"cantering" poems
up in the high country the wild horses run free
they've done so for nigh on a century
not a saddle upon their backs
enabling them to gallop unchecked around its tract
in the Guy Fawkes National park there is a harass of them
trotting through its blue hued wends
their days are numbered in the park
park authorities want end to their spirited lark
up in the high country the wild horses run free
they've done so for nigh on a century
not a saddle upon their backs
enabling them to gallop unchecked around its tract
to sight the wild horses in full cantering step
is exhilarating and fills one's heart with miles of pep
their hooves thundering and pelting along
to the wind's strong liberating throng
up in the high country the wild horses run free
they've done so for nigh on a century
not a saddle upon their backs
enabling them to gallop unchecked around its tract
down the steep ravines and o'er the hills they stride
without the reins of a man holding their ranging pride
the wild horses have need of open lands to caper and pace
they are a breed which must be allowed to freely race
up in the high country the wild horses run free
they've done so for nigh on a century
not a saddle upon their backs
enabling them to gallop unchecked around its tract
Oct 6, 2013
Oct 6, 2013 at 9:10 PM UTC
You can go there.
It’s easy, really.
But once there, you
cannot tell anyone
what it was like.
An experience
must be felt in
order to be believed.
Otherwise it’s just
an idea in my head.
But like a horse
shying at shadows
some of us flee,
cantering away
when our time comes.
The setting sun
sings me to sleep,
the dark morning fog
welcomes a new day.
A new day to try.
And fail.
We cannot see it
without light, yet
the light itself casts
the fearful shadows.
So we hide from it.
What was it like?
You cannot tell me,
once you were there.
It’s easy, really.
Why can’t I do it?
Why can’t I?
Oct 27, 2018
Oct 27, 2018 at 9:19 AM UTC
Glistening through shafts of sunlight, I spy the silvery dragonfly,
Hovering above the clovered knoll,
Swaying like wheat in speckled sun.
Cantering up grassy hills, away from the stream,
The bleating goats exchange existential crises,
Brushing past the whispering tulips ablaze in the sunset.
Behind me,
In the shade of oaks, in spiraling dusts,
Decaying logs half buried in the windbreak
Rekindle and animate in the orange beams.
I stand up and sip my beer, as the stars blink and stutter.
A snowy owl whooshes past, wishing for rain.
Somebody loves me.
May 4, 2010
May 4, 2010 at 5:00 PM UTC
The waters are languid, in a thoughtful mood,
the waves reluctant to touch the shores,
the beach is deserted with last evening's sounds
still lingering in disguise as seagulls' calls.
The cove has let you take it over as a whole,
you are the daughter of the freedom's waves,
standing waist deep in water, let the waves-
play with you like the fluffy kittens you love.
Your eyes droop, with happiness, a sweep
of emotions beyond words dab your face with a glow,
mate call of gulls, unhurried caresses of the waves,
salty taste on your lips, ethereal is this moment.
You gently give yourself to the cantering waves,
they take you around few times on their back,
when you emerge from the waves adorned by
pearls of water beads, sun's purple fingers
gently so gently tickle your naked *******
Apr 19, 2013
Apr 19, 2013 at 12:01 AM UTC
Cause of such a weighty plight
yet worthy of each new bulge.
Prepping is most of the simple delight
to a confection so rarely indulged.
Thank God for "Sammy's Gym & Sauna!
Sweet Belgium chocolate, melted and
cooled to fingers delicate touch.
Spooned in a slow perfect dribble,
covering in a shroud of flowing sweetness
the perfectly rounded mound, centered upon my dish.
Hardening...encasing within my final sumptuous goal.
Fresh whipping cream, beaten to
frothy clouds of mouth watering heaven.
Newly roasted pistachios, shaved coconut,
and the final crowning glory.
Candied cherries adorning
the mounded delectable height.
Not one, not two, but a few.
Still not nearly enough
my conscience won't be bothered.
Gluttonous greed must be snuffed.
With self-dedicated glee
I make me another.
A couple more hours in the sauna tomorrow.
One final decoration...
for presentation's sake.
A newly budded rose
centered for my eye to behold.
My pleasure mostly done
I am ready to partake.
Mouth salivating,
taste buds anticipating,
I reach for my spoon.
Just as...
*Warming flesh...
Streams flow the valley of your breast...
Cherry cascading down a descending
river of melting cream...
A rolling boulder of passion's anticipation.
Tickling and enticing heated flesh.
It's cantering end at the pooling pit of your navel.*
My spoon is tossed away.
With luxurious sublimity
I dine from your hallowed plate.
My pleasure is most certainly won.
Yours, my tasty,
"Sunday Morning Delight"...
not nearly done, only just begun.
© S.Loeding
All Rights Reserved
Nov 3, 2015
Nov 3, 2015 at 5:05 PM UTC
Cry not beautiful sister
For although you might now miss her
Our equine friend will live in us
The entropy of justice thus
Will make her but immortal
Bring forth the divine wings of tragedy
Laced with rainbow droplet fantasy
Cantering our memories
Through this vigil ceremony
To a time before the dust
May the gods caress her noble spirit
For they witnessed every single minute
The love you share so magically
This mare has spun reality
To make our lives worth dreaming
Let her magic gather the herd
To bring one thousand just like her
To serve so loyally and gratefully
For the grace of our integrity
We owe all this to Pegasus
Long live the angel steed
Long live the carrier of dreams
Reminder of mortality
Unending in our memories
We did not lose sweet Pegasus
We gained all the things she brought to us
Forever
Jan 8, 2018
Jan 8, 2018 at 7:50 AM UTC
The cold is my commander, it taunts me, while it steals my sheaths of warmer cleaving skin sections exposed by its notions and collected conscious. The sounds are complicated, the moons azurean hue resembles the coldness of my cigarette's embers blue, and then the commander shucks my final breath away. It isn't something that I barely feel, but rather something that lightly see. It's hoarfrost births its fickle shell of hardrime on the last of those interstices I once called my fingers. And from this choke, this frozen voice is detained by the vox ice amplifier that steals each noise. Besides, in an interruption I hear our whorish neighbors score of shouting scripted shouts, and screaming scripted screams. Each day she becomes less and less like any real human being. It's hard to believe that behind these walls that shield me from the albicant and atrocious heraldry winter casts me through, these sounds are concentric like limited Earth words written in the prompts that some ill and wanton succubus would. If only to lure herself from the pains she gained while lying to those amidst her closest ties. I am further distressed, though fully dressed narrowly watching bits of frozen water interlace themselves beneath freezing in the corners of my mind. When until the shaking and commandeering of my mortal sounds, disperse amidst the ferocity that Spring white snow absconds. The tremulent vocal chords are hailed by a hard-rimed **** who ensuingly rips the cantering spirit from each last place it stood. Only those who know this wind could speak about the way it genuflects and obsesses on these rules. This freezing genuflection hails to every servant of its rein, I can barely exhale the inspiration that rises from the head, until any skin exposed to air is reclaimed by my commander for good. Then each neighbor's head may lilt upon the piste, and pray for something more balmy than negative eleven degrees.
Jan 6, 2017
Jan 6, 2017 at 2:25 AM UTC
I mount my steed
I caress her hard, round reins
I pat her side lovingly
I back her out of her stall
and race off into a new day.
We merge into The Great Race
and jockey for position.
She is a magnificent specimen
both hardy and powerful
though difficult to handle sometimes.
I move with her through
the turns, curves, and hilly stretches.
We leap as one over bumps and holes.
I have never yet called her to halt too late.
My friend tells me that she has limits
with regard to speed,
but as I urge her on,
she never makes any noticeable complaint,
always eager, willing, and easy in her acceleration.
This guy cantering ahead of us is too slow.
I flick my head to the side, glancing over my shoulder,
to make sure no one is next to me and my steed.
With the same movement, we slide over to gallop
onward,
forever.
Apr 2, 2012
Apr 2, 2012 at 5:29 PM UTC
Aimless walking rocky shores ...
Luminous stoops, picks up pretty rock.
"This marvel marble has found his crown angel chariot prince".
honey sweet
ripest purple beet
gleaming silver sword raised to the Sun."
All hair perfect cantering horse
Jun 12, 2015
Jun 12, 2015 at 12:57 AM UTC
She can find freedom here.
She can be happy here.
She wishes to stay forever here.
Galloping, cantering, chaotically awry.
Flying as one, two beings, seamless lines.
She can find freedom here.
The sun slips gently from the sky.
Her fingers tangled in copper mane.
She wishes to stay forever here.
A whinny, a nicker, a smile as she cries.
She loves what this means to her.
She can find freedom here.
She talks to him, because his eyes don’t lie.
Ears swept forward, and those gentle honey eyes.
She wishes to stay forever here.
Twelve hundred pounds of unbridled energy.
He’s her biggest, closest friend.
She can find freedom here.
Feb 22, 2010
Feb 22, 2010 at 4:56 PM UTC
Kutupa kutupa
Eshin dodo
Kutupa kutupa
Eshin dodo
Gaiting out of the prescient of
the stable with pride.
Galloping for space on the polo course.
Hooves trotting on the footmark
of strength.
Now cantering for span with the
shield of victory.
White tail of strength flapping
the cognomen of success.
Kutupa kutupa
Eshin dodo
Kutupa kutupa
Eshin dodo
Immaculate white mane arrays
against the ants of winds,
Absorbing the residuum of the
hardened breeze with relish.
Whitening coloured cresty neck,
White head, brown eyes,
White legs, blackened hooves,
Colourless long shaft holding the
glans of procreation.
Swinging like pendulum of nature.
Kutupa kutupa
Eshin dodo
Kutupa kutupa
Eshin dodo.
Submissive strength clocked under
the apron of the stableman.
Cantering with honour.
Galloping in royalty.
Head collar rope ordering the
pace of strength.
Hostler tightly chained on the
tray of stableman.
Kutupa kutupa
Eshin dodo
Kutupa kutupa
Eshin dodo.
Nov 2, 2019
Nov 2, 2019 at 11:15 PM UTC
Of the pestilence, I write
in spite of or because of my love of
the equine
and not of the ***** swine,
the one of the four who sit on the hilltop,taking their fill until we drop and then they carry us away.
The four horsemen they say,you only see on the day,when at the end of your tether,you find yourself tethered to a weakening heart and as you gasp out your last,you can hear as they start,cantering slowly your way.
Pestilence and disease sit easily at ease on the saddle,and on his fingers cut with sores are the spores of my destruction which I cannot obstruct,
I'm ****** if I can and what was once a fine man is brought to his knees,by one of the four.
Now eaten away and the core of me being exposed,I compose a write,a light,a decomposition given the position I'm in and the position is this,
I can hear a pin drop as an ant pops the question
I can see the sky shy away as the night comes on out to play and the twilight does not have a say
in this, the slaying of a man,where only heaven can help me and only the devil would bother.
Give them oats,brush their coats and curry their favour,whatever you do will win you no favours,
The cantering horse will appear when the time of your end is quite near,
you cannot appease the one known as the pestilence who brings in the disease
known as death.
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 6:04 PM UTC
The genius heart
Restless in repose
Sighing as it waits
The thorn ****** the rose
As the world intrudes
It drowns in its own blood
Logic the lifeline it rejects
Preferring the rising flood
Of pain and sorrow
Never counting a blessing
Unable to satiate itself
In constant need of caressing
Will the mind rule
As it refuses to relent
Will the heart play the fool
And always give its consent?
The genius heart
In glorious suffering
Perfect form
Dignified cantering
Tomorrow’s promise
Today’s hope
The genius heart
Will forever cope
And always walk
Towards its oasis
Even in delusion
With no basis
For expectation
Yet in the waiting
Its sad life
Impatiently creating
Teary eyed
Seeing life as art
And art as life
The genius heart
Lives as it dies
In love alone
A solitary romance
Uncaring what was sown
Unwilling to listen
Ready to conceive
Living even for a moment
Will it always believe?
Feb 16, 2012
Feb 16, 2012 at 6:16 PM UTC
An urban cowboy wanders his concrete jungle, unable to take his mind off of something... or rather, someone. Those thoughts and feelings, all tracing back to her; the one that he was sure was the one, right from the start. For years, he trailed in her path, trying to fix the turmoil while staying upon his own stallion.
Such a simple idea, that stallion. Just a word, lost in most hearts. Gone, without a trace. But... For those, where it remains... It tortures. Torments. Causes pain, only to vanish again. It's a stallion... Unbroken, impossible to train but by the best. Cantering wildly, in the fields of the mind and the soul; causing havoc, clashing mind and heart together.
But there's another. Waiting, drifting from shadow to shadow. Wallowing in sorrow, relying on nostalgia and fleeting glances of what it could be. Struggling with self-hatred, only to learn to hate more. Not given a second thought, no chance given to prove herself. Wanting to escape.... Fly away, free of a body, a drifting soul in the night. The only thing acting as a thread... The one person that pulls her together while tearing her apart. A paradox in such a complex feeling.
Mar 22, 2014
Mar 22, 2014 at 1:34 AM UTC
As I walk across a pathway a heartbeat's width across a floor,
A peculiar sensation finds me wanting of an explanation to adore,
Not a feeling of a feeling, I don't have those anymore,
I can rip open my chest cavity to find nothing at its core.
-
I saw a young fine thing come cantering to a score,
And in her eyes I saw reflected back my lust for gore,
I didn't think of love or courting, that I do stately implore,
I have no idea how I could have had emotion before.
-
Incurring inferences upon deranged insanity,
I deny the charges and insist I must be free,
With my generation crawling at my likeminded feet,
I find myself unable to believe in humanity.
-
An algorithmic synapse of my mind's forward encryption,
Once brought about my failure of a heart's lonely submission,
And to this day I do wish that bitter was a real decision,
But I find something close to comfort with indifference as religion.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 1:38 PM UTC
Aimless walking rocky shores thinking of his higher self...
Luminous stoops, picks up pretty rock.
"This marvel marble has found his crown angel chariot prince".
honey sweet
ripest purple beet
gleaming silver sword raising to the Sun."
All hair perfect cantering horse
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 6:29 PM UTC
We are comets
Engaged in a widening reel
On the edge of the night
Cheered on by the envious stars
Pin ****** in the curtain of space
Bright buoys anchored firmly in place
By the ice of a vast frozen ocean
We are ribbons
Cut loose in the cantering wind
Thrown high into flight
Untied and unbridled at speed
Set free by the fingers that bound us
At war with the force that compels
us
To cling to the surface of Earth
We are seconds
Ticked off by the fingers of time
In front then behind
A domino rally of ones
As each fades another becomes
The edge of the present ablaze
Snuffed out by the tide of the past
We are fossils
Found deep in the folds of the Earth
Dull nuggets displayed
On rockfaces rippled with age
The cold sedimentary stone
Encasing our traces of bone
And the echoes of all we once were
Feb 3, 2017
Feb 3, 2017 at 9:22 AM UTC
Like a stream that meanders
Cantering music sweet
Caprice treads whimsical
Lightly on her feet.
Like the wind that doesn't know
Where to gently breeze
Caprice breathes here, then there
... the air touched 'n teased.
Like the midnight stars that twinkle
Through the darkness peer
Caprice in a wink
Appears to disappear.
Like the morning sunlight
That hides, then lights up hills
Caprice scampers up and down
Never a moment still.
Like waves and ocean tides
That ebb, rise and flow
Caprice heaves night and day..
Between her joys and woes.
Like raindrops and the rainbow
That hold the other's hand
Caprice sighs and smiles
In but a single glance.
I wonder... if you sense her
Her murmurs, feel her warm breath
Caprice... right behind you —
Though you haven't seen her yet.
Apr 24, 2025
Apr 24, 2025 at 10:16 AM UTC
An urban cowboy wanders his concrete jungle, unable to take his mind off of something... or rather, someone. Those thoughts and feelings, all tracing back to her; the one that he was sure was the one, right from the start. For years, he trailed in her path, trying to fix the turmoil while staying upon his own stallion.
Such a simple idea, that stallion. Just a word, lost in most hearts. Gone, without a trace. But... For those, where it remains... It tortures. Torments. Causes pain, only to vanish again. It's a stallion... Unbroken, impossible to train but by the best. Cantering wildly, in the fields of the mind and the soul; causing havoc, clashing mind and heart together.
But there's another. Waiting, drifting from shadow to shadow. Wallowing in sorrow, relying on nostalgia and fleeting glances of what it could be. Struggling with self-hatred, only to learn to hate more. Not given a second thought, no chance given to prove herself. Wanting to escape.... Fly away, free of a body, a drifting soul in the night. The only thing acting as a thread... The one person that pulls her together while tearing her apart. A paradox in such a complex feeling...
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 2:42 PM UTC
But do you know that all of these takes time?
That you simply can't just wake up good?
That this is one thing you can't do online?
That this is more than wearing boots?
But do you know how much time is mine?
That you might wanna share perhaps?
But do you know how long must I ride?
Before you enter the arena and do laps?
But do you know that all of these takes time?
That even the greatest cowboy can fall?
That if you think it could be anywhere,
could it possibly be on my bed or hall?
Do you know that it takes hell of a practice?
But then if it's the art of cantering,
my body is but one masterpiece,
you are a renaissance artist.
But if a horse is poetry in motion,
your legs writes classic novels
I don't wish to ever end.
And if this little tryst is all but a play,
then we better make it worthwhile
do it best more than a playwright.
Aug 21, 2024
Aug 21, 2024 at 1:15 AM UTC
I've slept a little, but not a lot
For being overwhelmed by thoughts
Cantering like a runaway train
Insomnia is my disdain
I've slept a little, but not a lot
I've slept a little, but not a lot
Of how to sleep, I can't be taught
Awake consumed by my regrets
Hearing voices filled with threats
I've slept a little, but not a lot
I've had some sleep, but not a lot
I'm lying, left here in my bed to rot
Wondering how best to cope
With this hellish Kaleidoscope
I've had some sleep, but not a lot
I've had some sleep, but not a lot
A Ghost is bothering my cot
I'm terrified and sick from stress
I wonder how I did regress
I've had some sleep, but not a lot
Dec 28, 2016
Dec 28, 2016 at 5:32 AM UTC
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Jan 20, 2018
Jan 20, 2018 at 10:36 PM UTC
I am the majestic black panther resting upon a tree limb as I observe the cantering wildlife below. They know who I am. I am beyotchcé.
Jul 23, 2015
Jul 23, 2015 at 10:31 AM UTC
The Musician has a cantering lilt -
Like horses astir
Tis muse's buoyant love song
Accentuated whir -
Without fault or flaw
It begs the heart to adore
And beseech for more
When sounds knell out - joy strikes
Like thunder bolt to head
Song bonds to mind
An endearing tune
To which hearts swoon
Sensing soul refined
Feb 19, 2017
Feb 19, 2017 at 9:35 AM UTC
Striding forth from his mountain in the sky,
He came to us with speed and haste,
Cantering forward with mist and rains, clouds on high,
He gave to us this fertile soil, our hunger he erased.
He left as soon as he came, his work finished,
Our thankless beings scurried about with nary a peep,
Our stores full, our fields and crops replenished,
With even peace of mind gifted to us as we sleep.
Seasons shift and change, he came to us once again,
Bringing a chill in the air as he arrived, our mirth went cold,
Once gifting life and prosperity, he now came with fury and pain,
Biting frost and snows grasped us in a ceaseless stranglehold.
On these white fields we rest,
Wind howling as though possessed,
We then begged for the end,
And one by one, we would ascend.
Nov 14, 2017
Nov 14, 2017 at 10:13 AM UTC