#ranch - Hello Poetry

This rational race, riding wild like a storming ranch, living like the dead— it haunts even the zombies: for whose gain?

0

Nov 21, 2025

Nov 21, 2025 at 5:06 AM UTC

urvashi-1

Haunted zombies 🧟♂️

This rational race, riding wild like a storming ranch, living like the dead— it haunts even the zombies: for whose gain?

5

O, Prescient Ewe That knows where to stand Avoids ambivalent hand That bore this world Of life’s command To bear its high demand O, Precocious Hen Knows when not to lay A life down in the hay A babe unborn, Uncracked, unraised Unknown to her dismay O, Prodigal Mare Beware not to sprain Or you will bear the strain Though not for long You’ll be for this plain Where retired mounts are lain O, Impassioned Pig Whose fattening Welcomes a fatter thing Wash away The amber glaze Chase not the dangling O, Prescient Ewe Return to me What is it you see? Be sure it is What’s to come Not what you wish it be.

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Nov 24, 2024

Nov 24, 2024 at 6:24 AM UTC

FrankCavalo

Ode to the Flock

O, Prescient Ewe That knows where to stand Avoids ambivalent hand That bore this world Of life’s command To bear its high demand O, Precocious Hen Knows when not to lay A life down in the hay A babe unborn, Uncracked, unraised Unknown to her dismay O, Prodigal Mare Beware not to sprain Or you will bear the strain Though not for long You’ll be for this plain Where retired mounts are lain O, Impassioned Pig Whose fattening Welcomes a fatter thing Wash away The amber glaze Chase not the dangling O, Prescient Ewe Return to me What is it you see? Be sure it is What’s to come Not what you wish it be.

30

The Blossoms from the Pear-less Trees blow like Snow in this spring breeze glistening in the sunlight smiling as their in flight not a care about where they land becoming one again with our Mother this life one adventure after another

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Apr 2, 2021

Apr 2, 2021 at 7:07 PM UTC

TheBoltCollective

Snow in Spring

The Blossoms from the Pear-less Trees blow like Snow in this spring breeze glistening in the sunlight smiling as their in flight not a care about where they land becoming one again with our Mother this life one adventure after another

8

A sunflower is dire of skirt but house nigh elude her while the basket which is life where she borders that stream with chestnuts her mirth when gyrations of their hoss mount a ranch

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Oct 6, 2018

Oct 6, 2018 at 10:50 AM UTC

poetman

window dressing

A sunflower is dire of skirt but house nigh elude her while the basket which is life where she borders that stream with chestnuts her mirth when gyrations of their hoss mount a ranch

17

a rider there found the lore and envision his plan though surely a wire tell and fine her in her skull a minute's worth of plaintiff while they meet rhetorical and anchor a horse feather this bar between hither with Pegasus dimly lighted and Chisholm Trail afoot wholly charm a spirit together in a kiss of extraordinary measure that a yellow sky glitter under the stars tonight

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Nov 24, 2017

Nov 24, 2017 at 7:23 AM UTC

poetman

A Gothic Trail

a rider there found the lore and envision his plan though surely a wire tell and fine her in her skull a minute's worth of plaintiff while they meet rhetorical and anchor a horse feather this bar between hither with Pegasus dimly lighted and Chisholm Trail afoot wholly charm a spirit together in a kiss of extraordinary measure that a yellow sky glitter under the stars tonight

14

pale clouds at the summit water color sky cattle guard at wood bridge creek bed running dry split log fence downtrodden razor back in wire sinkhole on the wild plain grouse fields under fire pine bug and a lone wolf clear cut on the trail stump lake on the open range kettle valley rail raven on the hatheume slash and burn and scar blasted church in a tired sun wild rose under char thistle in the hollow quails nest sitting high carriage house at lone rock curtains of july smoke jaw in the canyon percolator dream silver sage in chapel schneider's requiem stockmen on the wrangle big horn antler chase table top at sunset deacon creek in grace quarry in a furry lines of tinted red spurs and blades and columns patchwork of the dead past the bow hill junction cattle ropes are black indian amphitheater saddle on the rack sun is at a high bake sedimentary stone three days on the morphine skeleton and bone cold water road is lonely corrals are cut and paste gone but not forgotten the dust filled aftertaste

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Jun 3, 2017

Jun 3, 2017 at 1:06 PM UTC

ck-baker

Road to Hatheume

pale clouds at the summit water color sky cattle guard at wood bridge creek bed running dry split log fence downtrodden razor back in wire sinkhole on the wild plain grouse fields under fire pine bug and a lone wolf clear cut on the trail stump lake on the open range kettle valley rail raven on the hatheume slash and burn and scar blasted church in a tired sun wild rose under char thistle in the hollow quails nest sitting high carriage house at lone rock curtains of july smoke jaw in the canyon percolator dream silver sage in chapel schneider's requiem stockmen on the wrangle big horn antler chase table top at sunset deacon creek in grace quarry in a furry lines of tinted red spurs and blades and columns patchwork of the dead past the bow hill junction cattle ropes are black indian amphitheater saddle on the rack sun is at a high bake sedimentary stone three days on the morphine skeleton and bone cold water road is lonely corrals are cut and paste gone but not forgotten the dust filled aftertaste

44

Pa ran inside, All out of breath Ma said "slow down" "you look you've seen your own death" He shut all the windows Closed the shutters, the doors He went to the cellar And locked the trap doors "Out on the hill there", "You can see by the tree" "It's a horse from the Devil" "And it's waiting for me" Ma said "you're crazy" "There's nothing outside" "Least all a horse" "That the devil would ride" I went to the window To check for the steed Pa said "Don't open that up" "That's all the room that he'll need" "He's come from below" "To take my soul down to hell" "And his horse is the warning" "I know...I can tell" The mustang stood waiting On the hill, all aflame Was it devil or horse Were they one and the same? Pa was still shaking He had sure had a fright There was no way that we Would get to sleep on this night Pa then told Mother Of the deal he had made With the Devil himself In the cool of the shade A prosperous ranch The envy of all around With all of his problems Put six feet underground Dad said he'd reckoned That the deal was all done When the crops out the back All burned up in the sun He knew that the Devil Was calling in for his share When he saw the horse burning While no one else gave a care "I have to get through now" "To the morning past dawn" "Then the horse will return" "And the deal will be gone" We listened intently We were sure Pa wasn't sane But, we knew from his tale He had nothing to gain We'd take shifts in the night Keeping the devil at bay Only twelve hours to go Until the next day It would be an adventure We would trust in our faith Of dad's tale of the mustang The flaming horse wraith The night was a battle The devil tried to get in He worked on our hearts By making deals sweet with sin Do we turn in our father Or do we fight till the morn? Could it just be a ruse Burning one field of corn? To see how it ended You must come out here and see The scorch marks in the grass On the hill by the tree You can believe what I've written Or hear what Pa has to say But, it was the Devil's Mustang Came that night for to play

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Feb 11, 2016

Feb 11, 2016 at 11:43 PM UTC

roger-turner

The Devil's Mustang

Pa ran inside, All out of breath Ma said "slow down" "you look you've seen your own death" He shut all the windows Closed the shutters, the doors He went to the cellar And locked the trap doors "Out on the hill there", "You can see by the tree" "It's a horse from the Devil" "And it's waiting for me" Ma said "you're crazy" "There's nothing outside" "Least all a horse" "That the devil would ride" I went to the window To check for the steed Pa said "Don't open that up" "That's all the room that he'll need" "He's come from below" "To take my soul down to hell" "And his horse is the warning" "I know...I can tell" The mustang stood waiting On the hill, all aflame Was it devil or horse Were they one and the same? Pa was still shaking He had sure had a fright There was no way that we Would get to sleep on this night Pa then told Mother Of the deal he had made With the Devil himself In the cool of the shade A prosperous ranch The envy of all around With all of his problems Put six feet underground Dad said he'd reckoned That the deal was all done When the crops out the back All burned up in the sun He knew that the Devil Was calling in for his share When he saw the horse burning While no one else gave a care "I have to get through now" "To the morning past dawn" "Then the horse will return" "And the deal will be gone" We listened intently We were sure Pa wasn't sane But, we knew from his tale He had nothing to gain We'd take shifts in the night Keeping the devil at bay Only twelve hours to go Until the next day It would be an adventure We would trust in our faith Of dad's tale of the mustang The flaming horse wraith The night was a battle The devil tried to get in He worked on our hearts By making deals sweet with sin Do we turn in our father Or do we fight till the morn? Could it just be a ruse Burning one field of corn? To see how it ended You must come out here and see The scorch marks in the grass On the hill by the tree You can believe what I've written Or hear what Pa has to say But, it was the Devil's Mustang Came that night for to play

80

Behind the evening's golden glow The skies are hiding early snow The road leads homeward toward the glow Day is done, it's time to go The gold shows ending of the day The clouds show snow is on the way Time to ride and not to stay I've got to put this one away Amber fills the autumn skies Signalling the storm behind it lies It's time to say our fair goodbyes And be serenaded by coyote cries The golden sheen is the sign Your day is done, as is mine I'm heading west along the line Back to the ranch "The twisted nine" A golden glow before the clouds filled with snow, a winter shroud I know the wind is getting loud So I am off to beat the crowd Behind the evening's golden glow The skies are hiding early snow The road leads homeward toward the glow Day is done, it's time to go

0

Aug 23, 2015

Aug 23, 2015 at 9:02 PM UTC

roger-turner

golden glow

Behind the evening's golden glow The skies are hiding early snow The road leads homeward toward the glow Day is done, it's time to go The gold shows ending of the day The clouds show snow is on the way Time to ride and not to stay I've got to put this one away Amber fills the autumn skies Signalling the storm behind it lies It's time to say our fair goodbyes And be serenaded by coyote cries The golden sheen is the sign Your day is done, as is mine I'm heading west along the line Back to the ranch "The twisted nine" A golden glow before the clouds filled with snow, a winter shroud I know the wind is getting loud So I am off to beat the crowd Behind the evening's golden glow The skies are hiding early snow The road leads homeward toward the glow Day is done, it's time to go

24

Home is a red-shuttered house with over- grown hosta plants, sold to a Chinese couple whose translator loved our hummingbird feeders and the way the house faced East. We had a swimming pool, frog pond, two pink bikes and matching helmets--mismatched childhood memories nine years behind me-- we moved to a ranch, where I painted my room the color soft, baby grass fighting through wintergreen fertilizer, the kind my father scattered over our front lawn, hoping to grow something above the underground spring flooding muddy, brown, saturated as we became when my mother remembered her locked-away childhood, my father broke his back, my sister succumbed to self-blame, and I cleaned up after it all. Our ranch holds these events in its powder-blue walls, creaks at night and wakes me from a dream repeating nine times over--where I stand inside that red- shuttered house, beside an eleven-year-old me with honey hair bleached from too much sunlight, speaking softly: you’re almost home.

0

Apr 12, 2015

Apr 12, 2015 at 12:25 AM UTC

mel-harcum

Facing East

Home is a red-shuttered house with over- grown hosta plants, sold to a Chinese couple whose translator loved our hummingbird feeders and the way the house faced East. We had a swimming pool, frog pond, two pink bikes and matching helmets--mismatched childhood memories nine years behind me-- we moved to a ranch, where I painted my room the color soft, baby grass fighting through wintergreen fertilizer, the kind my father scattered over our front lawn, hoping to grow something above the underground spring flooding muddy, brown, saturated as we became when my mother remembered her locked-away childhood, my father broke his back, my sister succumbed to self-blame, and I cleaned up after it all. Our ranch holds these events in its powder-blue walls, creaks at night and wakes me from a dream repeating nine times over--where I stand inside that red- shuttered house, beside an eleven-year-old me with honey hair bleached from too much sunlight, speaking softly: you’re almost home.

23