Long Neighs Poems
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His mane is long and he is very proud
He neighs and roars and laughs so very loud
Always blissfully joyful as could be
Many funny stories he shares with me
My dear horse loves day and night to prance
Forever asks me won’t you learn to dance
Whenever he decides to come to life
That’s when he asks me to become his wife
I stop I look I laugh and laugh some more
I know we would be happy to the core
Under the setting sun just him and me
But you should know that I am only three
AP: Honorable Mention 2022, Honorable Mention 2022, Honorable Mention 2021, 2nd place 2021, Honorable Mention 2020, Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on March 11, 2020 for contest SOME PARADISE WHERE HORSES GO sponsored by MICHELLE FAULKNER - HONORABLE MENTION
Vane glorious and absolutistic,
though I defiantly,
cavalierly, and blithely attest
Yukon bet your (laugh-in) sweet bippy
mine acidic breast
houses anarchic, anti-poetic ballistic,
barbaric, and bubonic
cannibalistic demons within thy
safely guarded Pandora chest
atomic cesium clock
timed to trigger avast
burst of anxiety, frenzy, and
(What me worry
Alfred E. Neuman) blast
ting mental quietude at most
inappropriate, inconvenient,
inopportune, out classed
adrenaline rush, nausea,
palpitating heart, vertigo
besieging, corrupting,
endeavoring fractured arrant
cleft daemonic gripping
hellishly psychic chant
rendering unto sieze hoar,
a choking vise grip extant
yule hiss sieze indomitable
banshee fully controlling grant
diabolic, dogmatic, and dynamic,
anguished corporeal ache
easily, egregiously, and emblematically,
exemplified historically
graphic fatalistic, and ecstatic coup,
(koo), when I caused furious frantic flight,
and/or fight betake
king angst causing just desserts
for Marie Antoinette,
who got her humble pie cake,
thence dispensing with formalities,
where a joshing drake
(named Gill O. Teen)
also known (solely known
to mine selfish source error ways)
alias i.e. as; the Lewis (loose)
lunatic, heady harvester,
and decapitation Deacon trumpeting,
trouncing, and triumphing tranquility
for fifty three Tuesdays,
thence sea king punishing psychotic
pre pound payment
basking in glory (re: gory us)
amidship crashing quays
music to mine ears hearing plaintive neighs
high pitched straining
vocal chord hamstrung keys
regaling oceanographic
lambent hagiographic essays
and keeping at bathos bays.
—Lines in Numinous—
Merci!—thy palm hath made a fool of fate;
each secret vein outwits the seer’s decree;
what mortal eyes would name, thou dost frustrate,
for none may read what will not yield to thee.
Thou’rt stranger than the vesper’s violet breath,
yet nearer than the pulse beneath the bone;
thou walk’st the verge where longing borders death,
and mak’st the dark disclose what none hath known.
I’ve watched thee enter waking hours that sleep,
and leave behind a light no tongue can name;
some numinous tide wells fathomless and deep,
then sets the blood’s forgotten stars aflame.
When each borrowed star doth fade into psalm,
thou art the ache, thou art the balm.
—Life in Note—
I thought the world had squander’d all her song—
linnet and thorn entwined in liquid prayer,
while crisp leaves whispered autumn’s brief-lived wrong,
and cataracts hurled thunder through the air;
argent aspen cast those trembling rays ,
a bee’s low diapason haunted thyme,
steeds tore the dusk asunder with their neighs,
whilst oceans breathed their vast, forgotten time—
then came thy voice, and all things lost their claim;
winds stood arrested; daylight paled and failed;
stars veiled their fires, abash’d before thy flame,
and every sound I worshipp’d sank and quail’d;
I sank, inebriate, where sound grew still—
and heard thy voice within my silence trill.
Walking the narrow paths
of this forest exuberantly shady and lively,
I'm ready to discover its concealed beauty;
I will pose, then resume my walk
and put on my blue sunglasses
that makes me look so sleek.
Mysterious warblings of birds
intrigue me and looking above,
I meet a green parrot wiggling
his long tail trying to translate
his language distinctly harmonious;
its stare is calm and inviting,
he only sees bird watchers
with binoculars who spend hours
to find the rarest ones in the forest,
making their discovery very thrilling...
many species dwell in this habitat.
Wild stallions trot down the main road
frightening the slender and grey squirrels
sipping water from a pond infested with leaping frogs,
some rascal must have set those horses loose;
their neighs remind one of a battle that began on a battlefield...
an Anser attempts to attack them, but he's only a goose.
Daytime is a rassemblement of images,
of musical sounds that humans can't imitate;
nighttime is a gathering of scary owls
that coo while invisible crickets stridulate,
and the usual vagrant starts serenading
a moon so dull, ungrateful, and waning:
I am observant and start trembling...
hearing noises thinking they are rattlesnakes.
As dawn starts to streak across the sky
heralding in the new born day.
Feisty rooster already perched on the wall
giving forth with all his might, he crows.
Sleepy hens, ducks and geese scat for worms.
Low moos emitting from the milking parlour
mingling with the sucking sounds of machines
as they gather the rich creamy milk in containers.
Banging of impatient hooves from the shire horses
hungry for their grain, tossing heads and stamping,
loud neighs and whinnies fill the early dawn.
Soon they will be at work ploughing and farrowing fields.
Farmhouse door opens smell of eggs and bacon wafting,
farmer's wife emerges carrying pails heavy with slops.
As she nears the pigsty the grunts and squeals grow
barging, pushing as they search for tasty scraps.
A caterwaul of noise from the rookery deafening,
as they wheel and spin around the yard thieving.
Slowly as the animals return to the sweet meadows
life settles back to normal, until tomorrows dawn.
written 09/15/2013
contest Nature
I rode to power on a Midwest horse,
Bearing amongst the feathers in my cap this terse brief
from my broken people:
To lay waste to the irksome order
That home and abroad now prevails.
Strained voices break out in the valley below
And many more in the world across the seas
Bidding me to dismount at once
And move to saddle the global kingdom
Of Reagan, Roosevelt, Clinton, ...
That now is mine to ride.
Yet this very kingdom I came to crush;
My Midwest horse, I wouldn't trade for it!
In her neighs, I hear a nay
Forbidding me to consider the bargain.
Her counsel I think I'll heed
For between the two, she's the easier to ride.
A horse that trots on cheap lies
Or a kingdom that floats on costly allies--
That's the question I now confront.
Disobedience never pleases
anyone in power who entrusted
his existence to a few commanders
who violated the sacred laws:
they were terrified of bloodshed,
their fear spiked the horror of being dead!
Days before the defeat they trod along roads
drier than any desert their feet had touched,
no amount of water could quench their thirst
becoming too discouraged and unable to fight;
their destiny was set by disheartening vibes:
nobody could have survived and claimed victory,
" Turn back, don't face with valor the strongest army:
it's an enormous tide that swiftly will swallow you up,
think about your home and your dear ones without a guard,
their feeble arms cannot point a rifle and aim at soldiers
who have no mercy on the little ones shaking up!"
" O traitors of the country that gave you birth and insight!
O despicable soldiers without the belligerent ego of the spirit
that admonishes to go forward, to defeat, advance and conquer;
your forefathers will toss in their graves for your cowardice,
show steadfast loyalty, look straight ahead: a warrior is not a mice
which hides and comes out of his crawling place when all is clear! "
The embittered general with his stern glance set on the battle
still persists in his admonition to prevail if they would heed
while his stallion neighs, immobilized and unable to proceed;
he holds the reins tightly: himself is afraid and seems to tremble!
Should be also disobey the sacred laws that make a nation stand?
No, he won't: he springs into action to scatter the enemy as planned!
"This is funny"— Doc Holliday
A cowboy’s whispering
a devil may care response?
I give as good as I get
Doc Holliday gave his services,
saved a lawman from sure calamity
brave, never a streak of yellow
perchance it was his caustic wit,
a humorous bite, and sense of humor
as dry as the dust
I am your huckleberry
do or bust!
At the Ok Corral
horse’s trotting
horse neighs, grunts
a nickel plated pistol fires
the infamous gun fight prior
what’s not to admire?
Cavalier as Doc may be,
a baptized sinner’s gunslinger
who’d specialize in dentistry
at a time when a bottle of whiskey
and a pair of pliers were the tools of the trade
he gave and gave
"Best set of teeth in gold"
claims he and partner
and true it was awarded and to showcase
annually at the County Fair, praise oh praise!
Tuberculosis
the death of him
the “White Death” shall soon take its toll
coughing spells untimely discourse dispels
a recourse to gambling after all
dexterities hold steadfast
Faro, a master’s game
no real family but the wild and woolly west
when shooting it out its life or death
Or knives be it
the heart bleeds, its beats slowly
as the lungs fill with unrepentant decay
a dagger's stabbing pain
The sulfurous waters
the distant wind yearns and blows
like the drums of passion,
a harpsicord ominous,
an urgent cello
exposing desert sands
it reveals one’s true nature
an inherent caliber it shall define
For every sinner there is comfort in knowing
there is forgiveness divine
to err is human and in the depths of our sins
the light will shine
so it shall be for him
I always figured I'd meet my fate someday
with my boots on…
but in the end
in his bed
boots off
Should winter cometh before roses bleed
wouldst thou be fair and warm mistress’ fire?
Alas, waiting wife desires the same need
to float upon the night her sparrow’s lyre.
I pray thee, wash away the night’s coldness
Till we lay on thick mat and yield to time,
with secrets that moon shalt guard our madness
thou art mine though we hide fine bliss of wine.
But lo! Thy old dame searches for Lord’s name
clanging gates with neighs, her face known to all
Whilst she rages of us; townsfolk cry, “ shame!”
On eve’s folly, tryst doth claim fools’ toll!
. …….. .
Contest: Lisa Cooper’s
I Want Some Old English Scandal
Written by Gail R DeBole
on July 19, 2021
Updated September 4, 2021
A baby who lived on a farm
Would coo and gurgle with charm.
She completely amazed
Her family each day
With all of her sweet, lovely sounds.
She would hear chickens, cows, and sheep
As she fell into a very sound sleep.
Then she would awake
To the noise roosters make
And would listen to chicks as they peeped.
She heard many oinks, moos, and neighs.
The animals talked lots each day.
Chickens cluck-cluck-clucked.
She heard quacks from each duck.
The animal sounds never waned.
When she made her talking debut.
Her parents didn’t know what to do.
You might think it absurd
As to what her parents heard -
She sang out a melodious moo!
Next was a loud cluck-cluck-cluck!
Then she skillfully quaked like a duck!
She then gave a neigh
As she giggled and played.
Her parents were completely awe-struck.
She saved her best vocals for last.
Giving her parents a proud vocal blast.
She called her father “Papa”
And her mother “Mama”
And that was her first baby rap.