A palomino is to a horse
as a lead is to its source
If that makes sense to you
I'll ride the palomino
~ You ride the horse
Palomino pony was stopped by the storm
he laid down to rest, but did not make it
the fey took pity on him due to his beauty
they fashioned him into a gorgeous tree
he no longer has to scrounge for food
he sits on a hill overlooking other trees
showing his beauty to the world
as his tangerine and gold leaves fall onto snow
I have no medical knowledge, but I can fix up a horse
I can shoe them and herd them and cowboy them said mouse.
What kind of horse sense is this? Asked ancient cow named Roy.
You haven’t had any schooling, and you ain’t no cowboy.
I’ve been watching them for years, the mouse said, not intimidated.
Degrees do not matter nor the fact that I have not graduated.
This barn has been my university, my acumen is sharp and keen.
Give me a wild stallion or a palomino, and I will show you a new scene.
Barnyard animals were askance and a’scared of this confident mouse.
He was braggadocio like the wind, terrifying ants, beetles and louse.
The horses believed him because he had absolute belief in himself.
By the time he was finished there were sixty trophies up on their shelf.
Someday soon I am going to be in a big parade
I’m not going to be the Grand Marshall, of course,
I would ride a motor scooter if I were not afraid.
I’ve given thought to a Shriner’s tiny car charade
Actually, I’d prefer a fancy-clad palomino horse
Someday soon I am going to be in a big parade!
My best friends have suggested I visit an arcade
Indulge my imagination without possible remorse
I would ride a motor scooter if I were not afraid.
At my age my children say I should be more staid
Foregoing my grand illusions, I consider the source;
Someday soon, I am going to be in a big parade.
I promise you, I’ll be sporting my finest brocade
As I’ve never been known to be tawdry or coarse
I would ride a motor scooter if I were not afraid.
I’ll be tricked out with a necklace made of jade,
And I’ll be tossing candy and cheering until hoarse
Someday soon I am going to be in a big parade
I would ride a motor scooter if I were not afraid!
Written July 31, 2022
By Mystic Rose and Robert James Liguori
When the sun goes down on this hillbilly town
I will meet you there where the stars never frown
Down in the valley where the trees breathe easy
you and I will walk the sea slow, then easy-peasy
and as your arm encircles me I will whisper poetry
Roses in full bloom in a magical night of romance
we together as one two tender petals hand in hand
rolling towards the wispy winds like a lovers dance
Then with precision we will write in the sultry sand
the truthful words of our destined, happenchance
When the whispering is through, I'll belong to you
as the paint on a palomino foal is golden new
our love together will glisten true
And then, getting in my rinky-dink truck
we'll ride back to town, while the sun comes up
18-September-2021
(A COLLABORATION WITH ROBERT LIGUORI )
When the sun goes down on this hillbilly town
I will meet you there where the stars never frown
Down in the valley where the trees breathe easy
you and I will walk the sea slow, then easy-peasy
and as your arm encircles me I will whisper poetry
Roses in full bloom in a magical night of romance
we together as one two tender petals hand in hand
rolling towards the wispy winds like a lovers dance ;
Then with precision we will write in the sultry sand
the truthful words of our destined, happenchance
When the whispering is through, I'll belong to you
As the paint on a palomino foal is golden new
Our love together will glisten true
And then, getting in my rinky-dink truck
We'll ride back to town, while the sun comes up.
September 18, 2021
Thankyou Robert for joining me in this beautiful writing venture.
I wished I were a cowboy riding a handsome palomino,
But, I was just a little kid, my sis watching Valentino.
I wished I were a cowboy rounding up the longhorns,
But, I was just a little kid still believing in unicorns.
I wished I were a cowboy drinking a sarsaparilla,
But, I fell asleep at night clutching my Roy Rogers pillow.
As time went by, I grew up and moved on to bigger things
But, when I hear “Happy Trails to You” my heart still gladly sings!
Cowboy rides horse cowboy boots in stirrups
Cowboy hat waving in hand, yeehaw it’s grand,
Cowgirl is on the range! Lasso by corral
Appaloosa horse hurrah! Glad he’s a cowhand.
Dreaming of equipage horse-drawn
Carriage with attendants at wedding,
Hoedown rootin’ good time with
Root beer float, now kiss bride in west heading.
Galloping palomino golden tan coat
Rapid pace fast on each stride,
Cream-colored mane and tail fly high
Fair beautiful daughter sure and firm in abide.
Stagecoach rolls on by, near town Apache Junction
Locomotive sporting cowcatcher grille,
Black Stallion feisty and alive; husband’s
Love abounding in firm steadiness still.
Texas longhorn cattle cowherd on the range
Equestrian horseback riders like cowhide,
Head ’um out, move ’um out, rawhide! Open land wander and graze
Riding habit outfit, western sunset love now wide.
(ALLITERATION)
Cows milked: mitigated mooing in the meadows then
Weaving on the warp, some workaholic women
Harvest of hapless halibuts on hooks
Bookish book-worms buried in books
A palomino and a pony patter on the paving
Hucksters and hawkers hawking every housing.
Ravers out on the razzle raising a raucous razz-ma-tazz
Beavers busy building beaver-dams but about it quite blasé.
Doves cooing in divine chorus
Frogs frisking out of focus
Horoscopes are hocus pocus.
Tidal waves of tsunami treacherously tread
Sea-anemones scattered upon the sea-bed.
Geraniums genuflecting in jungle-like gardens
Hunters wary of wandering wild-life wardens.
All this when I ventured about videotaping
Nature's much nicer even with no landscaping
These are direly different scenes from different parts of the globe
Perhaps like a space probe's kaleidoscopic poetic probe
( this poem has every letter of the alphabet except x)
She tightens her saddle one last time
She's ready to go, ready to ride
Her palomino mare snorts and paws roaring to run
The buzzer sounds, now its on
Down the middle veering right
She makes the turn, the crowd ignites
On to the second whippin' her hard
The barrel tips but doesn't go far
One more to go, she's clenching her teeth
'Round she goes she can't be beat!
On the home stretch, kickin' up dust
Through the gate she goes
She's the number one
on his regal waves
galloped by my gallant knight
marvel to behold
his daintiness is a prize
I wish for a tandem ride
March 8, 2015 7.30 pm
"O-ka-hey!", the Sioux warrior's cry,
"Today is a good day to die!"
Tribal drums beat along banks of the river,
White mists drift upon the turquoise-blue,
They take their aim with bow and quiver,
Ready to fight for a purpose, free and true.
"O-ka-hey!", the Sioux warrior's cry,
"Today is a good day to die!"
Into the heart of battle they will ride,
Mounted upon a fearless palomino horse,
Lead by their ancient spirit guide,
He courageously braves his course.
"O-ka-hey!", the Sioux warrior's cry,
"Today is a good day to die!"
Blood-stained fields of dry autumn maize,
Was predicted by spirit guides to happen soon,
A golden sun rises in the morning haze,
And sets on darker days of many moon.
"O-ka-hey!", the Sioux warrior's cry,
"Today is a good day to die!"
Written for Shanity Rain's contest - "Native American People"
Note: "maize" is a Native-American word which means "corn".
"O-ka-hey" was a battle cry from the Sioux Indians,
it meant "today is a good day to die"
I am not sure of the spelling of this phrase.
If anyone knows the correct spelling, I would greatly appreciate the help.
So, this is where butterflies go to die.
Atop this burning ochre beach.
Amidst the palomino stones, party streamers, and chinook bones.
They folded up their powdery dreams.
Awaiting the pallbearer's tide.
Toting emerald caskets, silver-lined.
So, this is where butterflies go to die.
It was not the robe flowing beanied
kind;
nor the ball batting
St. Louis slugging
variety.
I saw the shrill-
whistling flying
mr. proud to be a bird
red male looking for a
palomino-ed colored female kind of cardinal
come a calling not for me,
the earth-bound tin-eared
feather-free wingless woman
martian-looking
through a pair of Zeiss.
©Kathryn McLoughlin Collins
June 21, 2012
A novel that I haven’t read
Is Fifty Shades of Grey.
I know what it’s about, but why the grey?
I couldn’t say.
The only greys that I could name
Are charcoal, smoke or ash.
But fifty shades of brown?
Now, I could name them in a flash!
There’s mocha, chocolate, bittersweet,
Mahogany and umber;
Burnt sienna, saddle and
More tans that I could number.
Butterscotch and caramel,
Espresso, cocoa, rust;
Copper, coffee, khaki, chestnut –
There are more, I trust.
Cinnamon and chicory,
Malt and dirt and clay;
Sand and nutmeg, earth and mud
And one I cannot say.
Camouflage, bamboo and beige,
Bronze and fox and mink;
Camel, pecan, palomino –
Time to stop, I think.
I’ve made my point; as colors go,
I think it’s fair to say
That Fifty Shades of Brown makes sense
Much more than Shades of Grey!
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