Long Stallions Poems
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Part 3
9th Delerium: Emptyness
Water wheels in wastelands... turning,
drowning relics in the slum
Rumpled rags of fashioned burlap... burning,
lit by bandits blind and dumb
Pastured prisons, ponies bridled ... yearning,
forest fairies under thumb
Sounds inside of cauldrons coughing... churning,
blaring bugles, tattooed drum
10th Delirium: Alienation
Rain unravelling, wistfully weeping... falling,
treacle trickling, fickle sky
Mushrooms sprinkled, visions sprouting... sprawling,
seagulls drowning, dolphins die
Rabble gasping, spirits broken... crawling,
lonely lonesome swallows cry
Babbling brooks and breakers ebbing... bawling
puppies paddle, puppets sigh
People passing ripple past me... calling,
rainbow colours, collars high
Chaos seething, lepers looting... stalling,
stealing stallions on the sly
Pencils pausing, scholars scrambling... scrawling,
scratching scribbles, asking why
11th Delirium: Jetsam
Silver sails sway pallid pirates... prowling,
Jolly Rogers, wind and sound
Parrots perching, tattered feathers... fouling,
tethered talons, tied and bound
Shipwrecked foghorns, trumpets stranded... howling,
spiral springs of time unwound
Magic moonlight, shimmers shaking... scowling,
burnt out matchsticks washed aground
Prairie wolfs, coyotes calling... yowling,
witching hours, midnight hounds
Tightrope walkers, grizzlies grunting... growling,
seeking islands, lost and found
12th Delirium: Relief
Slumber shattered, vapours captive... haunting,
chained in mirrors, breaking free
Scarlet skylines, daylight dawning... daunting,
rivers rushing to the sea
Silence softens, sandmen whisper... wanting,
piercing rafters, turning keys
Shadows shudder, notions fluster... flaunting,
moonbeam bullets meant for me
Mind in migraine, meadows trembling... taunting,
sparrows speak in harmony
REAWAKENING
Pitter patter, teardrops paling... pearling,
salting scarves in secret drawers
Mist amongst us, smoke rings rising... curling,
climbing from the ocean floors
See-saw circles, senses swerving... swirling,
swept away with silver oars
Courtyard jesters, sceptres twisting... twirling,
push the past to foreign shores
Passing pangs of passions heaving... hurling,
burning bridges, closing doors
Roses wither, icons waning... whirling,
time decays and time restores
End
She came upon me in a dream deep down from within my destination
Which coursed the mind and soul of years for my memories' inspiration
The path was crowded with bouncing hooves and wagons decorated
With fantasies ornaments adoration painted with merriment unabated
Echoes' subconscious sound of wild horses drawing cart wheels' canter
A symphony's reminder of nectar's flow from a coloured glass decanter
Bewildered I reminisced on sentiments nostalgia and what lies ahead
Fanfares of homeliness adventure passion to pounding of a drumhead
Heated stallions ran wild with mares and took my innate flight of fancy
Less trodden though in modern times a covert path offered me fragrant tansy
Potions of wild garlic lavender and bouquets of aromatic blue sage scent
I grabbed the message by the horns and galloped to my heart's content
One face stood out and reached my fired feelings as I took off one blinker
A nomad girl dressed in rags whistles bells whom you might call a tinker
Olive skin and amber eyes beyond all reason teasing all sensual needs
Her hair like forests full of tangles I must touch her locks lest she proceeds
Around her neck dangled an amulet crafted from ivory and ancient oak
Grant me a whiff of freedom give me one chance to embrace and stroke
The skin's wilderness and passion which may save me from my strife
A single breath or little smooch from cherry lips to give me the kiss of life
She shone as bright as ruby petals and took her path along the lane
Of elderberry flower and hawthorn hedges which made me go insane
Her chest adorned with orange curves she wore a crown of quince
She's been imprinted on my summer screen for more and ever since
And still the magic rings hooked on her ears of nectarine shaped silver
Stir the image when I hear a voice singing the praise and beauty of her
A scintillating Roma bride sculpted from nature of the purest sense
Prophesy omen oracle and metaphor in one quite magically intense
When sunshine arises red and purple with violins and tambourine
I pinch the moon in thanks for right next to me slumbers my Fairy Queen
Once upon a time I handed her a golden peach an oath and sacred bond
She calls herself a gypsy and kindly waves to me with her magic wand
11th April 2020
WORDS ON THE SAND (Part 3)
Not distant a young girl watching silent
On her wheelchair. No writing from a limited body
The sand waiting from her what in life is more salient
After she saw the old man, the woman and the boy
Holding in her hands a bunch of ginger flowers
An Atlas Moth Butterfly flew on her bush.
"Don't you ask anything for yourself? Your words are diamond ores".
She whispered like her mother when cuddling her blush
"Nothing I ask for myself. I want to give
My word for the old man, woman and young boy
Only for them my heart can live. I can't them forget.
They deserve more than my limited body.
"What is then that you want more?
That you want to write on the leaf of a Sycamore?
That will be chanted for ever by Homer?
That will be casted in the seas as golden ore?
"I want to write it for them all
On the sands and on waves
On the wings of the sea awls
On the tides hold by alabaster vases"
"The word I want to cast to all humans
Is "Hope". No more I want on this humid sand"
"Hope" she wrote striving with her weak hands
No force of nature could hold that brand
A silence wrapped the whole shore
The sky turned into a deep blue and dark brown
No tide, no wind, not even a glimpse of bodily sore
Nothing she asked to keep for her own
And all in a sudden a thunder broke the immense bay
On the two sides of the Ocean water falls as ascending alabasters
Leaving the abysses open to winds and to sky
Roman vessels appearing with replenished golden caskets
From the horizon four thousand white stallions
Galloping over the sea beds from the centre to the bays
From the right, sea lions directing waves' rebellions
From the left two legions of mermaids riding blue Wales
From Greece Eolous blowing his trumpets for winds to bend
From Crete Minerva came to heal the girl's legs
From Rome Hermes to write poetries about her strength
Finally the Almighty Atlas to lift her from her binding beds
Then silence, peace and a marine scent from the sea
No tide, no bird, no foam, no wind, as it has never been
Only a small bush of ginger flowers under the sycamore tree
Caressing an empty wheelchair cherished by dropping leaves
My grandfather
seemed wise with years
walking his rural spiritual path
in a relentlessly white
Christian dualistic church
dividing sinful nature
from sacred spirit.
He counseled:
Do not mix
religion and politics.
I wonder
how he would feel
about this mix
of sacred and profane
if he were to meet
my out lesbian activist
senior UU minister.
Clearly
we have mixed up
our religious community
within our local political culture
When we called
this gendered clergy person
we did not ask her
to leave her politics
at any sacred
ordained door.
On the contrary
we recognize
and celebrate
that she
and we
are politically empowered
and disempowered,
enlightened
and unenlightened identities
with naturally spiritual experiences,
family traditions
and theological
ecological
and un-ecological agendas.
I wonder
would my grandfather notice:
If calling an out
feminist lesbian
as our minister
mixes religion
and politics,
against his well-meant advice
So too:
Calling a straight
white male
as his first
and second
and third
and fourth
and fifth
and sixth...
pastor
was also mixing politics
and religion
and sexuality
Also against his own patriarchal
not feminist,
monotheistic
not polytheistic,
monoculturing
not polyculturally resilient
healthy loving advice
Especially for a family farmer
valuing crop
and income diversity
who started out
as an adolescent
relying on organic horsepower,
spirited stallions
and mares
capable of peak experiences
and making ponies
and fertilizing fields
with sacred regenerative practices
for exercising empowering agency
Giving birth
to future
naturally religious
politically enlightened
and unenlightened
gender role identified bodies
Yang strong
and Yintegral flowing
wu-wei admixtures of secular politics
and sacred enculturing religious
integrity
Monotheistic awe
and polytheistic wonder
and panentheistic integrity
and atheistic questioning experiences
cooperatively inclusive
Resiliently polycultural
political and sexual
dynamic communicators
within enlightened tribes
togathering
across cooperatively empowering species.
A Hundred Equine
Hot salty drops trickled into my mouth.
The sun had changed my brown flesh to bright red.
Reflected brilliance passed through squinting eyes.
Faint, I rested in shade eating sweetbread.
I lay my head on a smooth slab of stone.
Thinking. Resting, in an ancient dwelling.
Dreaming in the coolness with ancestors.
Imaginary golden wings, flying.
Upon the cave walls were many horses.
Long manes painted wildly around each head.
Warriors running alongside fearlessly,
Man and beast in rituals with the dead.
Distantly, a wild tantalizing sound
Became ever louder, louder, louder!
The earth below vibrated and rumbled.
The great spirits had conferred their favor.
Stampeding horses drank the desert heat.
Galloping with great speed, they came closer.
Safely watching from my hillside refuge.
I saw in the canyon below, splendor.
Gorgeous horses slowly began prancing.
Celebrating there, a hundred equine.
I heard a trickling not heard before.
‘Twas a hidden desert stream, a lifeline.
One appaloosa stallion stood upright.
His front legs above his head reached skyward.
Loudly, with vigor, he announced the news.
The strongest mares came to him pastured.
And I from that lofty cave saw it all.
Mares, stallions, and colts refreshed and resting.
Supple muscles rippled beneath firm flesh.
Memories and awe last forever, dreaming.
© July 28, 2010
Dane Smith-Johnsen
NOTE: Now that the contest is over, I THOUGHT I WOULD GIVE A LITTLE BACKGROUND TO THIS POEM. I used to have an appaloosa stallion that I gave away. Later, I think the people that I gave him to turned him loose at a place called Hueco Tanks, Texas. I used to go there often to be in the wide open spaces. On several occasions, I saw a herd of wild horses that lived in that area. And I was pretty sure that my 2-year old stallion had joined the herd. There were caves there with a few Native American markings, but not the cave paintings like Las Caux France. So...I let my imagination go and had a great dreamy time writing this fun poem. I AM SO HAPPY THAT THIS CONTEST WAS OFFERED. BIG SMILES!
Flying airships battling in the open sky,
the sailors trying to save their own lives,
and all the panoplies of war revealed in broad daylight
unto the human psyche.
The cosmos composed wholly of oceans with no dry soil in sight
contains many micro planetary islands that glide
in the sky's atmosphere where men created their different ways of life.
Herdsmen hunted on the island's green fields and forests.
Soldiers worked in their iron workshops.Crystalline lakes displayed nature's beauty. Many a gorgeous a creature of nature they captured in their nets.
Stratigos,a hunter, also loved to fish in the clear streams abundant with eels. His dear friends followed him throughout the biome, witnessing many wonderful sights
such as tigers,trees,eagles and pollinating bees, the lioness giving suckle to her young,and many a mythical creature that defies explanation."
Raised he was in a quaint village,in whose verdant plains he played with all his pals.His female friends gathered many rainbow-colored flowers by whose sight and smell were made ecstatic.
Upon a certain day,a flying chimera snatched his friend Mike with its aquiline talons that tear apart its prey.The lion-like chimera with an eagle head concealed him in his cavern hideout,unseen by human eyes.
He analyzed his body and psyche to see what was worthy to eat. In despair Mike's cries for help resounded through the cavern walls.He heard his own echo.
From afar his friends were dashing to his aid through the dense vegetation with thorns drawing upon their blood. Red it was, stained upon their drapery.
They complained not at their pain for their aim was to aid their endangered friend.
Stratigos exclaimed;
With Mike in danger,
surely we must not fail him,
For friendly fidelity
Faces us with the task
of his salvation.
Alina replied
Through the mud and sun that scorches our way
We must pick a path and dash as fast as trotting stallions
for our cause is noble and pure,
so Therefore let us not be wasteful with our pace.
And they arrived upon a green moss covered road that drove Them to a grotto surrounding the creature's cavern.
"All the Dark Stallions"
Calliope burns
ecstatic bright star
fire brands, all her marks
both hands
holding the ropes
firmly fast today
slow burn
tomorrow
warm whispers
gently towards
the unlit shadows
love wanting always stays
driving all
the dark stallions
towards heaven
where the
Whicker Man
claps for more Light
and
Judgement
patiently waits
(LadyLabyrinth/2020)
Miley Cyrus X Stevie Nicks - Midnight Sky / Edge of Seventeen
https://youtu.be/oRnxO9FRDbU
Miley Cyrus, Stevie Nicks - Edge of Midnight
https://youtu.be/IJgidX_LC4Q
"Ooh, you know it's true
That I was born to run,
I don't belong to anyone, oh no
I don't need to be loved by you
(Loved by you)"
"O Stars and Dreams and Gentle Night;
O Night and Stars return!
And hide me from the hostile light
That does not warm, but burn—"
LYRICS/ Edge of Midnight, Miley Cyrus
https://genius.com/Miley-cyrus-midnight-sky-lyrics
firebrand.
n.
person who is very passionate about a particular cause.
"a political firebrand"
Similar:
radical
revolutionary
troublemaker
agitator
rabble-rouser
demagogue
soapbox orator
incendiary
subversive
tub-thumper
2.
a piece of burning wood.
3.
one that creates unrest or strife (as in aggressively promoting a cause) : AGITATOR
mark
1. Noun
"Bright Star, would I were steadfast as thou art" / Keats
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44468/bright-star-would-i-were-stedfast-as-thou-art
John Keats/Poet.
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/john-keats
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Keats
"Ah! Why, Because the Dazzling Sun" / Emily Brontë
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/47644/ah-why-because-the-dazzling-sun
Emily Brontë
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/emily-bronte
The Brontës / Family
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bront%C3%AB_family
Impeccant,
of non-textual matters
one’s covered flesh,
and hidden embrasure’
as diffusate primer
slips life’s veil, and
in agitated pontlevis,
cleaves the universe’ reason…
“Egads! What sorcery is this?”
Holy heart failure, Batman!
“Beavis and Butthead”,
on Soteriology!
or merely, this word wizard’
celebrity; slap my knee,
and pass the shinola please
would you then consider the following:
palliate your lesser selves, or else
where silence seethes, your spirit will
bleed asunderp; and in the depths of space
and time you will forget your moment’ cill
so divaricating your soul, until
that whisper of your assibilate voice
remains in memory’s forever
as that sound of death’s last hissing
And now to secularize
your quarters out per se,
a knotted rope and stallions four
two palms, a cup and nothing
more than, one’s perceived illation
with rigorous and self-righteousness’
precipitancy, my will so locates your
remaining sang-froid serendipitously
and in humaneness casts, this lifeline
out to thee for free for you to grasp,
of each person placed above all things
as nature sings concretism’ simplistic rhythmic
wringing “stream of consciousness”,
a-flowing upon thought’s eternal thaw while
Descartes’ “Substance Dualism” does so
battle, against Plato’ “universalia ante res”
supernal then, is an ideal’s whim, or Ids whine
within one’s thought’s stokehold, as axis bold
or love’s bestow, fires the flesh to render
that pondering patch of thinking’s wrath
awaiting that awakening moment’s bewhisker
in essence, life’s xenium given in kind
as is the universe’s night skies splendor
passing that lending thought, behind a silent chador
visualize the context and intent within
a compelling and perplexing write to win
an idea’s kneel before that “mercy seat”
this particular and incomplete entelechy bleeds
of questions asked and left unanswered continuously
of generations after generations in weeping
conscience wistfully fawning in defeat
and admitting, to a lowly ponderings musings.
Round and round on the merry-go-round,
Round and round I go.
See me on my stallion high,
See now, I dip down low.
The music plays, it never stops,
It goes on all day and night.
At times, there’s sadness in its tune;
At times, it sounds so bright.
Round and round and round and round
With all those ups and downs.
The stallions marching in a line
With silly painted frowns.
I see the others riding too—
Content enough they seem.
Perhaps beneath the frozen smiles
Each like me could scream…
“Let me off! Please let me off!
I’m getting nowhere fast;
There's so much I must see and do
Before my time has passed!”
But round and round and round it goes,
And round and round again.
Might as well enjoy the ride,
For when it stops, what then?
Sandra M. Haight
~2nd Place~
Contest: Creative Layouts
Sponsor: Broken Wings
Judged: 10/25/2015
A rainbow stallion
hailed, as if a cab.
I laid a hundred bucks
under his leather saddle.
I stepped into the stirrups,
then whipped onto
his primeval back.
I’d been expecting him.
An adventure I’d been told…
I knew nothing of how to ride
and knew only to pay his price.
He spoke! Yes, he spoke!
“Kick my sides, not too light,
not too hard.”
Surprised, I followed his instructions.
Away we flew. To where, only he knew.
The stubborn mule wouldn’t tell me.
We flew fast, we rode hard
until we reached the fairies and unicorns.
The fairies had little swords
embellished with ancient words.
The unicorns were fighting with their horns,
the sound of thunder, strikes of lightning.
“So, why are we here?”
The stallion says, pointing sternly at me,
“You need to stop this war!”
“What?” I say, “Why me?
“Isn’t it obvious?” the stallion frowns,
“You wouldn’t eat your daughter’s pixie dust cake,
you wouldn’t play hide’n seek unicorn and flatly
said you didn’t believe in fairytales.”
“Do you believe in rainbow stallions? the horse mocked.
“Okay…okay, but
how do I stop this war?”
“Alright, we’re getting somewhere,” the stallion snorted.
“Go to the old owl’s tree. Open it up. There’s a clock.
You must turn it back to yesterday.”
“Where is it?”
“Must I do everything for you? You have until midnight to figure it out.”
“What happens if I can’t return to yesterday?”
“An unhappily ever after.
Now get going! Today is burning daylight!”
I awake from my dream, hoping this is yesterday…
My daughter spins into the room,
“Daddy, I rode on a horsie’s back.
He was so pretty. He told me you would help me
find pixie dust and unicorns. Will ya…will ya, Daddy?”
“Hold on, sweetheart…”
I run outside in bare feet.
I hear an owl. I see his tree.
Before I wouldn’t have believed nor seen
the clock. I wind it back.
Let the party begin. I’ve taken stock.
Ten years later she reminds me
of the sweetest day,
time spent wisely. The owl daily says,
“Who…who’s the guy!” with a wink,
dream and a little sleep.
8/24/2022