I am not too keen on witches,
But I would love their broom
When I'm feeling downhearted
Up in the sky, I'd Zoom
The speed would excite me
With the wind blowing in my hair
The magic of the broomstick
Would erase all care
A broomstick has no gears
Engine, steering wheel, or wheels
It can Zoom anywhere
Over dales and hills
It needs no maintenance,
Petroleum of any kind
It is independent
It has no worries on its mind
You would think it was uncomfortable
Perched up high, flying on a stick
I would sit side saddle
Like a witch, MAGIC!
I wish you all happiness,
And a feeling of contentment inside
When you get downhearted
Take a witch's broomstick for a ride.
He rode his horse side saddle
Across the rolling plains
Scarlet polished finger nails
Gripping diamantéd reins
A little cocktail hat
Resting on his head
Dingly dangly earrings
Sparkling ruby red.
This dandy of the cowboys
Dressed to impress one and all
Showing off his finery
On route to the Ranchers Ball.
Beneath his jeans he wore
Briefs, suspenders and a bra.
He’d baulked at a girdle as being
Just that one step too far.
Tonight was the Ranchers’ Ball
So what better chance
To show off his finery in
The ladies excuse me dance.
He was tough and he was macho
With no more need to impress
No more need to conceal
He need wear a lady’s dress.
And any of his workmates
Who laughed at that right
Had better be good and ready
To beat him in fair fight.
His heart pounded with pleasure
He wanted to scream and shout
This was a changing world "
Tonight he was coming out.
He sang seven songs of freedom
Whilst his cat danced a jig
And his monkey rode side saddle
On this pot bellied young pig
And the people of the village
All looked at him in awe
For none had ever seen
His like and type before
As they .peeped from the trees
He could see tapping feet
As he switched up the volume
And speeded up the beat
And they flooded in to the open
Left the shelter of their trees
At first just a little slowly
Then out in twos and threes
And the herders came and took them
Marched them to their ships of grey
That scoured through the skies
Of the endless Milky Way
And the forest seemed so silent
Not a sound to be heard
A silence finally broken
By the singing of a bird
And the projected image
Of the singer and his pets
Continued to perform
For a little while yet
Until the coming night
Cut solar batteries one by one
And as darkness bathed the clearing
The singer flickered and was gone
A nudist camp's "Come-as-you-are"
Was held at Trump's Side-Saddle Bar
There was just one hitch
To Donald Trump's itch:
He could not make Stormy in par!
Cruising, we pose, in our wonderland chair, towering above our smiles,
dressed in Autumnal orange and black, my arm around you for awhile.
Insouciant in spiffy suit, you sweetheart me in with juniper-mint cologne.
Black strappy-sandals felicitous dangle, I ride side-saddle on the throne.
The bittersweet-background of our portrait burns like a passionate flame.
Such cushy winks of time, lasso that binds, recalls why we share a name.
Surely God orchestrates a camera-angel, who unostentatiously fades,
Gifting regal hearts in silver and gold, an amorous and sensual serenade.
11/9/2019
Give Me 8 Lines of Rhyme Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
there is a young mermaid form france
who dreams to be able to dance
she tries to remain chipper
when she falls on her flipper
for it will not fit into pants
there is a young merman named mike
always dreams of riding a bike
people say hurtful mean jokes
when his flipper finds the spokes
now rides side saddle on his trike
iPhone chargers should be called “apple juice”
Bet they can't because they'd pay dearly for its use
Maybe a logo of an Adam's apple
Or a dude in pink, riding side saddle
Well really anything at all to avoid royalty abuse
Shimmering over a glassy sea, a moonlight carpet beams.
My walkway high to a starlit sky of memories from my dreams.
There mighty Taurus, rip-snortin’ bull, lowers his horns for battle.
Naked on his shoulders Seven Sisters ride side-saddle.
Dazzling diamonds, blue-white ice,
blazing through nebulosity.
Merope mocked and mooned me twice,
twerking with faux ferocity.
“Begone now, mortal, from my sight,
who dares defile the very night.
Look down upon the moonlit glade,
bear witness to the mayhem made.”
Agape, the Pleiad sisters wailed while yonder Cetus spouted.
“The culprit must be caught and jailed,” the rueful Virgo shouted.
The heavens heaved, so much offended,
torn fabric of time could not be mended.
Then darkness fell like a clap of thunder,
were it not for Einstein’s Biggest Blunder,
the Universe was blown asunder.
Who once wrote “God plays not with dice,”
had not known anything of such vice,
said: “Reading erotic poetry can’t compete with cosmic knowitry.”
Submitted: 6/2/2019
Like a dirty stain that should be removed,
the once clear distinction between men
and women has become murky and gray.
The stain grows and smears lines and
edges, the shape of men and women
are remolded. Gone are the curvy
feminine lines of a womanly figure,
replaced by more angular lines.
The bold, masculine lines of a man
are softened, erased and reshaped
into a nondescript form.
Fuzzy, blurred lines appear on the
facial features, hair is neither short
nor long, but shapeless.
A vague, pastel colored jacket and pants,
no tie, casual shoes and a side saddle
purse complete the picture.
Like a prodigal son, men try to take
what God has made and remake it
for their own purposes. Yet, one day
every man and every woman will
stand before their Creator, and
He will have no trouble telling them apart.
Written on 2015
Coventry's Lady Godiva goes
side saddle, naked from head to toes;
her blonde hair down to there,
and her bottom all bare,
'cause farmers pay taxes through the nose.
The Masque
By Rick Rucker
I go about my daily task,
Covered by my spiffy mask,
I ride Silver into town,
To save those, trodden down,
Accompanied, as I am, by Tonto,
I must get the bad guys, pronto!
It would seem to be my Fate,
To clean up a town in half an hour, never late!
I wear the mask, not as a disguise,
It helps accentuate my eyes,
I should really ride my horse side saddle,
But it would be awkward going into battle!
Next, I am thinking of adding, to my mask, some lace,
I think it would help to frame my face!
I never stay in one place,
Quickly, out of town we race,
I am thinking of growing a mullet,
So much less expensive a memory than a silver bullet!
As we ride out, past the church and steeple,
I think I will join The Village People!
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