Oh, esteemed clergy, heed to the lament,
Of laity's voice saddled with virtues not lent.
So also grasp the virtues and never go askew,
We all misstep, but confront the truths you knew.
Pride is tacked with injustice and palls of deceit,
Assert no purity from a tongue of the same suit.
You preach of love, yet starving us of that light,
You assert faith that still craves a discerning sight.
This is not animosity, but a call to an upright quest,
So you would thrive in honesty away a worldly jest.
Truth waver not with altitude; retract the craving for affluence,
They seduce until shadow of death draws to a confluence.
Be converted to convert the laity with words of delight,
It's only when you're true that God heals our
plight.
Rights Reserved
.
i came for thuh
roan
certainly too
it's
saddle (shhh
i meant saddled)
i'd'uh never agree'd tuh
take on that thar horse
if'n that purty skirt
'tweren't 'tatch'd
to it
Hopes died knotted when dreams betrayed
and my spirit lay prone in my marrow.
My heart watched love fray until failed.
No muscle of emotional strength left
was even tentatively dream linked.
Now, jailed in my mind-built fortress
are desires deceptively pieced parts
that once tingled my anticipation.
Morning to night, heartbreak guards my
fort’s locked cells where starvation
gives no salvation to dark false posing.
For years, I fell atop love bruising gravel
yet I stayed glitter and tackle saddled
seeking soulmate love on the horizons.
All love I thought breathed genuine
was paradise deception had spliced.
For true love, I would have lived in a cabin,
dressed daily in inexpensive flannel
and felt no jealousy for those living
adorned in silk and loving in a castle.
“Leaving the battle is not about letting go of the seen but in the redemption of the unseen.”
- Quote by Poet
Dawn awakens me,
I walk on yesterday’s path,
Through its meadow,
Where visions cast long shadows.
I wake up in the arms of yesterday’s darkness,
I’m in the embrace of its complexities,
I wonder if they’ll be the day’s perplexities,
Shouldn’t a new day follow a different route?
My mind goes back and forth,
Saddled with yesterday’s plight,
Striving to open the door to the day’s light,
Beckoning on the elements of the new day.
I walk into the depths of my mind,
Searching for stillness in its chambers.
I see an awakening light,
And journey toward it amidst my turbulent thoughts.
October 10, 2025.
You were supposed to hug me.
You were supposed to make me feel like a princess.
Where was the comfort, loving and protective father?
The sweet fatherly surprises for birthdays or comforting after a breakup.
Instead, we were saddled with awkward hugs and your bad temper.
I used to think you were the Hulk when mad: scary and unpredictable.
I remember the holes hidden behind pictures from your fists.
You put your head in the sand over and over, ignoring everything, letting everyone run amuck.
Time and time again, you would choose someone else over us, pushing us off to the sidelines.
I still remember the day I officially left.
Screaming in my face, close enough I could smell the coffee lingering on your breath.
I begged you to hit me because I could feel your anger rolling off your body, even though you never had.
Years roll by, and I rarely remember the hard times.
Now, I have inherited your numbness.
When a pair of fighter jets
Buzzed over the parapets
They woke up the entire block
Though the pilots had regrets
But still the neighborhood frets
At each ticking of the clock
This deafening sound they battled
Their dishes chipped and rattled
And went crashing to the floor
With nerves all spent and addled
The block packed up and saddled
No one lives here anymore
The Nameless one
For each day
you come awake
l am condemned to die
Opening your eyes
only to be blinded
by the light
Feeling the loss
even after a fresh start
Saddled with their burdens
but oblivious to their sight
With the vision
becoming blurry
an angel and demon
thus appears as one
Losing sleep
over someone else's hurdle
Hovering above
an unnamed monument
knowing you exist
the unknown one
Angie and Ruby, the Honky Tonk Women,
wanted to paint the honkytonk. Their heads started swimmin'
when I says, "Ruby, Tuesday's a good day to paint.
It should be sunny, but even if it ain't,
I'll have my radio blasting The Rolling Stones.
What kind of colors you want? What tones?"
"Paint it Black" says Ruby, but Angie, she says "white".
I says, "Tumblin' Dice can decide which is right."
Ruby said, "We got this old black paint from DuPont -
Angie, You Can't Always Get What You Want".
I painted up the honkytonk, nothing more to discuss.
I gazed at some Wild Horses, and picked a mean ol' cuss,
tired of all these women folks's bickering and fuss.
I had paint Under My Thumb, and my clothes were in a muss
as I saddled up the horse, thinking, Some Girls are pretty funny,
and I won't paint no more honkytonks for that kind of money.
She’s the power in his powerless her less is more, at the core of her beliefs her restraint begs for more, she’s the sanctuary he confides in when his wounded are to many. The lifetime and the life long the struggle and the believing. Coaxing remedies to his wicked, her grieving is relieving. The shame of his regret is saddled to her forgotten. Steadfast in forgiveness remorseful in his needy giving out her touch she is willing but she is greedy. Lacking thoughts of orange turn to burdens of her gray. Her warning tracks are half way spent she left a life of more demeaning, as meanings more she frees her pour to full of half retreating, in glistening grace she showed her face and showed shame its retreating.
As I wander across the arid dunes
Singing along, stringing along the ghastly glacial tunes
Sinking in the sands of debility
Saddled on a ride filled with sanguinity
Pondering, contemplating, despairing
Again, something is missing
Losing my touch as I bask in unfulfillment
Treasuring countless, meaningless sentiment
Albeit freedom-sworn, forever I am imprisoned
Locked behind those mourns of the damned
Days fly, and keep flying, freezing this ever old tale
The pained, unchanging currents never stopped, my heart too shall never settle
The nightly howls never halted, my eyes open unendingly
Are gay jockeys fruit of the loom,
when riding a race on the course,
and would they need a leg-up,
to get on their high horse?
Bucking the system in a one-horse town,
or in the middle of a stream,
to look for gifts in a horse's mouth,
is not the smartest scheme.
Would a long-faced horse, a sourpuss,
not wanting to be a player,
bolt the barn door
and be a neigh-sayer?
If a broke cowboy, saddled with a nag,
a dark horse of a different colour that's *****,
were bent, a crooked rustler,
would he sell you a bum steer?
Where the hail crests the sunlight by the hill on which we laid
Though the bedding were not empty as the rocks did fight away
In the confounds of our memories too soon pass ways galore
Love then dines as faiths are born to the measure of one’s hearts true implore
Then the captives of the waves sang loudly as a choir
Till the sodden depths remained the same
still titles were yet held within the unquenched flame
Bore the night the sparkling sky for the darkened purply never rests
As the widow of a King bore all that she had torn
Combing hill after dale for the goodness is there born
See thine self for thyself in truth before wisdom is saddled upon the shelf
Shalden…
The subtle thread which mends a laceration
is woven through fresh, tender flesh to bind
disreconciled horizons, disentwined
by words sharper than the knives of damnation.
Then, even once that painful separation
is closed, there’s still so much left to attend
to,—wash the wound, put bandages, amend
echoes saddled with righteous indignation.
A stitch is but the means of tying tight
the gasping gash; but time alone can heal
the skin which suffers the ego’s trauma.—
Slow bonds, forming from the wrecks of the drama,
will join again disjointed sides, and seal
the split. The scar will long remain for sight.
I bought me a horse from a feller named Clyde,
said, "She’s gentle and sweet, just a joy for to ride."
Well, "Maybe" she was, and maybe she weren't--
the first thing she did was dump me in dirt.
I saddled up hopeful, boots shiny and proud,
"Maybe" just yawned and sat down on the ground.
I pulled, and I pushed, and I pleaded and begged,
but Maybe just blinked and then stomped on my leg.
Now me and ol' Maybe, we're thick as can be--
she naps in the shade, and she bosses on me.
Folks laugh when I ride--I don't mind much, you see--
'cause Maybe's the only girl stubborn as me.
Mountain View
With the ascended smoke
the sky was gloomy
Darkened times
creeping up
stealing the era
Killing the resolve
rhyming another song
Playing discordant tunes
ragging the future of the now
saddled with a tinted view
The vision becomes blurry
as the visionaries
became soulless hordes
taking chunks of yesterday
From the hopes of today
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