Long Pony Poems
Long Pony Poems. Below are the most popular long Pony by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pony poems by poem length and keyword.
Britches to shirt tails
in pigtails not pony.
She's Pippi the Longstocking,
her legs long and bony.
With raspberry lips
been parched by the sun.
Suspenders jacked up
to not come undone.
Her stitches to patches.
The clothes for a Jester.
Her uplifting laughter.
A fashion that's blessed her.
With red raven hair
and freckles to match.
Her teeth buck in front
on jaws for a latch.
Long stockings to thighs
and on past the knees.
Both comfortable wearing
and no-one to please.
A spunnk little child.
with cheeks boldly out.
She's Pippi Longstocking!
Let's all give a shout!
Go Pippi! Go Pippi!
from your smile to your laugh.
You're the girl with stockings
pulled over her calf.
excerpted from "For an album";
Adrienne Rich (1987)
...
Our story is of moments
when even slow motion moved too fast
for the shutter of the camera:
words that blew our lives apart, like so,
eyes that cut and caught each other...
...our story is
how still we stood,
how fast."
That still fresh old photograph of you
astride a spotted pony, bare feet
dangling as limply as your torn dress:
the background was a high veranda,
cool green trimmed with gingerbread.
A small boy sat the animal with you --
two solemn and handsome children
upon a well-fed pony, photographed
by an itinerant in the thirties --
the time frozen as long as the picture
or our fading memories of it may last.
Some say the boy, our brother,
did little in his forty-six years;
but now, we see his boy's eyes,
soft, liquid, serious, sad,
no hint of smile about them.
We weep his loss.
And you, sister:
alert, protective, girl's face
set to fend off the world --
cast so early in your role
as the family glue
holding us all together.
Passing of Time
Caught up, time to exploit.
Hours to utilize, with what?
Jump into my time machine,
that’s what, give it free rein.
To the Blue mountain.
Swim in the pool with the boys
Make a good stroke or two,
then into the good book.
Now no particular place to go.
No particular agenda, plan to fill.
No particular good reason to,
just slip into the saddle an do.
Let my pony rear up, run wild
across a couple of empty hours.
Those moments slipped into twilight.
A snow white, almost full, moon hangs
low in a bright indigo sky.
Sitting along side the Pitt dyke.
Observe the moon crawl upwards,
to the south west across the shadowy
branches of a standing alone tree.
Helios having none of this moon
sets the south west horizon ablaze,
fire flickering among the trees, to see
while this one sits in the saddle
waiting, watching, time for supper.
A Wendy’s spicy chicken
will fill an empty space, in me, not time.
That would necessitate something spiritual.
Something intellectually stimulating.
Something that would express artistic flair.
Something that would bring one’s soul to light.
B. J. “A ” 2
November 23rd, 2023
And ignoble prize trumpeting hubris awarded to...
Bourgeoisie donning ersatz
overstuffed ego freezer bewigged pate
"FAKE" grotesque humanitarian
bribed corrupt judges will vindicate
jimmied cracked corn
land of "milk and honey"
red hot button he spoils to activate
countdown to Armageddon
leaving nation prostrate,
all the more reason to axe electoral college,
now holds electorate
hostage to bully tactics grate
for dead souls – zombie thriller, viz
Putin on the ritz,
whereby Pavlov's dog will salivate
on cue and pony show will titillate,
and worse case scenario, a far more terrible fate
than death by a thousand cuts
equals his refusal not to abdicate
presidency, should voters
get smart to administrate
White House with progressive commander
in chief he/she will adjudicate
decency, honesty, integrity... and acclimate
government toward amity, comity, equality...
oh,... and most importantly advocate
salutary measures affecting biosphere,
where industrialization didst devastate
contaminate by bajillion beings birthrate,
every square inch of Earth
*****sapiens succeeded to abominate...,
prima facie global warming doth correlate,
hence primary requisite mandate
to reorient modus operandi no time to wait,
where carbon footprint negligible
still preserving technological paradigm
fixing low cussed electricity to generate
courtesy renewable resources
else man/womankind will become footnote
atrophied trappings agglomerate
twenty first century civilization
damned, inundated, ossified bridgegate
checkmated, choked, chucked... wag gone wheels
das spare - tread fully tires fuming primate
jammed fruits of loins going bananas
infuriating, exhausting accelerating
no exit (sorry Sartre) to circumnavigate
hardy lee any recourse to extricate
oneself from madding crowd
self resignation minimally doth alleviate,
whereby impatient broods frustrate
inaccessible jackknifed mobility,
thence spark ignites spontaneous eruption
impossible mission to plug
crowdsource mob frenzy translate
pent up fury once loosed doth degenerate
into atavistic pandemonium cutthroat rage
snarling human logjam foaming at mouth
poised to strike ready to decapitate
any remaining shred of salvation barren feeble
slow vac hoovering, milking, and sucking
every last vestige of bondage peoples extirpate.
Hi how you doing
I’m doing fine, how about you
I’m okay, well I’m not really
Go on tell me about it, that’s what us ex’s are for.
It’s Joe.
Joe, that’ll be my replacement.
He doesn’t seem to want to do it.
When you say do it, do we mean sex.
Yes, strange isn’t it.
I don’t know, I don’t know Joe.
He’s a man, what is there to know.
Why is he not chasing you around the house.
I don’t know, what happened to us.
You dumped me.
I know, but why.
Let me see now, oh yeah, you said you wanted a ring, marriage, children, house, and a pony. I said I didn’t like ponies, you said that’s the last straw. I said, exactly, do you know how much straw costs. You said, shut up about the straw. I said, where would we put a pony. You said, shut the feck up about the pony, shut the feck up about the straw. Do you want to marry me or not? I sort of got lost for words, and by the time I got round to saying I would love to marry you, you were away with Joe.
You’re so full of crap, you ran a mile, actually, you and that pony have a lot in common, you’re both mule-headed.
You’re still with Joe, did he give you a pony.
No, he gave me something else.
Frustration
It’s not all about sex you know, he’s saving himself.
That’ll be the biggest coming this year then.
I don’t know why I phoned you, you do my head in.
You need to borrow me till Joe’s ready.
No, I don’t, celibacy is the in thing now.
Well, in that case, I just want to congratulate on your resolve.
Are you seeing anyone.
No, I’m going through a monking phase at the moment, new habit.
So we could meet as friends then.
I don’t see why not, a friend in need is a friend in need.
I think that’s a friend indeed.
Indeed it is friend.
Should I bring a bottle round.
That would be a friendly thing to do.
You won’t mention Ponies will you.
I won’t mention Ponies.
Okay, I’ll bring Joe with me.
What.
I need to send him back, the post office is on the way.
Ha ha, nice one.
Heart Sutra
The moonlight, the firelight,
the scent of your cologne.
Enchanting, oh!
Our toes in amorous games
do play, shadow dancing.
The flames act as our footlights
and so......
As the first frost descends on
the one last, California rose.
Such unspeakable solace in my
intimate desire grows.
I lean on the tartan plaid coverlet
to kiss that Olympian nose.
Then...place my velvet-ribboned
pony tailed head, so gratefully upon
your crescent chest.
Just to hear the wind chimes of your
heart.
We, both so magically magnificent
and masterpieces of God's finest art.
Always together and never apart!
Your forever~
Panagiota
I live amazed in an amphitheatre,
A huge red and white domed tent.
Working with actors and jesters,
Enduring a perpetual torment.
The crazies I know are the clowns,
Red nose and a big head of hair.
And the gym junkies, they’re the strongmen,
Wrestling each day with a junked up brown bear.
And the farmers are the animal acts,
Talking with elephants, lions and a monkey.
While the women down town, they’re the hula hoop spinners,
Forever looking so spunky.
Then there’s the boss in charge, she runs the sideshow,
With magic acts, rubber man and the pony.
She makes up the rules as she goes every day,
Turning up as the bearded lady.
My life is in the flying fruit fly circus,
Others, are they oblivious to sights I view.
Every day brings a new surprise, I see it, I wonder,
I’m curious, do you see it too?
Long live James Tate. :)
Let me tell you a story from the old wild-west;
Of a terrible lawman with a star on his vest.
His title was “Ranger”; not bound to a town
He studied the outlaws then hunted them down.
One long hot summer; played like a pawn
He’d failed to take down the man called “Big John”.
He was tired and thirsty, his mood like black jet
As he rode into Dodge his sights were still set
On Big John!
He stabled his horse, and checked out the saloon
‘cause he’d heard the big man liked to drink there at noon.
Through the wide swinging doors, he strolled to the back
His face as long as a wagon-wheel track.
The scowl on his face told me this man was risky,
But I was the bar keep, and he needed whiskey.
So I poured him a double in a clean mason jar
And slid it down deftly to the end of the bar.
He quaffed it and gave me a tip of his hat.
I thought it was over, except for the fact
That his mood was still dark, like rain in a flood,
I knew in my gut there was bound to be blood.
There in the corner; his back to the wall,
He waited with patience; said nothing at all.
Just stared at the space ‘bove the wide swingin’ doors,
His hands at his sides, drooping down toward the floor.
It was quarter past noon when the room darkened some,
Big John in the doorway; blocking the sun.
Two shots rang out from the man in the vest.
Two blood stains emerged on the big fella’s chest.
Big John just stood there; there in the door,
Then the glasses all rattled as John hit the floor.
Dry-gultched, like a fox at a watering hole
Big John was finished; so, likely his soul!
The old wanted poster said “Dead or Alive”.
They just didn’t care how Big John arrived!
The Ranger just smiled and sighed, “One more round!”
Then he gathered his pony and rode out of town.
May 9, 2017
My blue hair women paintings are surprisingly fun,
But the most interesting are my blue black haired combo.
I know this because I am staring at them now.
Pony-tailed, hatted, hanging, one doing the mambo.
I always thought the pink hairs would be the most “ut”.
My pink cats and dragons have them completely topped.
If I counted all the flowers and hearts on my walk.
I would laugh at my ludicrous self, that I could have never stopped.
Painting has been a most enjoyable hobby to me.
It has kept me out of relatives’ squabbles galore.
Entertaining me in every which way and wild.
Keeping me away from cleaning which I truly abhor.
Wish I Knew You When I Was Young
A long time ago when I was 12 and you were two
You was such a pretty little girl, just a toddler
It was wrong then to be interested, but what about now and...
Now a man, and your 42
Wish I Knew You When I Was Young
Now your 31 no longer play with Barbie dolls
Were both now adults
We now love each of us
Wish I Knew You When I Was Young
You were little in kindergarten
But you were to young then
So I went away to high school
You were barely in grade school
A pony tail girl, a daddy's girl
By the time you reach high school your parent won't approve
What should I do can't help it in love with you
Now your no longer a girl your woman
And I've been a man for sometime
Would come hold my hand
I would be more than honored if you share your life
Come be with me honor me by being my wife
Though we're some 11 to 12 years apart
I choose your love, your heart
Don't say know, I wanna be your husband
But you were to young then
Don't have me remember
Wish I Knew You When I Was Young
11/19/17
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