Long Hoofs Poems
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In one quick flash, while humankind rests
poisoned rain devours, seething like burnt fume...
that all the world like raged Babylon screams
when Fourth Horseman, on a knifed eve, descends
shrouded by darkness, rider now earthbound
collapsing stars and trees on ghastly stead,
lungs haemorrhage in terror of night’s tide
found in Revelations once prophesized...
hoofs trample burnt flesh , spiked by death’s revenge
a time destined...a quest for greedy blood
that in roar of voices, church bells freeze tolls.
Divine One looks at His creatures, pleas from souls;
Mad horseman gallops away as Light spins
unto earth, promise of fresh beginnings.
Apocalypse Rising Contest of Poetess Darkly
He would enter the corral in the thick veil of mist,
up long before daylight, fog christened the air
The skies would be coral, and the sun glazed the crest
Dust shrouded the heels of his old leather boots,
and gathered in clouds around the hoofs of the mare.
Born with the morning was a whirlwind of grief
that had followed the storms of a night without sleep
Endless were hours , without refuge's peace
while he waited for sun to arrive and repeat
Caressing the flank of her sleek narrow, frame,
his favorite mare, Queenie, was the color of dawn
He would gather her reins, for a moment of calm
then, bury his face in her rusty brown mane
He'd watch as the light slipped over the hills,
smoothing the shadows, that haunted his world
Without ever knowing the worries we found
as we saw those same shadows, splay rapidly down,
drowning his eyes, with dark circles and frowns
Grief and the love of his horses, would ride,
together, off center....wherever, to hide,
and soften the hours, that waited for night
For the house was a shell, and the bedroom, upstairs,
became the forbidden, without her to share
The nights, ever long, were just waiting to tear
open the wounds that he couldn't bear
Up at the sunrise, and out until starlight
Where shadows grew stronger, and nights even longer
Burning the daylight, until light was in ashes,
then thrashing the midnight, with the darkness of mourning,
wading through dust-clouds, to see morning's light
Waiting for something to make it alright
____________________________________________________
One night about 25 years ago
I was sat in my car at Cothelstone
Dx-ing on my CB radio in the wee hours
when my two dogs started to growl
every hair on their bodies on end
a most putrid smell entered my car
I heard the sound of hoofs churning
knowing it must be the headless horseman
I kept my eyes down as 't is said death comes
to those who look Thor in the eyes.
I was unwilling to drive away
as earlier I had erected an antenna
outside of the car fixed to a tree
the smell was almost over powering
and I could feel its gaze upon me
it felt as if Thor was willing me to look
my dogs were whimpering then howling
no way was I raising my eyes oh no!!
'T was but an hour or so till dawn
slowly the smell faded and my dogs calmed down
As soon as it was light enough
I let them out and got the antenna down
vowing never again to spend a night here
thoroughly spooked by this experience
I looked around and saw churned ground
with clear hoof prints as the horse had
milled around my car, calling back my dogs
who gladly jumped in, we drove off
I have returned since but only in daylight
DX-ing long distance radio contacts
this is a true story there are many tales of Thor the headless horseman who rides the
hills from East Quantockhead through Shervage Wood past Will's Neck through
Cothelstone to the Quantock edge and back all agree if you look into his eyes within
a few weeks you will be pushing up the daisy's. All I can say is I have seldom been so terrified
Let their hearts melt.....
Abba, Father, I ask of thee~
To disconnect humans from the Internet tree.
That they may see beside themselves
And see you are the center of the
universe,
Not their selfish philosophy "it's all
about me!"
I have tried in vain to communicate
this....
All I get is Satan's fiery fist.
Had you died on the earth today,
Nobody would have cared!
So deeply are Satan's hoofs entrenched
In their brains.
So help me live through this day
And live no more in utter dismay.
Help me to clearly remember,
You are coming back for me.
And to study your word and
And to act.....accordingly.
Panagiota Romios
4/8/2019
Each poem I birth
Is a child of my heart
Flesh of my flesh
Bone of my bone
Word of my soul
Conveyor of my emotions
Each one is unique
Different….
One is always happy
And sees the bright side of life
The eternal optimist
With not a care in the world
With a song on her lips
She traipses about and everywhere she goes
Flowers bloom
And the sun peeks out
To welcome her
The other is intimately acquainted
With her mother’s world
Of suffocating despair
She sees the tear behind the smile
The insecurity behind the laugh
Her loneliness
This child of my is consumed by worry
That Mama may go through with it this time
And no longer be there to love her
She quietly watches
Her daily fight for survival
For escape
From the demons that haunt her life
And so…she bears her sorrow
Trying to be strong for MAMA
Her tears she hides as she cries in the closet
Knowing its Mama’s tears in her eyes
And Mama’s pain in her heart
I love this child of mine, for she sees what no one else sees
One of my children was conceived in frenzied passion
And she is its embodiment
She devours life
Her passion relishes
Life
Love
Nature
Friends
She is intense to the point of insanity
Those who know her are electrified by her presence
For she is….
Always endearing
Always charming
Always in love
Always flirting...teasing...pleasing
Always passionate….to the point of losing herself
In the moment
My little one….ah, my little one is a romantic dreamer
Her eyes never focus on the here and now
She perches on the windowsill
Seeing her castle in the distance
Waiting for her knight in shining army
To sweep her away on his gallant steed
With flowing mane
And thundering hoofs
Matching the thundering beat of her heart
She waits to be whisked to
A forever land of dreams
Of flowers and sunshine
Of birds chirping by streams
And love better than in the world she’s seen
Oh, but my eldest
How my heart bleeds
For my child of wrath
Born of my affair with Zeus
Sending out thunderbolts
Livid by injustice
Seething with anger
At all that is inhumane
Welding his sword
Eager for revenge
For retribution
I fear for this my child
Who often is about to draw blood
In mortal combat with the enemy
Ever at the point of death...
(End of Part I)
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Have you ever seen a horsey grin
They've got humongous amounts of teeth
Their dentist bill must be atrocious
It's almost beyond belief
Whenever they get a toothache
They feel it right down to their hoofs
You can hear their screams over in China
They just about hit the roof
Really feel sorry for these equine types
They're usually such amiable sorts
They never complain if you're 300 pounds
They're such amazing good sports
Named him “Toothy”, this friend of mine
Tell him, “Brush those dentures real good!”
The cost of a plate of false teeth for horsies
Is astronomical in all likelihood
© Jack Ellison 2013
He’s judged and condemned to take the saddle, yet, still fighting
without surrender, while we slip the bit between his jaws.
This, and ducking feet in dubble time while lashing
the gear to his back, dodging lightning while riding Thunder.
A saddle placed on a throne and strapped to a rocket.
He fights, he chokes, and rolls his eyes.
Who would give a dollar for his tough ole hide,
go sit on him in the seat of a rocker or hang him over the pea-patch
With the crack of a bullet, he could be gone.
I have trouble waiting for my chance to sling the sweat.
I purch high on the seat, chaps folded back, a nod to pull the rope.
Then out of the gate we fly, the dust, the slobber,
the foaming mouth and ears laid back.
I am screwed to the back of the saddle and
held there by centrifugal force.
Suddenly, the earth and sky are drunken things,
bucked from my senses, jolted to and fro as fence
reel past.
My dreams of being a cowboy fading rapidly
into the choking dust.
Yet, I hang to a flying hearse, the horse called Thunder,
whose hoofs beat drums of doom with boiling smoke.
I’m tossed high in a sickly orbit of sky and earth.
Thunder, still kicking as if to sling his burden to the stars,
plunging ahead, searching for a place to land.
The sky appears to darken around my head,
somewhere between a raven’s wing and the
back of a buzzard. With my shaky hands, I feel
the knots on my head, I fight for breath while spitting
sand, choking on dust and red eyes rolling. I feel hands
on me as they pat my back with hoots and hollows
beyond the limits of my brain. I stand up with
my unsteady feet and stagger. I see Thunder standing
at the other end of his domain.
Then the red bronco whirls in a resounding charge,
rumbling a folly of hoofs in rapid fire.
The final defeat, as I hurl myself over the rail.
Who would give ten dollars for that piece of leather
hanging slightly to the right side. Who, while shopping
for a bargain would settle for a deal.
Willow, Willow from 'Hamlet' by William Shakespeare (1564-1616)
(Painting By George Dunlap Leslie)
* * *
Pale and fair, she gaily sits awhile,
As if a lily, but not the child
who seeks her private solitude
and climbs across the wooden stile
to find herself a magic land
here at the quiet Willow Pond
Old Willow Pond, her second home,
She often comes, a lonely bird
Praying for wishes to be heard
Deep in her magic dreamer's trance
Pretending today, upon the prince
Who will ride a white stallion and offer the world
Shallow edged kingdom, with twigs, and sodden leaves
with odors of the earth, green moss and peat
With roots of Willow trees and rotting logs
and a crumbling bank where cattails wash their feet
She will watch the minnows dart with lightning speed
among the roots where wild ducks come to feed
The very core and essence of the earth
Born of melted snow, and sleet and rain
The company of birds who roost amid the tree tops high
And breathe the wholesome fragrance of the sky
Trees that sway and swoon along the bank
Remind her that love is restless as the wind
Shedding leaves of amber, rust and gold
Where ashes turn to dust, or blossoming dreams begin
She listens, for the sound of horses hoofs
O'er twig and stone, with watchful eyes so keen
Across the mirrored face, a restless ripple seen
Where tangled grass and weeping willows lean
Upon the shores her struggles soon will cease
Her favorite place to wish her splendid dream
Pale and fair, she gaily sits awhile,
As if a lily, but not the child
who seeks her private solitude
and climbs across the wooden stile
to find herself a magic land
here at the quiet Willow Pond
_____________________________________________________
For Contest Sponsored By Isaiah Zerbst
For a Link to the Painting:
http://www.1st-art-gallery.com/George-Dunlop,-R.A.,-Leslie/Willow-Willow-From-Hamlet-By-William-Shakespeare-1564-1616.html?s=20x16&gclid=CK3jpO_TvrcCFep7Qgod0AgAsA
Pale and fair, she will sit awhile
She's a fragile lily, but not a child
who climbs across the wooden stile
to seek her private solitude
The willow pond, is her second home
She'll while away these lonely hours
with dragonflies, and buttercups,
mossy stones, and fragrant flowers
She picks bouquets of hufflewinks
of yellow, blue, and blushing pink
Then adds a cattail to the mix
with baby's breath, and bright tulips
Deep in her magic dreamer's trance
Pretending that there is a prince
who'll save her from a Dragon's wrath
He'll sweep her up and steal a kiss
together they will ride in bliss
Trees sway and swoon along the bank
Reminding her of restless winds
and that love is fleeting as a breeze
Trees lose their leaves, and dreams will fade
She listens, for the sound of hoofs
O'er twig and stone, her eyes are keen
Yet, not a prince, nor stead is seen
Where tangled grass and willows lean
As if a lily, but not the child
who seeks her private solitude
She comes to dream a little while
then climbs across the wooden stile
to leave the dream among the fronds
at the quiet Willow Pond
_____________________________________________
6/4/18
Dragons, Dragonflies, And Huffle-Winks Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Caren Krutsinger
Bah! Humbug! 'Tis again that time of the year,
When I must go hither and yon spreading good cheer.
Ho, ho, hoing as wriggling brats sit upon my knees,
Boring me with their interminable pleas!
I try to animate the beast with the shiny red nose.
The other cantankerous brutes won't rally 'til he goes.
This year, please clear the snow off your roofs!
If one breaks a leg I have no spare hoofs!
How about leashing your beloved family mutt!
Frankly, I'm weary of being nipped on the butt!
And I'm getting sick of your crummy cookies and milk.
How about some salami and cheese or something of that ilk!
I've really suffered a most ruinous year.
Mrs. Claus and those pesky elves formed a union up here,
Working less hours and demanding more pay!
I doubt I'll have enough toys to fill the sleigh!
If I sound somewhat like I have the grumps,
I've just been feeling down in the dumps.
Folks, I need your help to make me merry.
This whole Christmas thing I alone cannot carry!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
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