Long Horn Poems

Long Horn Poems. Below are the most popular long Horn by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Horn poems by poem length and keyword.


Premium Member My Bicycle

Once I had a bicycle,
A loving present from my grandfather;
Since I was his favorite granddaughter,
He granted my wish at a snap of my finger .

Since he was so old,
A new bicycle he could hardly afford;
He took his bike when he was young,
Which I found it once at the back of our barn.

As far as I remember,
It was really so old and rugged;
But my grandpa was like Mr. Mac-Gyber,
Amazingly fixing all things all-over.

My granda was a well-known painter,
I thought he will repaint and use sandpapers;
When I surreptitiously sneaked into his hut,
He was there recycling all my milk cans.

When everything was done,
He gladly gave it to me with a big hug;
I hurriedly drove it at once,
Down the street and field with so much fun.

“My bike was real a unique one!” I thought.
So different from others in our neighborhood,
Its wailing siren was made up of a  cow’s horn,
Tubes were made of dried bamboos and corn.

Other parts were still the same,
Like forks, hubs and chainwheel set,
The rest were made up  of my milk cans,
They were pedal, brake and seatgear stem.

Handle bars were what I liked  most,
Converted from the handle of his old plow;
So sturdy and so strong all I knew,
And  I can drive it  so long in full control.

However, when I travelled quite afar,
Parts were falling one at a time;
Until everything suddenly split apart,
Eventually it dropped and rolled me down.

©2012Leonora Galinta
     All Rights Reserved


Date: Aug. 3, 2012


4th Place Winner (My Very First Winning Poem)
Contest: Any Poem of the Week Contest
Contest Judged: 8/4/12         
Poet Sponsor: Secret
© Len Gasun  Create an image from this poem.
Form: Narrative


A Spate of Cool Temperatures

How refreshing to experience
     a reprieve from sultry weather
when hazy, hot,
     and humid warm front
     unleashes a very short sweaty tether.

Man hat tin dar overcast skies
     hint potential rain on the way
perchance avast dastardly
     flickr ring instagram

     kickstarter linkedin shutterfly
     Taurus headed soundcloud
     skidding across celestial
     (span hushed) rink

     surprising forecasters by yowl
     ling whimsically, unexpectedly oye vay
training (laser like),
     Asian outsize dark cloud

     climatological frontispiece
     randomly making next stop Old
     Rotten Gotham's Greenwich Village
     zero wing in on

     Poor (Chuck Keys) Uruguay
neighborhood possibly confidently
     foretold by meteorologists today
pointing at map showing

     cold air mass as it doth sashay
July twenty first 2018, though
     Mother Nature defies pre
     diction pulling out all (busted) stops,

     vis a vis via "her" quay
zee bag of tricks nay
saying trained forecasters klan
hush all self importance

     also to humble those mere mortals
     getting paid a handsome buck
by anthropomorphizing viz cluck
king in tandem with duck
billed Baritone Horn
     Trumpeting "FAKE" luck

trotting out obstreperous
     Sunny Rays, who doth beam
with radiance a
     diametrically opposed extreme

over zealous call for precipitation
     instead raining one after another quanta
     bright blinding meme
outsmarting the seem

ming airtight (cat in the bag)
prediction leaving once supreme
vouchsafing without a doubt forecasters
     left holding the empty bag
     large enough tuff fit the whole team.

Premium Member Chetley, the Runt Dragon

Chetley was a runt dragon, the kind some kingdoms drowned at The Horn.
He weighed a mere 160 pounds, when he was born.
His dad took a hatchet and held it above Chetley’s newborn head.
And his sainted mother begged for his life, and then fell dead.

His father always blamed him for his mother’s demise.
Chetley tried his best to please, but he could never suffice.
He was lucky to have a grandpa, slick and wise.
Who loved him with all of his lungs and his eyes.

Young Chetley grew up and fell Dragon-madly-in- love.
With the dragon of his dreams, who lived in the valley above.
They raised a fine family, and two turtle doves.
He never held a hatchet or hurt anyone he loved.
Form: Rhyme

Fills My Sails

I felt a sudden shiver.
Night begins to fall.
We floated up the river. 
The city lights..enthrall.

Wind in my hair. 
You holding me close. 
My heart beating fast. 
Ships horn it blows. 

Laughter from the cabin. 
Wine glasses chime.
Music is sexy..
it's a quarter to nine. 

We duck inside.
You ask me to dance.
You kiss me gently.
A passionate glance. 

We walk by the bar. 
Wine tastes so cold. 
Love in the air. 
It never gets old. 

Dinner bell rings. 
A table for two. 
Exquisite cuisine. 
Oh! what a view. 

The city lights..
ignite the sky-line. 
Flames in my heart. 
He pours me some wine. 

Jazz playing softly.
Friends all around. 
We dance and we sing. 
A beautiful sound. 

Ship pulls into port. 
We all bid her farewell. 
Dinner on the Hudson. 
Fills..my sails.

Premium Member Christmastide

Christmastide

Between  light or dark imaginings
Our lives flash past,
Beneath bright sun, moonlight stark
Reflections fill the glass
Spread wontonly about the city's feet
Omnipresent stone
Catches all those movements fleet
As starlings soar above, alone.
The dreams of many urchins
Flow upwards through the slate-grey skies
Appealing to silent Djinn
Who rule their lives and sigh
Willows swaying in a starry night
Beckoning shadows back to open fields
Where spirits fight
Against the moon, wind, and beat their shields.

Snow settling on each frozen shaft
Of iron skeletons of our new Leviathans 
As they grow brittle through excess of craft.

They rear their heads; lay cryptic plans
In silent converse high above
The light-jeweled streets which run
With undefined, secret love
Towards the drop of the horizon and the winter sun.

Concealed somewhere within this swirlingness
Old men drift home with paper bags
Containing gifts of blessedness
For grandchildren in silks or rags,
Which they'll receive with shouts of joy,
And smiles endearing as rainbows,
Both old and young are wise, the world as yet their toy
Their hopes run not too swift, nor slow.

The lighted squares of many homes adorn
The solid jet of Winter's darkness.
Pierced now and again by Gabriel's horn -
Sounds of train blasts followed by a clacking sussurance
Much laughter flows through many rooms
Tonight as love haunts every musty hall,
Goes creaking past each doorway; at last assumes
The quiet shape of All in One and One in All.

O keeper of this softened moment,
Warders of men's peace of mind,
Shades in solitude, teach us to relent
Our urge to seek and find
The roots of all our fears;
And rather let us learn
To rest content, let fall the tears,
Rue last mistakes, look up, and yearn.
Form: Rhyme


Before The Gates Of Alahsar - Version 2 - 32

The Dark men fought on past their mother,
many had seen the mighty one fall
they fought on with bitter hate,
as now, once more, did the mother of the storm.
Her spear flashed lightning,
she stirred on her horses,
the chariot moving quickly forward,
the spear drinking deeply of Arlagh's blood.

The battle now raging,
one large cacophony of terror,
many smaller battles now being fought,
each as important as the next.
The mother of the storm,
so terrible in her warlike glory,
the darkness of the storm in her movements,
the lady dressed all in black.

She fought like a typhoon,
a mother wishing to meet her son,
to slay all in her way was her goal,
her mind upon the destruction of the foe.
It was arduous work,
she saw the Dark man stand again,
still, she struck with lightning speed,
her spear thrusting home with such anger.

On her left, many of her Dark men,
they struck the left flank of spiders and wolves,
in this crucible, they felt no fear,
they were truly children of the storm.
Their hatred for these creatures was ingrained,
they struck home with such power and speed,
nothing could withstand the shockwave,
nothing did.

Then a voice was heard to cry out,
"Walk in the light!"
It was the dark man,
all the Dark men repeated the call.
Then all the field of Badicha cried out,
"Walk in the light!"
the battle did rage on, 
death and destruction on the plain of Badicha.

Chapter ..... 3 .....Part ..... 5.

Turvehr now led a contingent of Dark men,
to the Palovar ford, they did charge,
the enemy were now emerging in great numbers,
across the ford they did stream.
Battle was met, and its crash was heard,
the thunder did fill the air,
this emergence of the enemy had to be stemmed,
whatever the fatal cost might be.

Turvehr had led this charge,
his mighty body crashing into that of a spider,
the mighty horn of power finding its mark,
the underside of the spider now open.
How it did scream in its death agony,
now it was a dying terror,
it now attacked anything near it,
only wanting to escape the dark-winged death master.

To Be Continued ..........
Form: Epic

We'Re Always In a Hurry

We’re always in a hurry
To get there yesterday,
With the absence of caution
We blindly speed on our way.

The only goal we harbor
Is to get there fast,
Ignoring respect and patience
As we hurry on past.

With the flip of a finger
Or honk of the horn,
Our disrespectful impatience
Is driven to be born.

Four letter words
Carelessly fly from our mouth,
As traffic builds up
North, East, West and South.

Many innocent victims
Have been robbed of their lives,
As our desire to hurry
Continuously thrives.

We are all guilty
Including me,
Of speeding through life
As fast as can be.

Isn’t it time 
For us to slow down,
To impose caution and respect
For other people around.

We’re always in a hurry
To get there yesterday,
Even if life becomes
The cost that we pay.


I'm Still trying to perfect this poem.  For some reason it seems like it's either missing
something--or something is out of place.  Your opinions would be greatly appreciated!
Form: Rhyme

Paste

“Paste”
by Positive Mark

At times, I find it difficult to call myself a poet.

Can such a grandiose tag be placed on a recluse?

It’s one thing to possess a passion for words,

quite another to put them to use.

Political climates produce frigid spells, intended to get on your case.

Busted relationship matters that swell into masks that I wear on my face.

The pieces of man and his harsh incantations

The heartbreak of vixens revealed at this station

The murder of music

The horn blasts of sports

The sight of my girl’s daughter prancing in shorts

The use of two eyes, while ignoring the third

The smoking and toking of each broken word

The hairdo

The smile

The swagger

The butt

My slip on the grip left a kid in her gut

The Black on Black crime

The innocents shot

The infrared beam never placed in one spot

The wording

The phrasing

The stories we tell

The eloquent way to tell you “Go to Hell!”

The grease on my lips

The holes in my shoes

The deep crystal stare, tryna find Langston Hughes

The coffee

The creamer

The over used pot

The anguish of wanting to be what I’m not

The piping hot liquor that burns in my chest

The rhyme at the Devil’s behest

I’ve discarded pieces of my broken soul with the chaff on my living room floor.

The poetry virus just cannot be killed, so the hurt ones can even the score.

Peace.
Form: Rhyme

Premium Member Ferryman's Pole, Part 4

The stump of one spar poked above the rest beside me slope descending
And I roped that spit in the hope that it would not have me on the fire turning
On that fire burning

I tied one end to my saddle horn with a stirrup on each side 
And I held my breath diggin' in my spurs prayin' this would be my ride 
That this would be my ride

My wooden bronco bucked and turned in this rodeo from Hell
As the torrent grew round and round we flew to the Talon down below
The Talon down below

In all of my riata days I never held on tighter
I knew that this was my last crew and I'd go down a fighter
I would go down a fighter

Then something came upside my head and last I saw stars blazin'
And when my sense at last I found I was floating down the Talon
The swiftly flowing Talon

Around me floated such a mess as I have never seen
But the mount I chose still above it rose and carried me to safety
It carried me down to safety

I prayed and swore on that rocky shore where the Talon left me lying
And when I looked back t'ward the peak where we had all been standing
Nothing was left standing

________________________________________

I miss those boys and the open skies but not that haunted mountain
I’ll not return with all I’ve learned and days I still am countin’
Each day I will be countin’

As a day I've earned by lessons learned and not taken for granted
So I won't go whether sand or snow to the Talon River Crossing
Ne'er the Talon I'll be crossing

The days I've left before my death not many I can count on
But with my last breath I'll curse his name that surely you can count on
That surely you can count on

With my death rattle I'll curse his name
That surely you can count on
Form: Epic

Premium Member The Pope Came To the Congress

The Pope Came to the Congress
By Franklin Price
9/25/2015

The Pope came to the Congress
Both houses gathered there
His excellence had no defense
For their uncooperative share
In the state and the condition
That this nation now is in
Cannot repeat the words I heard
But paraphrasing I'll begin

This nation is still wonderful
Even though I must confess
It took a lot of thoughtlessness
To create this awful mess
It's not too late to fix it
Just have to reach across the aisle
With open arms of friendship
Handshake and an honest smile

Heritage of most Americans
Came from immigrations past
Conflicts were  more than many
Resolving made this country last
When it got too much to bear
An example we were sent
A Lincoln, King, Melton or Day
One was even President

I could go on forever
As I thought the Pope would do
Was a little hard to understand
That's why I translated him for you
You have to stop your stupid ways
Be politically astute
Negotiate some resolutions
You're not here your horn to toot

You're here as representatives
Of all the people of this land
Government of, by and for them
You sometimes don't understand
Your job's to ask and listen
And act on what you hear
Hope what I here have said to you
Did not fall on deafened ear
Form: Rhyme

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