Long One horse Poems
Long One horse Poems. Below are the most popular long One horse by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long One horse poems by poem length and keyword.
the valley of horror
On my way to the shops in the charming one horse
town called Benafim, I took a shortcut through
a narrow valley like a mensur scar in a high ranking
German officer’s cheek
When down, I regretted my rash idea, airless and still
no birds sang there, and no rabbits crossed the path
sharp floret bushes ominously murmured veiled threats
The trees were pale and long since deceased.
The sun didn’t reach fully here; deep shadows were
dark, murderous spooks waited, the soil was rusty
the blood of those who didn’t find the way out.
I froze and sweated, the track appeared endless and
my dog had disappeared.
Finally, at the exit, I ran the last 50 meters, the dog
waited for me, sensible she had taken the old road.
I was told by the villagers no one walked the there
a massacre from a war forgotten the evil continued.
Aye Writhed With Agony...
Unbeknownst to any
innocent onlooker, aye
underwent extreme internal
torture with silent cry
ying whimpers, whence,
(either left or
right) post-
pubescent myopic eye
didst readily espy,
an aesthetically pleasing female,
and most likely stunning
to any other generic guy
and suddenly rendered mute, NO...,
NOT even daring
enough to say "hi,"
which close proximity of sizzling
hot babe wrought me fancying
myself being whisked away
(in a one horse
open sleigh, despite
the remote possibility livingsocial
in Montgomery County,
Pennsylvania suburban) igloo
to be frozen
with fear, petrified lo'
while terror seized thee Oh No
bliss oblige emotional status quo
of much younger Matthew
Scott Harris head to toe
induced a deplorable woe
imaging other (prospective
obscured individuals) probably
considered yours truly
tubby unstrung mama's yoyo,
and at this present time feline
less in timid
dated noticing a sultry,
leggy, and foxy anatomical
and physiological arrest
ting, though such hypothetical chest
a coy gal, nonchalantly, innocently
with non verbal expressed
charm and demurely
posing as if intending
to serve as guest
of honor, nonetheless,
this brief illusory invest
ment, sans quasi
voyeuristic poetic, shrug jest
sheen, and imagistic distraction,
thy sole rhythmical
motif, since n'er nest
sold with any
purdy young thang begrudging
natural animalistic proclivity,
which absence young adult quest
ting, oh yea
definitely in apropos now,
yet...that self deprived
self discovery stage of life,
that "smarts" me psyche,
when clumsy teen
age dating experience,
a electric kool
aid acid (litmus) test
until twilight age
senescence doth wrest.
I wonder what he was thinking, the man
mounted on a stool, with his elbows resting on the bar,
eating a Big Mac and sipping coffee from a McCafe coffee cup.
The outside view he was watching through the glass wall
is the flickering lights over the parking lot and
the sounds of galloping horses on the road.
As usual, among those galloping horses,
some may be carrying today, which is heavier than the day,
on his aching back, while others run with full speed
looking forward to a better tomorrow;
yet, there is a horse, like one of the remnants of a defeated army
who fought the difficult battle where there is no today, no tomorrow,
but struggle after struggle of dogfight and defeat, dragging his feet
with a heavy burden.
Since there is no color or outline of an object in the dark
you are unable to distinguish one horse from the other,
such as the high-spirited grand Shire, the tiny amiable Falabella,
the gracefully elegant Akhal-Teke, or the Mule, born to carry heavy
load till dies.
That’s why the darkness is beautiful,
it doesn’t have a color like the death; yet,
it’s not comparable to the darkness of the grave
because it’s only the flip side of the day. It will drag
you into the light, compel you to see the sun in the morning.
As coffee gets colder, the smell of coffee goes away,
and further, the taste of coffee becomes bitter with elapsing time.
Then, from the empty feeling of missing something, he bites into
the hamburger held in his hand and hears the “moo…” the last cry
of a sorrowful cow dragged into a slaughter house.
Though death is, beautiful if it’s accompanied by a dirge,
the moment of death by force is, although the soul may be
lighter than a feather, a lot heavier than the weight of the world.
(this is a type of quatrain called Swap Quatrain,
wherein the fourth line of each stanza
is actually the first line, just swapped around)
Another Time, long long ago,
there was no Rain; there was no Snow.
No reason was there, and no rhyme
long long ago, another Time.
A desert only, lifeless land -
boulders, pebbles, grains of sand;
hot and windswept, barren, lonely
lifeless land; a desert only.
From Sky was tossed one day, a seed
onto this land so much in need,
whose dreariness would soon be lost.
One day a seed from Sky was tossed.
In Sun’s bright heat, the small seed grew
until an egg it changed into.
It needed only moisture sweet.
The small seed grew in Sun’s bright heat.
Sky clapped loud sound; a bird appeared.
The egg was pulsing as she neared.
White feathers fluttered to the ground.
A bird appeared; Sky clapped loud sound.
As Rain came down. . . A sudden change!
The bird turned into something strange -
A lovely girl with feathered gown!
A sudden change as Rain came down.
With Rain’s soft fall, the egg had burst.
Emerging from the egg came first
One horse, then two. Fantastical!
The egg had burst with Rain’s soft fall.
The horses grew beneath big Sun.
They thrived; with Rain they were as one.
Along with her, like Wind, they’d run.
Beneath big Sun, the horses grew.
Twin beasts and Rain, that dry land’s three
became a new world’s trinity.
And with them, green and springtime came.
That dry land’s three: twin beasts and Rain.
With so much spring, with Rain’s pure grace
came poetry into that place.
Bright flowers bloomed when she would sing
with Rain’s pure grace, with so much spring.
Variety, the needful thing,
Rain prayed out loud for Sky to bring.
And so was born for her to see:
the needful thing, Variety!
Then came down Snow from up above.
This counterpart was Rain’s true love.
When white Snow ebbed, sweet Rain would flow.
From up above, then came down Snow.
Sweet Rain, white Snow, atop each horse,
still ride the land and set the course
of when their seasons come and go.
Atop each horse, sweet Rain, white Snow.
By Andrea Dietrich
Inspired by A Rambling Poet's Contest:
"Rain: the Story"
Perfecting skills to calm a flighty horse.
Compact its trombone limbs with reins and legs
performing with no noticeable force,
all trouble and delight that beauty begs.
One horse, one rider, indivisible;
sky-born with earth-bound duty to endorse.
Control from legs and seat must be invisible,
obeying smooth transitions on the course.
Struck by awe, crowds watch, as in a trance
a pleasure trip controlled by aids precise.
Such liveliness contained in equine dance,
by what divine device - this Paradise?
Each discipline involved must ne'er be seen.
Before our eyes must seem a floating dream.
A STUNNER JANUARY 2018
Contest Judged: 3/17/2018 8:08:00 AM
Sponsored by: Line Gauthier |
2nd Place
I walk into the park on Christmas night.
A wonderland of winter greets my eye.
In shadows with a bluish tinge, the white
of snow looks magical, and it’s piled high.
I’m glad I wore my boots! I look ahead
and see a bench. It’s also steeped with snow.
It looks like Saint Nick’s sleigh or a fun elf sled!
Like a child reborn, to that bench I go,
brush off the snow on one end, and I sit
and singing Jingle Bells, my favorite tune,
I’m taking in the scene, enjoying it.
But getting cold, I know I must leave soon.
To my imaginary one-horse sleigh
I bid farewell; I’m calling it a day!
Dec. 1, 2018 Based on Picture #4
For Sara Kendrick's The Park Bench At Christmas Poetry Contes
I’m turning in eternity
For a pair of comfortable shoes
And a nice hot cuppa tea
I’m turning in my grave
For a black suit, top hat and cane
To join the dance of the unsaved
I’m turning in my tomb
For a room with a view
And breakfast in bed for the dead
I’m turning in my mind
For reasons there to find
To make sense of this rhyme…
I’m turning in my brain
To find out if I’m mad
For all that is insane
I’m turning in my dreams
Of butterflies and moon beams
To see all that seams
I’m turning in my right to die
To go with what’s left of my life
To experience the ride
I’m turning in my dancing
For what chance may be
A flight of fancy
I’m turning in my badge and gun now
I don’t want to play sheriff anymore
For this one-horse town
I’m turning in this rhyme
That haunts me from time to time
Maybe I’ll get two bits for it or a dime
Wish I had a time machine
I'd go back, change everything
Try again to make you stay
I'd go back and found a way
But I'm stuck here in this one horse town
Ain't no time machines around
Gone is gone and that's a fact
And she ain't never coming back
Wish I had a laser beam
One that cut precise and clean
Maybe have brain surgery
Zap away her memories
But I'm stuck here in this one horse town
Ain't no laser beams around
Gone is gone and that's a fact
And she ain't never coming back
Wish I had a rocket ship
Hop aboard and take a trip
Far beyond the atmosphere
Leave my cares and worries here
But I'm stuck here in this one horse town
Ain't no rocket ships around
Gone is gone and that's a fact
And she ain't never coming back
©2016.
One Horse Town
The boardwalks full of people only two stood in the street.
The showdown of the century counting down to thirty feet.
Black Bart said this towns too small for you and I to both be in it.
Today's the day we found out which one of us will win it.
Handy Randy took a spit and looked up at the sun.
He said yep, the truth be known by the time this day is done.
A hush fell over the town folks mother's hid their children's faces.
The two men in the desert sun walked just a few more paces.
The sheriff called out that's close enough! I'm a countin down from three.
Who's the best in all the west this whole damn town will see.
When he called that magic number Barts face turned black as night.
Handy Randy drew his pencil and they both sat down to write.
Randy wrote of springtime rain and the sound of childrens laughter.
Bart penned a verse about Randy moving on to the hereafter.
Then Randy wrote another verse so quick he made it rhyme.
The sheriff said time is up Bart finished just in time.
They filed into the saloon and they ordered up a drink.
While the judges read their writings and told them what they think.
Again the crowd grew quiet as they eagerly watched the show.
Old Hank from the hardware store said he really liked Barts flow.
The blacksmith from the stable stood up and cleared his throat.
And in almost a whisper said I loved what Randy wrote.
Bill that ran the old hotel said there ain't use denying.
My wife is a Randy fan but she always ends up crying.
The barber from on down the street trembled neath Barts gaze.
He said Barts poetry's kinda dark but he likes it anyways.
Some town folks started clapping you could hear the women sigh.
For the third year in a row the judges ruled a tie.
For some folks love the softer side while there's some that like it deep.
And not all men do their dreaming at night while fast asleep.
Once again the call was made the choice was handed down.
Black Bart and Handy Randy stay in this one horse town.
Edwin C Hofert
2026.03.31
End of March, I applied to study a program,
At the RMIT city campus Victoria Melbourne.
Learning a numeracy, professional and administration course.
I planned to get the certificate IV,
So, I could help the people more.
How long did it take me all,
To complete the entire enrolment's procedures.
No where near under four weeks period.
What went so terrible wrong with it?
How come it take far too long.
First, the staff of Study at RMIT,
They applied for me a wrong course.
I must speak the Auslan language first,
Before learning their signs language of interpreting.
Went back to them through another hurdle.
Was there avaibility to do part time?
Study face to face or on line?
Finally, I was sent to VE Student Connect.
Back and forth with tiredsomely and exhaustedly.
What a gruelsome journey before attending classes.
Hold one horse, I have not finished,
Made attempts to complete the LLN tests.
How many times over how many days?
Loss count. Half a dozen? May be.
While all that happening, guessed what next.
Potential duplicate of the student identification numbers.
One in 1984, another a decade later.
That put a hold on a week,
For the Administration to thoroughly check.
What a rough interesting journey so far.
End of April, I decided to enrol.
Mind me, I had to do it,
With the assistances from the Student Connect.
Then back to VE Connect building 94,
To select the classes for 1st semester.
With all that how exhausted I was.