Long Horsehair Poems
Long Horsehair Poems. Below are the most popular long Horsehair by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Horsehair poems by poem length and keyword.
Violins plucking strings
of horsehair, satin ribbons
violet violate a dark
foresaken world
like a beautiful dream
romance unravels
the sweet pain
comes undone
then those wild horses
dance macabre neck-to-neck
racing all the way home
for want of a better country,
these beautiful creatures
limbs racing all lathered
opening wide
and unconquered
plunder new territory
in the red seeded seat
royally the hidden thing
beats like a machine
underneath the skin
a ripe juicy red apple
no cherry pip
feeds the mind of
marquis de john donne
and dorian's sybil vane
gone all wrong
Violins the shape
of a woman
the music inside
her intense jungle
prowls around
like an exotic
soft pawed purring
black leopard
something wicked
or wonderful
in the garden
this way it comes
the soft satin
that binds metaphoric
minds like wrists
the will to resist
comes undone
something wicked
or wonderful
in the garden
dappled in shadow
shining and hidden
like a solitairy secret
like a morning star
this way, it comes
Candide Diderot. ‘24
On the Isle of Skye, water runs down the Cuillin mountains into waterfall streams
It's a beautiful and tranquil place
Where the local fairies live, play and dream
A red-bearded Scotsman walks from his village
He carries his beloved bagpipes in hand
He heads to the magical Fairy Pools
To play for the fairies hiding among the heather stalks growing in the lush green land
Clad in a kilt of dark blue and green
They know it's their friend that's come to play
His emotional bagpipe songs are the only things
That make them emerge from their hideaway
The fairies love the skirl of the bagpipes
It brings their soul delight
Their tiny wings flutter with joy and elation
While they surround him in flight
When he's finished playing, he reaches into his horsehair sporran
Hanging from his waist
To feed the fairies bits of wild-grown raspberries
They absolutely love their taste
He will come back to play for them soon on another day
They love their friend in the blue and green kilt
With his beloved bagpipes and the songs that he will play
It was a tin-roof wooden house standing
Across the red brick cobblestone street
Adjacent to a wide open field full
Of shady live oak and sweet smelling tangerine trees where
My father’s boyhood home was nestled
Quietly in his home town.
Often times we’d travel to visit
The grandparents still living there
In that Americana corner of our lives.
We didn’t know much of anything at all except
The sky was blue, love was true and we
Youngsters were the apples of the old folk’s eyes.
We’d sit for hours in white wicker rocking chairs
I helped paint one time with newspaper on the floor
And a horsehair brush grandma gave me
To teach me that painting needn’t be a lesson
In staying between the lines. “Sometimes,” she’d say,
“It’s better to let the paint flow
And speak for itself in time.”
And granddad liked to watch the sky – especially at night
When stars were burning bright and would point towards Polaris and say:
“Heaven’s over that a-way.” And during daylight hours
When storm clouds appeared and we could hear
Thunder and lightning all around, he’d laugh and dance
As if the circus were coming to town.
We watched mocking birds and blue jays flying in and out
Of all the tree top branches and leaves singing
Their love making lullabies to us and one another and then
As quickly as they arrived,
Disappeared into the wind.
It seems we’re not much different
Rather family, foe or friend.
Accordingly, the old house still stands today
But the dear old folks have slipped away.
Perhaps to the place once pointed to
High above that night sky view
Where comets roam and grandpa liked to call “Up yonder,”
Leaving me with thoughts of gold
And memories made to ponder.
Pony Life in a Dreamhouse
Dreamy creature,
With ocean eyes and batting lashes feature,
Still looking like Barbie,
The pony's glittering saddle guarantees.
Horsehair dipped in gold paint,
A dazzling smile can't escape.
The moment Pony meets Ken,
His eyes softened.
He looked at her like the stars were jealous,
As if she had been his wish when he wrote to Santa Claus.
Her. Half-Pony. Half-Barbie
Always have been, always will be.
Ken stroked her mane warm and Pony clung,
Letting out a soft purr from its lips,
As if testing the reality of it on its tongue.
Well, Pony is whipped.
Pony will be the sun that can shower Ken with rays.
Pony will be his moon, with a glow that never wanes.
Because Barbie can be what she wanna be,
And her Shape-Shifting Pony will gladly.
Though born half-Pony,
in a Dreamhouse that's unpredictable,
Barbie had Ken's unwavering loyalty.
Pony is one of a kind after all!
Alone the bones of the room
bear no weight of responsibility
nor does it bare its breast of secrets
a broken pane
provides a breath with a pang of lavender
a wistful inhale
inhabits the lungs of this space
as the room tries to embrace...
oh embrace the breathing breeze
to squeeze a semblance of life into this place
but the breeze— a gypsy whisper-warm
needs freedom to come through and sweep-swirl
sun-dust into whirls of pinprick-stars...
then leave softly recede not beholden to bones
stoic and standing still
not beholden to dust stranded midair
only to fall in despair— abandoned
with less a good-bye
as bygone laughter and lullabies
are held on lath-tongues
behind horsehair plaster walls
but mute memories linger
they mingle in fairy dust like fireflies in dusk;
her May-time suckling coos and her mama’s ooohs
the woes and throes of Winter’s rocking chair nights
a weep of April tears and seep of mud puddles thawed
the reborn dust lifted with green summer breezes
—a colored canvas that minions of time
would rather gesso white
in its bones the room
remembers its worth as a womb
nurturing a baby’s breath
beneath blue-skin-skies
where rows of purple spires grow
till Mistral winds blew hard and cold
and flew her lavender soul
far from her earthly home
oh the loss of life
wind-crashing-seas-onto-rocks
loss of life
skeleton-ribs-of-the-crib-stripped
of-her-lavender-sprig
loss of life
Overview
A vowel is a speech sound made with an open vocal tract, where the flow of air is not blocked or significantly restricted by the tongue, teeth, or lips. In the English alphabet, the letters A, E, I, O, and U are considered vowels. They are essential for forming syllables and words.
Here's a more detailed explanation:
Open Mouth Sound:
.
Vowels are characterized by an open mouth position, allowing air to flow freely through the vocal tract without any major obstructions, according to Hooked on Phonics.
Phonemes:
.
Vowels are phonemes, which are the basic units of sound in a language. While the letters A, E, I, O, and U represent vowels, each letter can represent multiple vowel sounds.
Every Syllable:
.Voice types: soprano, mezzo-soprano, and contralto (or alto), with soprano being the highest and contralto the lowest. These classifications are based on their vocal r
Every syllable in a word requires a vowel sound. This means that even in words with many consonants, a vowel sound must be present.
Vowel Sounds vs. Letters:
While A, E, I, O, and U are considered vowel letters, they can represent different vowel sounds. For example, the letter "A" has a short sound as in "cat" and a long sound as in "cake", according to YouTube.
Consonants:Ganoid Scales: stringed musical instrument of treble pitch, played with a horsehair bow. The classical European violin was developed in the 16th century. It has four strings and a body of characteristic rounded shape, narrowed at the middle and with two f-shaped sound holes.
Fantasy sold on a 50’s bottle cap;
a party-girl side-saddle sits
on a double-edged crescent moon
up high—a silver scythe in glamour-night-sky
corners of her cherry mouth tilted up
her left hand raises her glass a toast to the stars
frothy head of champagne-beer flirts
with lips spooning the rim
right hand holds the bottle instead of reality
look! no hands on a razor’s edge
precarious hilarious
a redhead with bouncy-curls and a flouncy-skirt
boot-heels over head when she laughs and Oops! falls
clouds catch her without friction and pillow her fiction head ~
but you—with wild escapade eyes—fell hard
far beyond Earth with not a soft cloud to cushion you
glam-allure just a sexy lore a filthy lure
but once you’ve been star-dusted and angel-dusted
it’s all the same…
vintage Miller bottle cap
a perfect circle like the fattened moon face
leering through broken windows
shards glitter the floor like fallen constellations
your black pearl eyes two muddy puddles
life drained through rows of tiny needle holes
slip-knot above your elbow just tight enough
your pulse beats its fist against the restraint
pounding—pounding—pounding
impatient to be bled and fed
you and this dragon’s den a dilapidated pair
abandoned and without family
you share the blank stare of broken windows
veins collapsed like crumbled staircases
empty inside of empathy and dreams—
a junkie’s spot where shooting stars crash
embers in your bloodstream turn to dust
you cook in a rusted bottle cap by candlelight
candle’s glow your Sun in a dirty universe
you pull back on the syringe with your teeth
this house unused by the living—a cold corpse
but in the warm rush of your skin’s flush
your gaunt gray body melts like hot wax
pale horsehair walls a slouchy silent witness
... your soul escapes as it scrapes across the floor
flurries blow in through broken windows
whirl of wind whistles on its rounds like a jailhouse guard
rattling beam-bones jangling ghost-bones—
user-litter scattered
like broken-wish bones
burnt fingertips and a "High Life" bottle cap
all that’s left
The judge is snoring for victory of my conviction
Every night, I merry in comfort of his spouse
My skin has become a palimpsest of fleeting sensation
And each layer bore the imprint of my Doxie
Instead of a red carpet, to flaunt my asset
I walk on a green mile, toward an electric chair
With fans on the other edge, cheering my conquest
I am the champion of the west wing with horsehair
Dawn is here and I must face the light
In a roll of two, I lead
To cast my secrets in light without weight
I always lead, whether it's death or food
Without doubt, I am the best on earth
I have fans cheering me at death
Overview
A vowel is a speech sound made with an open vocal tract, where the flow of air is not blocked or significantly restricted by the tongue, teeth, or lips. In the English alphabet, the letters A, E, I, O, and U are considered vowels. They are essential for forming syllables and words.
Here's a more detailed explanation:
Open Mouth Sound:
.
Vowels are characterized by an open mouth position, allowing air to flow freely through the vocal tract without any major obstructions, according to Hooked on Phonics.
Phonemes:
.
Vowels are phonemes, which are the basic units of sound in a language. While the letters A, E, I, O, and U represent vowels, each letter can represent multiple vowel sounds.
Every Syllable:
.Voice types: soprano, mezzo-soprano, and contralto (or alto), with soprano being the highest and contralto the lowest. These classifications are based on their vocal r
Every syllable in a word requires a vowel sound. This means that even in words with many consonants, a vowel sound must be present.
Vowel Sounds vs. Letters:
While A, E, I, O, and U are considered vowel letters, they can represent different vowel sounds. For example, the letter "A" has a short sound as in "cat" and a long sound as in "cake", according to YouTube.
Consonants:Ganoid Scales: stringed musical instrument of treble pitch, played with a horsehair bow. The classical European violin was developed in the 16th century. It has four strings and a body of characteristic rounded shape, narrowed at the middle and with two f-shaped sound holes.
Pick a place you want to go
The answer never will be no
How about a rustic inn?
One where we have never been
With cottages on private coves
Overlooking lilac groves
Horse and buggy romance rides
Snow capped, pine tree mountainsides
Cozy, warm, big fireplace
Reflecting, glowing off your face
Nooks and crannies, old heirlooms
Like corn cob pipes and horsehair brooms
Mornings, evenings, crisp and cool
There's only one unbending rule
You have to let me do it all
Breakfast, lunch, and dinner call
Clean up after, make the bed
Wake up early, plan ahead
Have your coffee, fresh and hot
Waiting for you on the spot
Bring it to you where you are
Serenade you on guitar
Songs of love I wrote for you
Other playlist favorites too
Solely you for company
I only want you there with me