Trotting Poems

A Magical Night

Majestic night, oneiric, peaceful, quiet, rustic,
fragrant with jasmine, primrose and moonflower,
timeless beauty descending at the starry hour,
a visitor of heaven on the earthen garden.

aromatic boughs, cling, dance, ebb, flow,
welcoming the visitor of divine dwelling,
songs of cicadas fly on nocturnal wing,
an ambiance of festivity and glee.

glorious, hopeful, inspiring, joyful, kindred,
spirits of nature, embrace the enchanting night,
brimming with happiness, a heartful delight,
one with nature, heart, soul and mind.

smiling, trotting, unfazed, vivid, wishful,
night’s beauty, hums a soft lullaby,
a time to sleep as the dreams pass by,
and the magical beauty of night, kisses goodbye.

  
Alpha Lines Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Joseph May

The Breath of Trotting

J-ogging
U-ses
L-egs
I-n
E-xercise
T-o

V-alidly
E-nergize
L-ungs
A-nd
S-imply
C-atch
O-xygen

©bfa060125
Monocrostic (Birthday of Juliet Velasco)

Cantata

Cantata
He stood there on a plateau that only had a tree,
And since he had appeared from nowhere, there
Was there no past to bother with?
He sat under the tree mainly because it was
getting hot, the tree had big, thick leaves and
Beside the tree, there was a barrel of cold water.
During the day, the plateau became shimmering
He saw ponies trotting past like a knitted poncho.
Since he had no past, a fragment of a future
Instinct told him they were going to the Green Vale
That had grass, shade, and a lagoon that reflected
The sky, or was it the other way around?
He sat there and tried to visualize the future where he didn´t
Exist, but he failed, which made him human.

Cowboy Moments

Hindquarters
have formed a saddle
of this office chair.
Trotting comfortably
through
a wilderness scrub
some tag as poetry.
A large man on a little pony,
A small man
alone
on this vast plasma prairie.
daring to seek out outlaw ways.
Reaching
the end of a distant thought
drawing a mind picture,
raising hell
on a digital silver screen,
a place where hombres
herd images together,
then brand them,
with a slap on the rump.

A Beguiling Cat

A beguiling cat does everything for gain.
His innocently jaded, kindly, loving, mein -
not only prevarication,
quietly raising station,
trotting up, vexingly, while xeriscaping your zone.

morning drive

chilly driving in country 
watching for running deer 
trotting across road

of poetic reverberation

I saw him
Well, I actually heard him
Shouting
                       POETRY HERE
                                       GET YOUR POETRY HERE
SONNETS ON PARADE
                     ALLITERATION TROTTING BEHIND
                                         METAPHOR MOCKING THE MOONLIGHT

He waved his papers proudly
Temptingly reciting snippets
Spidery webs
Inviting the unsuspecting
To slow down
                 To listen

A few passersby gathered
Chuckling at the idea

Unaware 
          They had succumbed
                                     Altered their paths
Stood
      Motionless
                  Mouths a-gape
                                    Mesmerized
Ensnared
          In the gossamer tones
                                       Of poetic
                                                  Reverberation

meeting giant dragon

We had heard of giant dragon, but had not met him until today
He came trotting up with two faeries, they were singing songs in sway
We asked if we could get a ride; he said he has room next Tuesday
But we have to share him with an elf, two mules and a broom named Kay

Orange frog was annoyed, and quickly gave a sniff and hopped away.
I said that was fine and gave giant dragon a lively fresh bouquet.
The faerie guy who had been trying to woo me, did not have much to say
This is probably why his wooing is not working, said my Auntie Faerie Fay.

I Tripped On Weeping Stones

The strangest and weirdest vision
flashed across the purple wall
painted by a scrubby rascal,
where a blood-stained altar
was used to offer humans to Satan;
the eulogy dedicated to the next victim  
was terribly frightening and resounded with sadism:
the specter's eyes were darker than tar
and too menacing to anyone not shouting a line
and did not participate in the daily sacrifice,
but kept away and challenged the guiltless vile! 

I tripped on weeping stones
smeared with the stench of blood,
some of them profusely bled;
they shook under my trotting,
emitting many painful moans: 
they thought I was their biblical Savior,
little I could do to ease their moaning
and looked away in a mood so sad!

I'm Home! minichu poem

When I get home and open the doors,
our little dog comes trotting to me
on his tippety tappety leathery paws.

He jumps so madly up and down.
I meet a greeting supremely happy
from our welcoming black and white clown.

All the time I was out he was sleepily waiting
Now, he expresses his doggiest glee.
Our little doggie is celebrating.

When I get home and open the doors,
I meet a greeting supremely happy.
Our little doggie is celebrating.

The Trickle of Wicken Fen

Blurred bushes rush by
Brain bends 
Time out far across the fens 
A solitary heron flaps
The pterodactyl lazy loads 
A flyover of long strokes 
Of reed brushes
Eels writhe 
A dog trotting
Leaps across the dyke
A wand of estuary birds 
Cast up from the land
Coloured sand vast across the morning sky
The power when it comes
Succumb
The trickle of Wicken Fen.

Huh

three trotting turtles
slowly raise a cloud of dust
neck and neck finish

six hissing serpents
surreptitiously slither
escaping their pasts

three city ground hogs
shaking their "jay-lo" booties
cross against the light

John G. Lawless
©6/13/2023

Youth

Yearling struts its liberty in unstinting energy
Oblivious to reserve that shoes a gallop with dullness
Unaware of regret's stable and the binaries of age
Trotting between indolence and indulgence
Hot-blooded youth that knows the sway of vigor in
                                  every race, instinctive
                                  right out of the gate







Acrostic composed May 5/2023

Give Me the Midwest

I readily admit I am a country bumpkin
But I am no buffoon
I am in this to build others up
To help others win
To raise up my neighbors and my friends

We hear about the coastal towns
Both east and west coast have terrific reputations
Their people are more sophisticated, more stylish, chic.
It is fashionable at both coasts to be less hands-on.
To be less community oriented.

In the big citiies of the coasts, people on the streets do not speak.
They do not smile.
They do not say “hi”.
They walk past each other, like trotting lamp posts.
Not noticing faces or inflections.
Not noticing humanness in each other.

I am in New York City today, trying to figure it out.
Where is a guidebook to help me unlearn social niceties?
How can I immediately become less human? Less caring?
How do I not say “hi” to everyone I pass?
Is there a manual? A cheat sheet? A U-tube video?
Too late. I am already here, feeling miserable.
Wishing I was back in the Midwest where it is okay to care about strangers.

Robin In the Snow

Squirrel said, “Here comes robin, trotting in the snow.”
His little feet are not moving fast, he is really quite slow.
Are those his relatives behind him walking in a row?
At this pace, they might not reach us until the April flowers grow.

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