Long Mule Poems
Long Mule Poems. Below are the most popular long Mule by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Mule poems by poem length and keyword.
Morning blaze like bullets through the streets and the temperature kept moving beneath my feet, I could hear the horses galloping on the track and the ferocious wind blowing through the street with love and mercy strapped to its heels. He didn’t know where to go for his contract had end and everyone had to move out of the lion den, but he had a mission to fulfill before he departs with love and humility in his heart.
Take me to the street where we first meet and tell me what you see. Look at the trees that hang over the road and examine how deep they run into the ground; count the number of old men and youth you see roaming around. Observe the people that walk on the street and listen attentively to their heartbeat. Examine the avenue that runs into the town and the street that branches off into the ground. You must know the difference between street and lane, and your life will never be the same.
He embarked on a journey to see his friend, but he was led to a different place instead, they took him on a winding path up a dirt road where ass and mule scamper about in the dark and children running about in the street with no shoes on their feet.
He was convinced that he had lost his way, but he kept driving until he saw a cross sitting on top of a mound and they told him that was the last place his friend was seen, before he left the scene. He could not say a word for the road had ended and there was nowhere else to go, so they turned around and went back to the town.
He could not laugh or cry for the shock was so great that, the only thing that he could do was to get on the plane and leave that place as tragedy bounce quietly all over the place.
Take me to the street where we first meet and take me to the exact spot where we tie the knot and repeat the exact words that you say when you make the decision to go away. The cross on the mound is the only evidence that is on the ground that will explain what is happening in the town.
Mounted on a Missouri mule,
All my possessions in a sack.
The scorching sun, oh so cruel,
Sweat running down my back.
On the way to Kansas City,
To visit my older brother.
Angry still, what a pity,
From one thing or the other.
While crossing a swollen creek,
I only made it halfway through.
This trip started looking bleak,
When my mule threw a shoe.
Afraid of what was next in store,
My mount then loudly groaned.
Bolting off like Man of War,
With everything I owned.
I landed hard on my head,
No drug could ease the pain.
One more thing I had to dread,
It then began to rain.
Standing there all soaking wet,
Drops pelting off my dome.
Beginning now to regret,
I turned around and headed home.
Happy May Day, all you PS boys and girls...EVOE!
Squeeze a cherry and let it sit,
And don't forget to take out the pit.
Let it ferment,
At least a day as a rule,
To give it some zing
And a kick like a mule.
Do the same with the blackberry,
There on the vine,
Then fill full the flagons
With festival wine.
From cherry to berry
We'll ramble along,
Our cups full of hooch,
Our young hearts full of song.
Inside the tubs
The fruit still ferments.
Those juices have uses
To enhance our intents
To revel with Bacchus,
The god of the vine.
With each quaff of the vino
We erupt into rhyme.
Be it barley and hops,
Or cherry or berry,
Let flow freely the brew
Whilst we drink and make merry.
Tomorrow's regret
Is tonight's joyful song,
The flesh may be weak, boys,
But the spirits are strong.
Author's note: I'm just doing a bit of reminiscing with this one, dear readers, remembering all those Sunday afternoon "beer busts" and "ice cream socials" that added so much flavor to my university experience. Also suggested by a story on the local news some time ago about the theft of a great number of cherries off trees in a private backyard here. No evidence to suggest if they were destined for pies or, perhaps, spirits like Kirsch or Maraschino. A Wikipedia moment for those who don't know: Bacchus is the Greco-Roman (Dionysus to the Greeks) deity of the grape harvest, winemaking, and wine, and of ritual madness and ecstasy. He was a real party animal.
It’s now many years Mom
since you passed away
Still angry with me from that day
For your opinion was all that mattered
No one else’s you considered.
Many a spat we had over silly things
You left without a farewell to a place far away.
I have a daughter now no two
But one’s as stubborn as a mule
We’ve had harsh words she and I
and parted in anger many a time
Now I know what you felt
when I opposed your rule
Oh blessed night when you came to me
Your spirit pure and sweet
A bouquet of flowers you gave to me
And one to my daughter too
What touched me most were the words I read
etched upon petals translucent blue
Love and forgive, from Mom dear one
You know now the true meaning of love
In that wonderful place above.
Thank you for sharing this beautiful vision of love.
Oh, was there ever a tale of such woe,
a tale of music, lust, and revelry!
Of Juliet and her mad Romeo
when the reggae drums put a spell on me.
In his yen for Herbs and thirst for the vine
Romeo joined the queue full as a tick –
and drank the poison, the sweet feijoa wine
but it was like a mule with twice the kick.
On the grapes of wrath I was a tragic fool,
and I felt that kick of that angry mule.
All I want when I from
this world am gone
is that men say he died with his boots on.
In the hot sun and spinning clouds above
his heart quickened for her underbreath.
Their destiny a cursed forbidden love
and sweet wine a taste of bitter death.
On leaving he rolled flatlining in a ditch -
“I beg you, leave me here…I wanna die!”.
Later with a skinful too numb to twitch
slumped in a bathtub hungover to dry.
On the grapes of wrath I was a tragic fool,
and I felt that kick of that angry mule.
All I want when I from
this world am gone
is that men say he died with his boots on.
Written: July 2008
A purebred Arabian horse
is strikingly beautiful,
Finely chiseled bone structure
Concave profile, a distinctive head shape
and high tail carriage
prized by the Bedouin people,
the desert dwellers.
But Duldul was a mule—
Historical accounts concur,
However, folklore refers to it as horse—
Even a winged horse
with the power of speech;
And according to the Quran, Prophet Muhammad
flew to heaven on a winged horse.
A mule is the offspring of donkey and mare.
A union between the donkey, Ya’fur,
and Kyrat, the Arabian Stallion,
She was favored by the Prophet Muhammad
and he rode her into many battles.
Duldul had been a gift to the Prophet from
Al-Muqawqis the ruler of Alexandria,
accompanied by a donkey called Ya’fur,
said to be the descendant of the donkey
ridden into Jerusalem by Jesus.
~Contest: A Notable Horse
~Sponsor: Robert James Liguori.
Younger Days
By Franklin Price
9/20/2019
When I look back in wonder, to when I was young and bold
And people thirty years of age were all washed up and old,
And as their words of knowledge, approached my thickened head,
My ear drums did beat so loud, to much of what they said.
The school work was too easy, and so often I was bored
Yet the teachers were persistent, and for that I thank the Lord
Homework was so useless and was only for a fool
I did not do a lot of it, was as stubborn as a mule.
The older that I got back then, the more I tempted fate
When I became a senior, I would barely graduate
The year was nineteen-sixty-four, the world was in a mess
I tried to go to college, it did not work, I must confess
I needed more direction, to help me grow in age,
The military offered that, though it wasn't all the rage.
I enlisted in the Air Force, that I never will regret,
Did it on my own volition, did not do it on a bet.
Four years went by quickly, the last in Viet Nam
SOS for breakfast, in MRE's was sometimes spam
Was Air Force educated, the last formal of my life
Had been to war, and married, and divorced from my first wife
Mustered out in Washington, came back to Florida soon
Went to work at KSC, sent the first man to the moon.
The year was nineteen-sixty-nine. It was there I met my wife.
We're married fifty years, this year. She's the best thing in my life.
Could write of all that happened in those many years between,
Of all that I have been through and everything I've seen.
This was about my younger days, this part that I have told,
If there is something I have learned, it's that thirty isn't old
In 1890, cowboy Bob Womack found gold at the base of lofty Pikes Peak!
In short order a ramshackle town was founded called Cripple Creek.
Hordes of gamblers, 'soiled doves' and prospectors hopin' to make a buck,
Heeded the call of 'Pikes Peak Or Bust' and fled west to try their luck!
This 'peaked' the interest of a young Hoosier feller named Oliver Pence,
Who ordered a shovel from the Sears Roebuck Catalog for eighty-seven cents.
(He called Cripple Creek, Cripple 'Crick' since that's how Hoosiers speak!)
He strapped the shovel to Fred his mule and headed west his fortune to seek!
Oliver staked his claims and his shovel left many a diggin' 'long the way.
His shafts and holes in the hills and vales can be seen to this very day!
He'd found a few nuggets and a bit of dust but didn't 'mount to much.
What he did find he'd blowed on gamblin', whiskey, wimmen and such!
Often, he'd lean on his trusty shovel and muse 'bout his fate.
He talked to the shovel, sayin, "We ain't had much luck as of late.
We'll winter in the cabin and come spring we'll continue our quest;
I'll strap you on old Fred and we'll head fer them hills to the west!"
Seasons came and went and Oliver wasn't seen 'bout town much anymore.
On a cold and dreary day, friends found him stiff dead on the hovel floor!
They dug his grave with the shovel and buried him outside the cabin door.
Six feet down the old shovel struck gold - the lode he'd been a-lookin' for!
Not Cheap
By: Tom Wright
6/8/98
Old "Chaps" weathered face,
though wrinkled, had seen.
The good side of life,
when the grass was still green.
Before the drought came,
"Long Bout" seventy-five.
When all of his cows,
and family we're alive
The "leanin" old barn,
had the west side kicked out.
By an "ornery" old mule,
that was somewhere out and about.
There ain't much left now,
of its tack room and loft.
Today it's a real chore,
to keep water in that old "troft".
That sweet water cistern "yonder",
well, it fed off the house.
But you can see for yourself,
It's "drier na" mouse.
Those three white markers,
on the hill near the tree.
That's wife Sarah, son Johnny,
and little baby Emma Leigh.
They all died of the "Pox",
that year it got so bad.
Those were mighty tough times,
"bout" the worst that I've had.
The old shingled roof,
the snow now comes through.
But with just a little "fixin",
I'm sure could be made do.
I sense that for your money,
you think you're not getting much.
But in spite of hard times,
It's always had, God's, touch.
That cradle that you're "rockin",
was used by little Emma Leigh.
That rusty old "double gun",
Johnny kept as shiny as could be.
At night "roun" the hearth,
we had lots of good times.
Thanking, God, for His "blessins",
and just making up rhymes.
So don't think you are "buyin",
only that which you see.
Fact is, what I'm "sellin",
is my life's memory.
Memories cannot be stolen, or sold,
only forgotten. One day they will be all you have.
If I could turn back time I think I'd change a thing or two.
I have some mem'ries that are fond, but other things I rue.
I enjoyed my time alone as through the wood I scampered,
Dogs at heel o'er hill and dale and by the shore unhampered.
Nature girl, I guess it's true that title stuck to me.
I didn't care, with hay in hair swam creeks and climbed in trees.
I loved my freedom, hated school and with my dogs I ran,
Often rode my cousin's mule, live wild and free my plan.
Then one day I met a man who'd change my life forever.
He took me home and married me and from my life he severed,
Many things that I held dear, he took me to the city.
I had to learn his city ways, be lady like and pretty.
He tried to make me change my ways and fit into the mold;
But I knew if I did that I'd die before I'm old.
You've got to learn to change your ways, grow up, my husband said.
I cannot be what I am not, I rather would be dead.
I dreamed of one day going back, I wanted to go home.
The city is no place for me, no fields for me to roam.
You can take me from the country, from the hills and fields and trees;
But one thing you must remember, you can't take it out of me.