideshow...
The tacky and raspy crooked floor games.
Strong man lifting balloons above a puffy sad face,
Nothing is classy but the two-headed snake.
Between the dill pickled fog and vanilla milkshakes
the Ferris wheel suddenly stopped.
They sidestepped the giggling turnstile
and slept it off on the L train.
Written: April 25, 2024 For Edward Ibeh Contest
1st place contest winner
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Young souls stalked by predators at night,
They aim to inflict chaos upon an elfin sight.
They don garments of gentle compassion,
And tend a hand to mountebank passion.
Lacking inspiration, youth may falter,
Without wisdom may stumble and halter.
Who desires apodictic whole annihilation?
Reach a furry hand to who lurk destination.
We are friends; disregard your dad.
He is just an elderly man without a tad.
It's not dangerous, to be jubilant.
Moving in gloom—deceit is exuberant.
Such a story may be found in prophecy.
What the devil's grasp seeks an odyssey,
A seductive lure for the wayward soul.
A web of lies spun by its vision control.
Yet, it is a hollowed oath of the heart.
Preventing villain from tearing it apart.
A radiant cheek is a display of delight.
Within a withered apple—a rotten bite.
Avoid yielding to evil lure craft.
And never let gloom drain your raft.
Support truth and path of morality.
Beware of evil deceit and brutality.
In the abyss, evil spins a web of deceit
Yet virtuous spirit will never retreat.
Remain faithful to the sacred source.
Let evil hide—thwarted in course.
Truism will ultimately prevail.
Then, a grasp of evil will avidly fail.
Stand firm—let your spirit shine bright.
Stroll along the righteous path light.
On an evil field, falsehood may thrive.
Yet virtuous spirits will forever strive.
Don't yield to nagging fears of night.
May winding roads never lead to blight.
Embrace the gentle touch of the divine.
Proceed onward with unwavering shine.
Utterly reckoning goodness will prevail.
With strength evil loss is the trail.
Remain steadfast, and let your soul soar.
Goodness and light, unlock every door.
An evil smile may be beguiling and sly.
With a pure heart, I never drove awry.
Normally I am sober
Love to socialize
Never lose composure
Need no disguise
I am an IT engineer
I am a good husband
Clara my wife dear
Earns several thousand
We are a happy family
Except the deadly alter
As they say the insanity
Needs a strong halter
Whenever you humiliate me
The rebel will come up
Will bring out invariably
The beast in my soul-hub
And when the beast is out
To do something horrible
Irrational bloods shout
I am criminally terrible
But the normal I has no memory
Of the monster in me
Nor the alter is aware
Of the others who accompany
This dissociation is disastrous
Psychiatry has no remedy
Psychotherapy is advantageous
For the disturbed chemistry
The broken home of my childhood
Haunts me in my dream
Both the identities in the darkness
Are in full-throated scream
Doctors give me medicines
For anxiety and depression
Sending me in reticence
To tranquilize the elephant
I don’t know how long I will stay
With this miserable destiny
I am afraid one clouded day
I'll kill both of me
___________________________
May 22, 2016
For: Split Personalities – Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Brian Davey
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.
Written: September 15, 2023
______________________________________________________________
In the halter of destiny, we are all bound.
A monody of souls dissemble and found
With every lynch of trice vicious hand,
We quest to the ossuary of the apex land.
Yet in this hoedown of life and death,
We descry trices to canonize our breath.
In the equidistant cuddle, we share,
We ascertain solace in the clad of despair.
Through brittle nights and rallying days,
We quest to unfetter from the maze.
Omega awaits to clarify our fate.
Ablaze of stinging anguish, we can't abate.
Inanimate entities, ephemeral, and plain,
As a ripple of anguish sways, weep in pain
Aside from that, the cosmic harbinger sky
Espies our destruction with a silent sigh.
An epidemic of metempsychosis,
We inherit the legacy of pestilence psychosis.
On hiemal days and hibernal nights,
We bear the stature of sorrow's bite.
In every epoch of fugacity,
We quest for repeal—a wink of clarity.
Bequeath and madness, we strive to overcome
Nocuous menace to switch what we've become.
We often embellish it as life is so anxious.
Our roots still hold the pinnacle to progress.
Decisiveness, anguish, and an urge to revoke.
Lead exposure us to a nonlethal stroke.
The dance of life and death is an exquisite art.
Delight and anguish entwine—never apart.
At the pinnacle of this poetic tale,
We ascertain that life's heirloom prevails.
Though pestilence and grief endeavor to bind,
We have the incite to bequeath them all behind.
So let us dance, with hearts bridled high.
Embracing the madness as we reach for the sky
I often do things my way
some times getting into trouble
especially when I was younger
the rules were there for breaking
A real scourge when at school
my teachers often despaired
boarding school was not fun
except for secret midnight rides
Even now I still go my way
although staying with in the law
my dad says I have my own way
of doing things, he is quite right
I just refuse to be a sheep
blindly following the others
if it does not make sense
then I always go my own way
footnote
I used to sneak out on moonlit nights catch up a horse and ride it through the fields
with just a halter or bridle great fun