Short Manes Poems

swishing tails
snorts and shaking manes -
siesta's plague...

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I like unicorns.
Huge majestic creatures with
beautiful manes. Yay!...

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hooves pounding the snow
   manes flying in Winter's wind ~
      mustangs on the hills...

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Her courage became wild stallions,
Stampeding on bronze-stained dirt.
They were untamed,
Their manes
Thick with fearlessness....

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Rainbow waves 
Churning towards the shore 
Like horses, 
Their windswept manes 
Dancing 
Through the colors 
Of the spectrum...

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Like stallions trying to spit the 
bit
Manes shrugged off in a 
flotsam mist
Create an omnipresent 
constant hiss
Interrupted when two collide 
and kiss...

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hooves pounding in snow
   manes flying in Winter's wind
      mustangs on the hills



******************
December 19th, 2016
John Lawless * Troika...

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Herds of white horses,
galloping with flying manes 
across wide blue plains.

January 6, 2016
For contest: The Troika: Haiku with hooves
Sponsored by: John Lawless...

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Fear of the big brown lions who's breathe smells of chewed up souls and teeth so sharp they shine,
With manes so soft and warm and deep claw wounds in a young spirit that's torn,
Now time to be reborn....

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Dry stone walls
And rambling lanes
Fell ponies with six foot manes 
Farmers at the market with sheep  to sell
Snow in the winter blocking shap fell
Wellies in the kitchen 
Straw in the hall
Not forgetting the barometer on the wall....

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Above the choppy,
viewed from
behind the glassy
winded and floppy.
He observes the flossy 
dark black rolling 
white and frothy.
Salt filtered manes blown 
acrossy limpits rocky 
trapping olde anchors rusty
amongst filleted fishy

...

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   manes plastered down
     quarter-horses
   put through their paces
     lightning-like, whips crack the air 
 
   puddles mirror rainbows
     sunshine peeks from clouds
   hands folded around cash
     spectators pray to gods unknown
...

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For the final time
the white manes sat along the edge 
of the sandbox
digging for ball and jack, a tin toy
perhaps a glimmering nursery rhyme
bits of innocents, the dance of time.
but now they need to leave
the vapor of their shinning verse 
on the edges of a blackened universe
white manes....

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thoughts
            wander
         in the mind
      like wild horses
 they prance and gallop
   with flowing manes
         till worn out
          they seek
              rest

___________________

    12th October 2015
     Contest: Ninette
   Sponsor: Silent One
         Placed 3rd...

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Her gown of sprouting green, sleeves of new leaves
Jade shade illuminates fresh summer rain
Woven gossamer silk on turquoise trees
Threaded through her mare's alabaster manes
Planting gold hope along emerald lanes
November mists persists in chartreuse dawn
With aspirations to sage Avalon.

12/5/19...

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Horrific hound’s horrid hair     					            
Holding human hatred 					          
Haggardly hawk hones hooks 					            
Harping harlot’s whoring  haze					               
Mean mares manes maddens mind 				         
Marauders mane my mainstay  					            
Mobility moored most menacing...

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In dreams I ride bareback the wild horses
Long hair loose and flowing behind 
free as their manes and tails
As gentle breeze embraces my form
Moonlight mesmerising my mind
as I trip through the stars
Exhilarated, racing heart, free to roam
Unrestricted on barren lands
Returning back to horizons reality....

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Listen to poem:

The swell is rising, 
furrowing the brow of seascape,
forewarning of storm arising.
Sheer bliss for surfers,
toil and trouble incising
ferment and foreboding 
on sailor's foreheads, glistening,
with the spray and froth flung
from wave-top manes breaking, 
off from white horses on the bay prancing.

24 September 2019...

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I dance upwards;
below me,
the waves slap the cliffs
and beat the rhythm.

Wind whipped clouds gallop
with flying manes
across the blue plain of the sky.

The wild geese resent
our intrusion;
honking displeasure,
they swoop a warning: 
we are guests here.

Amid the cedar fragrance
of summer and freedom,
I lean back
into the arms of the world....

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  They thundered across the fertile plains,
  Those hardened hooves, those tangled manes,
   But now the Buffalo can't be found.
   They thundered across the fertile plains.
   The long grass has vanished from the ground
   Where cities and highways now abound.
   They thundered across the fertile plains,
   Those hardened hooves, those tangled manes....

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It is surreal to me.
Corridors of dazzling colours.
Sonerous gurgling from hidden streams.
I must be in a gorgeous dream.
Murmurous whisperings of fairies.
In arcane little dwellings.
Or are they in the bulbous swellings
of unopen water lilies?
Far off I spy two beautiful fillies.
Until I stroke their silky manes.
In case I ner return again.
Please don't wake me....

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Wild horses run through the night.
Manes flowing, nostrils blowing, eyes glowing,
Run for their lives, flee the fright.
Stampede never slowing

Wild horse hooves pound like thunder.
Ground shakes, muscles ache, hedgerow break.
Run from the sound all asunder
Ghost riders chase daybreak

Some Paradise Where Horses Go Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Michelle Faulkner
3/24/20...

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The wind carries on, seeking a peaceful place, to muss hair and raise Cain.
With no friends to meet, it invites the flowers, to scent the summer breeze.
The birds draft its thermals, to far-away places, where sunset calms the wind.
To rest and dream of flight, where the lavender haunts, the windless way.
Then to resume the search, for wild horses' manes, and the whispering pines!



...

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Being who you are, is the best!
Unwilling to follow the crowd.
And wear that conformity shroud.

Be the bee that stings their souls!
Free other poets from any chains.
To run as they will and shake their manes.

For you know if your poem is really good!
Truly acknowledge yourself, as number one!
That makes poetry, no task, simply, flowing fun!


4-13-2022


...

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Paint ponies by the lodge
White manes

Turned silver in the moon’s glow
Taste of Mother Earth

Burden baskets hang at the door
They hold many seasons

Of worries & fears
The night owl comes

He sings the death song
Your time here has ended

The West door beckons you
Night Owl grows silent

© March 1984



In Memory of Jacob Michael MacCallister
March 18, 1957 ~ January 26, 1983...

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