Long Horseman Poems
Long Horseman Poems. Below are the most popular long Horseman by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Horseman poems by poem length and keyword.
Endlessly seeking what once was his,
he rides through the night searching pell-mell,
his destiny unknown and undefined.
His ebony horse speeds on two toes,
lathered, panting, fatigue’s sign tell-tale,
controlled by his hard master’s mind.
Grim tormentors in dogged pursuit,
their prophetic mission sent from Hell;
canines hungrily track as assigned.
Spurring his spirited steed forward,
night moaning with the presaging knell,
he cracks his whip made of human spine.
The massive serpentine sword aloft
he seeks to avenge himself – to quell –
severs his victim’s head from behind.
Alas, not his, his plight continues.
Infinite circle, a casted spell
He must break before bursting his confine.
Ceaseless searching to settle the score,
the Headless Horseman arises once more.
Behind the magnolia curtain, childhood ne’er knew.
Drawn to Sleepy Hollow - over the river, really
mountains; and the thruway, to Grandma’s we go.
Magnificent magnolias, bountiful with perfume,
born when I was steeped in maturity. Now I know
the shiny leaves that tremble in hot ‘lanta breeze.
Whilst the ghosts of the Catskills clip clop; shadows
that fell the canopy of treetops; the Borscht Belt
entertaining with neon signs, drawing my eyes.
Crépe myrtles connect the present and past,
I’d not notice the smooth legs until the gypsy eyes,
of a poet, were mesmerized by these sprightly trees.
Gone With the Wind comes to life as I entered
North Carolina life, bigger than life; Miss Daisy,
was driving me crazy; the drama of a small town,
I’d ne’er known, now bit my hands, slammed
my fingers in the door, waged jealousy and more;
brought to the surface my lack of skill and sins.
I gained my bearings, muscled my spirituality,
in other words prayed, bumbled, hurrayed any inroads,
gained love and fascination for these characters.
First thing said to me by the closest coworker:
“I know how much you make!”
‘Well, howdy do, and bless your heart’ -
that last bit, the burn I learned in the deep South.
You see in the Catskill mountains, we lob heads off,
well, at least the Headless Horseman does the dirty work.
Sweet smell of magnolias, Southern belles, mean old South;
still I met my best friend as I landed in Marietta -
I admire her, she’s kind, and wise, perfect in my eyes.
I remember the lights of the classroom
I remember the way that it felt
so surreal to really feel like you could actually melt
Pretty soon, the dinner table was one down
pretty soon, the desk was a throne
I’d pour my heart into the paper because I was away from home
And how they cheered when I was called to the front line
mind bruised and a heart made of stone
I marched forwards because that’s all I’d known
I’m just a king’s horseman
I’m just another cog
I can brave the worst winds
When I can’t see through the fog
When I traded gold for glitter,
I told myself I would feel better
I only had one thing to do
there was nothing left that I could prove
But then I saw the golden keys
this village could belong to me!
Yet again, I was cheered on
They had me swindled and on my knees
only to give me those very keys
Now I taste the early morning breeze
until the dawn, stuck on my feet.
They look at me, fear in their eyes
after all, I won this prize.
At what cost? I’m not too sure
it’s like my only revolving door
to fight and fight and then to fall
to be transported back to school.
I’m still a king’s horseman,
still just another cog.
I pretend to brave the worst winds
when I can’t see through the fog.
One day I hope the crown is mine
I’d rule with patience, I’d cross that line
my own horsemen, I wouldn’t need
not like my teachers, full of greed.
This is for you big guy
somewhere way up
in that beautiful sky
sweet oleanders danced
the universe collided
sweeping you throughout
this grand galaxy soaring
the wide open granduer
finding me writing
my muse wandering
the shooting stars
igniting the brilliant
illuminating hues
twinkling beacon lights
creating a canvas of prose
between the meeting of the
minds why we meet again
Harry the Horseman gazing
into the Rodanthe watching
the braising stallions sabals
galloping covering the seaside
fond memories arouse
rest well my dear friend
until we meet again
Charging through the Mystical Chords Of Time
The March Of The Light Horseman On The Frontlines.
War Paint on my Soul, I AM a Warrior
Armorial, I Gleam like a Super Light Soldier
Coursing Veils I AM Luminous
In Feathers Of Illuminance,
Marching Up The Halls Of The Golden Pantheon
Sun Born, I Shine Forth A New Dawn
Light Bright, Against The Grain Up High
HOPE Is The Name, I Breach Legendary Heights
Where The Fruits Of The Soul Are Prolific
There, The Master Of The Sword, the Flights Exquisite
Triumphing Through, Like A Solar Adonis, I Am Victorious
Bondage Conquering, One With The Cold Tip Of My Sword, I AM GLORIOUS!
My mate Jim and I were tired of working for a boss.
We decided to buy a truck and give the 9 to 5 a toss.
We set up a little business, taking produce to the stalls.
It was just an idea we had about the time fortune calls.
We had a load of melons headed up to Jurien Bay,
They had to be at the markets bright an early next day.
Making good time, we would get there before dawn.
It had rained a tidy sky full, the road was rough and worn.
Suddenly the truck went slip slidin, we thought a flat tyre.
As we spied the scene she was sinking in a huge quagmire.
Now the burden of our troubles seemed too much to carry.
Near us was a house, we found out, belonged to Big Harry.
He was a retired farrier and a horseman dont you know it .
His reputation we heard was that of just an old poet.
Jim and I we pushed like Samson and Hercules,
All the good that did was just bury us to our knees.
Suddenly, we see a sight better than cavalry forces,
It was Big Harry leading two huge fine draught horses.
Over his arm he had slung harness and yoke and chains
Harnessing them, and there’s only the chain that remains.
“ Will ya axel take the stain? “ he asked in a shaky old voice.
“Yeah it should” I replied, so excited I was ready to rejoice.
We helped the poor feeble old man fix the chains to the truck.
Now stand back you two, there will be all sorts of flying muck.
Then he started giving orders to his two big handsome steeds.
His voice grew strong and powerful , orders were not pleads.
Words resplendent flowed, the beasts pushed to the core.
He cursed and swore an bullied them into giving a little more.
Those two beautiful horses pulled with all their might,
He shouted as the horses strained, ”it’s in a glue pot all right”
The golden horse called Ranger made a slip and nearly fell.
Big Harry let loose with language that’d make em blush in hell.
With one almighty heave the truck surged forward , higher.
It rolled up and out , free from the hold of that quagmire.
In a feeble old voice, “there ya go lads, thank Ranger n Thunder”
Folks will say he’s just an old poet, but to us he’s a bloomin wonder.
"I am feeling it." He said.
He meant his age. As I watched
I saw a vision…
Out from the cuttlefish bones of his breast
grime coughed up and dribbled.
I saw his heart stutter, the vapid flutter,
watched his lungs belch and utter
like a broken bladder.
A horseman on a creaking steed
raised its hoary head
and pointed an ancient ladle
speaking thus -
"Stir me belly lad," it said,
"spoon me sticky sump,
dole globs of lymph from here to there.
Me grease is dumpy and lumpy.
Me hip-bones crunch
while me dingle wilts and dangles.
Me ears is gummy lad,
I've gone to the bad.”
The specter faded.
The old guy smiles, rubs his thin hair.
"I also see it sometimes," he says,
"that liver-spotted ghost
that chains me to an even older vision
of you."
It springs like rain on mown grass
Winds murmur over quiet pines
No hoofbeats of horseman lost
No limpid water from deep springs
oasis lift from arid sand.
Barbarian rides past towers without watchman
Deep thunder in mountain thrown up
Footprints of the darkness
stone like starkness
Harrowing & unhalting.
Grand inquisitor, earth's jailhouser
coverned deep and iron ringed
submerged in auto-cage of steal
Far from end and near to nowhere
lifting our heads to the light of God:
Spare my family and friends, thou great
keeper of souls
In its direness and darkness
footprints of light, our bodies taken,
our self retaken,
wastelands of ruins heaped with ash
mea culpa, mea culpa
Before the end,
we have been told.
A horse will ride,
into the fold.
The first of four,
will be all white.
He will deceive,
with forceful might.
He will seem good,
with boastful cheer.
He will try and unite,
and end all fear.
The words he'll spit,
out from his mouth.
Comes from the dragon,
deep down in the south.
*The first horseman will differ with different interpretations of the bible. This poem is about the interpretation that the 1st is the anti Christ*
If this interpretation offends anyone let me know and I can offer a revised poem to accommodate both interpretations.
Beauty bows and surrenders at her bare feet,
The gold glitters jealous of her glowing skin,
Her bright eyes light embers of passion within,
Men yield to her will!
Warriors clang their weapons to fight to die,
Flags with horseman fly, write history again,
While sat in emerald throne, she rules their minds,
With potion of love!
Is there a poison more deadly than such love?
A woman to whom the Roman empire bows,
Juice of poison berry* she put in own eyes,
He who loves her - dies!
Mighty Caesar or Anthony were like clay,
Their tirades, history fade in her presence,
They lost in war, lost in her love, end by knife,
She put Asp to breast!
Sapphic stanza Poetry contest
Sponsor Edward Ibez
Date 08/July/2020
Cleopetra used poisonous berries or the deadly nightshade juice( medicinal name Atropa belladonna) that yields Atropine which causes dilatation of the pupils. Was used in her time to make the eyes dreamy, innocent and beautiful! Hence the name “Bella = lady, Donna= beautiful)