Stirrup Poems | Examples

Grandpas

2 men i called Grandpa acting like a Dad when a man walked away
Never batting an eye they'd be there for us everyday
One was out spoken and never left something unsaid
Other kept to himself so you find a way for your heart to mend
They always taught something new to me
Since I was just under Three
Just a girl that wanted her dad 
Grandpas never let her stay mad
Sneaking extra Banana Popsicles when Grandma was napping
Getting into the sweet stash quietly so they didnt hear the wrapping
Grandpas had the joke and skits they played on us
Those new lighters and staples were always a lil sus
Whether it was one sneaking food off your plate
Or the making you open the pasture gate
Being told to not waste time or tears on a man who does show up
What he meant was brace yourself and keep your feet in the stirrup
People always had the chance to let me down
Grandpa showed me how to move on without a sound
Things they did shaped us into the parents we are
They've got the best seats since they became a star

Trying Man

Getting up after the fall,

Standing again and accepting the call.

Giving it the proverbial 'college try'

Burning the midnight oil and remembering his 'why'…

Standing in the batter's box again after strike three

Readying himself for another at-bat, standing in the box confidently…

Picking himself up off the canvas after the big left hook

Shaking the cobwebs and learning from the hit he just took

Getting back into the saddle after the bump and fall

Now, sitting strongly in the stirrup and riding tall___

A trying man can never lose.

Sometimes, and quite possibly many times, he may hear the blues.

A trying man in public is a crying man in private.

He works and tries; he contemplates and cries in quiet.

A trying man is willing to give it another go.

He still stands and smiles after receiving his one thousandth 'NO.'

But lose, he just cannot.

Because he always aims for his best shot

In the end, a trying man can do nothing but win.

In the beginning and throughout, he never looked outside because he always looked within.

I Won'T

I won't settle or let it rest 
     That deep desire that lives in my chest 

I'm not backing down or moving to the side 
     I'm sitting up in the stirrup and valiantly toward my dreams, I will ride 

I won't stop or quail 
     I will try again, no matter how often I may fail 

I'm not missing out on my glory 
     I have truths to tell and they're all my story 

I won't shy away or cower down 
     I'm standing erectly; no time for laying down 

I won't be a victim...
for I am the victor 

I won't fall to challenges...
for I am a conqueror 

I won't 

I won't 

I won't...

because I AM

An Unusual Friendship

Sleek form of burnished russet fur
nimbly walking our garden wall.
Each night we expect this visitor,
indeed he has become an old friend.
No longer hungry, robust and fit
with a very fine brush.
He sits down quite fearless waiting,
dreaming of his potluck dinner.
I never named this creature,
although literature calls him Raynard.
He is the hero of countless adventures.
No, if I were to endow him with a name
it would be Liberty.
His species survived the great hunt.
In my mind I think 'how could they?'
No longer clarion calls and dogs barking mad,
with horses milling around.
No more port in the stirrup cup, 
a civilised gesture before barbarity.
But, back to my old friend the fox, it appears
he is no longer feral although domesticated?
certainly not. somewhere in between perhaps.
I love the way those piercing eyes gleam in the dark,
who knows how we are perceived?
Each night we carefully watch each other.
It is a distant friendship 
communication 
by way of food.



Pixabay image by rottonara

Brahms Ensembles Me

Brahms pushes a piano into my ear.
I hear the stool creak as he sits.
He does not introduce the music,
he expects me to remember it,
know it, eat it.

He lights up a Havana,
clarinet and violin cough
inside a woody cochlear.
Viola takes hold
of a long nostalgic ligament
loosening a stirrup bone. 

Bearded old Brahms
shifts from one large butt cheek
to another,
chords shudder
the music trans-locates us
as we share the lingering hint
of  Bratwurst
on his nicotine stained fingers.

Not being musically trained
I am grateful
to accompany a cello and viola
on a kazoo
shaped like a nose.

To Charge Within

I put a saddle on the wind
and rode it through the storm

The bridle placed, the buckle cinched,
the reins, my soul reborn

Inside each stirrup passion spurs,
the present close at hand

Behind whose mane I charge within
—in search of who I am

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)

Someone Just Like Me

"I'd bet on Someone Just Like Me", the lovely stranger said.
"I know the odds are long, but I just have this lucky feeling!"
The bookies gave a 10 to 1 for her prized thoroughbred,
I knew the odds for Reader Of The Stars were more appealing.

I placed my bet, the race began, my horse led out and out,
He passed by Harry Trotter, and had Hay Girl on the run,
He'd hold off Maple Stirrup, and beat Princess Peach, no doubt
But then, as though she'd seen a crystal ball, her longshot won!

Just like her odds, my hopes seemed dim in searching for a wife.
I hoped that lovely stranger at the track might be my honey -
The lucky day I'd longed for she would enter in my life?
I looked - the woman of my dreams was gone, just like my money.


Written 7 Sep 2020
Phrases in Bold are required by the contest

Canuck Rebuke

A maple leaf fell off the flag
When Mounted Police hit a snag
Some maple syrup
Stuck to his stirrup
Voilà Sergeant Preston in drag!

Nocturnal

"No, don't follow him
We don't need you to do that."

Did I hear what I just heard on that vocal record? Is that the best my hammer, anvil, and stirrup could afford? It didn't seem too muffled, or distorted by wind. Well maybe you didn't hear it. Let me play that again.

"No, don't follow him. We don't need you to do that."

Did the dispatcher not just win us that case, by telling him which way to point his face?

But you take off anyway, and go starting some trouble. Say you had to kill the kid because he started a rumble, and you still ain't even humble. 

You got away with murder. You LOVE America.

I Charge Within

I put a saddle on the wind,
and rode it through the storm

The bridle placed, the buckle cinched,
the reins, my horse reborn

Inside each stirrup passion spurs,
the present now in hand

Behind whose mane I charge within
—in search of who I am

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)

Not Acting His Age

Full-size toy made for kids, carved out of wood.
In stirrup, my eighty year old dad could
Not get atop the horse,
With playful eyes, of course.
He’s at it again, reliving childhood.

6/21/2018

Excerp of My Poem

Excerp of My Earp Poem

From my poor poem   had read an excerp;
Sounded so bad but still up they did slurp;
Syrup  seemed slick,
So we had own pick;
With feet in stirrup would have a big burp;
Reason why along way  up we would earp.

This all had happened while 
he was being a little twirp,
And poor little singer never 
learning how to chirp and
he had a lot of nirp. 

Jim Horn

Young Yank Living In Younkers

Was an young  Yank caught living in Younkers;
Ended up having willy's  playing with wonkers;
And I do believe,
Insanity receive;
After he saw flying by some sexy big honkers,
Lost broom he brushed with and went bonkers

Slurp and Then Usurp

Slurp and Then Usurp

Then there was the time that I did slurp
Up all of the things which I would usurp;
Pretty son get,
Stomach upset,
When I forgot to stick feet in each stirrup.

Jim Horn

I Charge Within

I put a saddle on the wind,
  and rode it through the storm

The bridle placed, the buckle cinched,
  the reins, my horse reborn

Inside each stirrup passion spurs,
  the present now in hand

Behind whose mane I charge within,
 —in search of who I am

(Villanova Pennsylvania: April, 2017)

When I'M Calling You

A Canadian Love Song

Like JFK with Edgar Hoover, 
I'm completely ill at ease: 
it's as if I'm in Vancouver, 
but I speak no Cantonese. 

A Mountie's boot must have its stirrup, 
they say Brooke Nevin needs a fattener: 
tooth decay loves maple syrup 
(look what it did for William Shatner!) 

I yearn for something quite profound, 
my very own deep inner need, 
just as Puget boasts its Sound 
and Calgary its Stampede. 

Like "foo" means nothing without "fighter", 
an ice rink's bare without a puck. 
Mike Myers lacks a decent writer: 
I think I need a cute canuck. 

I hope one day I will be ready 
(when Justin Bieber gets a life!) 
- Jeanette MacDonald, Nelson Eddy - 
to woo you as my Winnipeg Wife.

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