"clop" poems
I remember marble that wanted heels,
clip-clop echo of women who belonged.
I wore slip-ons with socks,
easier for those of us who come to scrub
other people’s lives.
The elevator was a box of mirrors,
infinite versions of me-
I bent my head to escape them.
His office door ajar,
his voice stretched thin across a phone.
The girlfriend cooks,
spicy food,
_place a ******** he said.
I had seen much worse-
houses where mold clung to the ceiling,
where grief leaked through the wallpaper.
The vacuum hummed its G-note spiritual.
I worked the nozzle into the skirting boards,
let my mind braid song and ritual,
a drop of lavender for closets,
labels straightened like soldiers on parade.
No one asked for these offerings-
I gave them anyway.
But he winked at me
while telling her _love you, babe,_
mouth syrupy with lies.
A twenty left on the hall table-
a tip that branded my palm.
Later, the bin bag tore,
Madras red bleeding into cream carpet,
pears bruised soft in their sweating wrap.
The stain spread like a hand
that gripped too long,
that would not release.
I cursed the ceiling,
the word **** echoing like prayer.
was only twenty,
scrubbing strangers’ luxury
to keep myself alive.
That day I left more than lavender-
a fragment of myself,
pressed into the carpet,
silent as the stain.
Sep 4, 2025
Sep 4, 2025 at 10:00 PM UTC
horns squawk
rainforest avenues
exoskeleton
of cars
arteries clogged
with unlovely taxi cabs
fat green fruit
for sale
five languages
merge into a knot
hisses kiss vowels
kiwis apples pears
black guys basketball
debt rises like blood pressure
stocks tumble
but we walk
brogues clop on concrete
count brick after brick
sun cascades
over roof slates
mind cracks in slabs
(you say
Monroe stood here)
heat quivers
men are dominoes
suits for the office
a funeral
designer sneakers
daddy paid for
pigtails cheap thrills
violet octagons
on a stranger’s neck
(behind the closed doors)
today
I drink purple water
aubergine lips
remind me
of a Tuscany Superb
list the names
Houston Charlton
Leroy Sullivan
Perry Cornelia
Dominick and Jane
(ladders lead
away from me
close to
you)
and back again
Jun 21, 2014
Jun 21, 2014 at 12:24 PM UTC
I sit and watch a camel train go by and as it limps across the pale blue sky,shrouded in the clouds,I wonder if I could get upon a camels back and track along,could I learn the camel drover’s song?
A ditty,not so pretty,more a humpalong than any song I’ve ever heard with words that I can’t understand,though familiar in the camels land up in the sky,
Where I watch them going by.
Hip ,hop, clop, clump being a camel gives me the hump,how I wish to be a fish deep in the sea,like a whale.
I like a scale,a doh, ray, me,as far as I can see I’ll be a camel all my days and wander through a desert haze but my gaze is fixed as I roam free, on a cool and clear deep ocean sea.
Once,
I was a little thing until I grew and learnt to sing and now I don’t know anything,except
I want to be free,a fish in the sea,won’t some kind body please untie me,slip the noose and then un-sky me,set me on the coastal road,with my hump,without my load and let me smell the ocean breeze and slip into those lovely seas.
I want to be free and this you can see,before the clouds all break apart and with them goes my breaking heart and you could at least pretend to start to set me free.
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 6:11 AM UTC
Mysterious Night
Come look on vistas ever sweeping the hills a maiden walks in white she seems to create
Greater light follow her into the night where fire flies is her crown and lights up her curvaceous gown
And the gentle dawn she breaks by her sleepy eyes that causes the heart to be the only sound that is
Heard as it thumps with approval add a touch of dew to her hair if you dare a swaying week kneed man
Isn’t the most attractive sight but what can be when you’re caught in the awe of such loveliness like the
Current of the Seine just turn on the Paris lights stroll the west end the glow from the shop windows
Adds to the flow mix it with jasmine and here the slow expressive violin drift along the empty street
Its heaven coursing stop the carriage driver it is the perfect night for a carriage ride in the park
Somewhere as you listen to the clip clop of the horse’s hooves you are transported to the sea coast
Of ole Monterey out at the point of the peninsula the mighty waves crash over the rocks in the
Moonlight the night does speak with wondrous overtures love is the thrill that covers all the land
Mermaids sing from the hidden mysterious places that they alone know and then all the picturesque
Vivid images end alas it was just a lovely dream if so why do I still smell the Jasmine and a perfume that
is only sold in Paris
Jan 27, 2012
Jan 27, 2012 at 3:42 AM UTC
Owls say who
cows go moo
ghosts say boo
nothing new
horse goes neigh
but what does the turtle say?
bird wings go flip flap
fish fins go splish splash
horse hooves go clip clop
snake belly goes slither
Santa Clause says ** ** **
but what's the sound of the camel toe?
What day is it?
Everyday Is **** Day
May 31, 2015
May 31, 2015 at 10:18 AM UTC
Oh darling,
How truly pleasing you are
Your gaze shifts to mine unknowing
If only you knew the power you're holding
Oh how I adore those helpless eyes
It's truly a shame they do no real looking
Clip, clop you walk steadily off
No! Don't go!
Oh darling,
Don't you understand I adore you.
Or have I not made it clear?
Well allow me to demonstrate my dear
How hopelessly, helpless i've become
Please won't you let me have you
Oh for heaven's sake!
You can not just ignore me,
Love me I beg you
Oh darling,
It appears you truly are blind
Or is it just that I've stolen your eyes?
You would not return my gaze
So I forced it
What a horrible mistake I've made
But no remorse do I have for it
Smick! Smack! You try to crawl away
No! You mustn't go!
Oh darling,
I've captured you once more
Not just in my gaze, of that I am sure
It appears my ropes are too tight.
You are turning blue like the brightest of skies.
Let me tell you the sweetest of lies.
Slithering, slipping, sliding through my grasp,
Your breath is drawing fewer.
Oh darling,
What have I done?
You were my one true love,
Why did you have to fade to grey?
Should I have just admired you and stayed away?
How I miss those helpless, sightless eyes
I am the monster who destroyed you
Oh darling,
I wish I had never known you.
Oct 22, 2021
Oct 22, 2021 at 11:29 AM UTC
travelin north on rumblin boxcar trains
soft iron rails confess syncopated pains
slow rhythmic rush of spinning paddlewheels
full immersion baptism in Big Muddy swales
feint clip clop thoughts of ol Bess fade fast
hum a hue of delta blues to hard times past
I lift a quiet prayer to my Lord’s willowy ear
to quell the ugly whispers of yonder city fears
Jacob Lawrence
Panel 23
Migration Series
Duke Ellington:
Daybreak Express
Orlando
9/24/17
jbm
Sep 25, 2017
Sep 25, 2017 at 12:30 PM UTC
Sat upon the stone steps of my nanny's house,
Reggae playing loudly in the street,
The heartbeat of the people,
The heart beat in my chest,
Children with braided hair skipping in rhythm,
The trundling bakery van drives up the hill selling loaves and rolls for a few cents,
Aunties warm husky voice calling them for ices and mango,
The clip clop of flip flops and the jingle of beads mixed with laughter,
Brilliant white teeth,
Wide dark eyes,
A sea of noise, constant noise,
In a city, in London, this would be infuriating,
And yet all I feel here is happiness.
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 3:21 PM UTC
1.
to give a chance, to an attending unsophisticate
await proof of whatever revered worth wanted
seeming to have little or no life experience
means not there's nothing to give
time-trenches furrowed in mire too deep . . .
2.
assume nothing so easy of another
chickety-choo, just see it through
fine particles of gray comet's tail ricochet in the eye
friction desired, yet not always
there is some pluck, you know . . .
3.
you see, as many a soul-straggler roams
some may not shine as bright as desirous fit
but (amongst other things)
actually, they do have something others crave
still unconverted, slow-releasing grit . . .
4.
no crisis here, only eager groom-in-waiting
cheerful chevy, too bright on wooden words
zigzagging to capture all-elusive allure
banish each espiegled scab
clip-clop, tear not off old wounds.
5.
So, even as half-regarded not good enough (yet?)
nails screech on board, turbulent cadence
tips dig deep into sinking blades
grant that chance not only to let make, but to make a mark . . .
for strangely, I already know.
S T, 16 May 2013
May 16, 2013
May 16, 2013 at 7:07 AM UTC
Oh pasta wig!
My angel hair pasta hair blows in the wig.
Olay.
Sorbet.
Touch the slop.
With a drop.
Don't stop.
Clip clop.
Pitter patter tip top.
Goes the batter of all matter.
Toe mater
Cars 2, see it in theatres.
I have bronzen blazen brazen.
All amazen.
In the amazon.
White Lightning.
Aug 17, 2011
Aug 17, 2011 at 1:21 AM UTC
hidden from human sight
whilst glowing like a candle in the night
a ghostly wolf floats through the woods
staying to the shadows
as rays of light dance round her
a wolf white as frost pauses by the water
she lowers her head and sees a burning sky mirror
in the distance bells toll from a church
the clip clop of hooves on a bridge spanning the lake
as white wolf pauses... lifts her head
water drips golden ripples
the night settles soft as a raven's wing
as the cart sounds drift slowly away
leaving the sweetly singing woods
crickets loud in the gloom
as wolf waits sniffing the breeze
her spirit calling from a secluded glade
she walks alone her family now gone
all souls lost in a hunt
now she trots slowly in gathering dusk
each step brings her closer to her heart
a lone gray wolf pup in a hidden den
...awaits her
by l. b.
sept 3 2012
Sep 4, 2012
Sep 4, 2012 at 11:42 AM UTC
Royal Road slopes
enough so that your toes know
which way you are going.
Kudzu and ragweed accent the driveway
pitted with bushel basket size
holes amid roaming plastic grocery bags.
A 1960’s version mobile home
fights Mimosa and blackberry bush
to remain visible.
As I ascend the creaking steps
a neighbor cracks the quiet
to announce that, “Jesse is on the way.”
I hear the clop, swish, clop
as Jesse corners onto Royal Road
and chugs toward me.
Sweat rivers from his beard.
He greets me with,
“Thanks for the groceries.”
I said, "I need you to sign
to show I brought food."
I didn’t ask, “How did you lose your leg?”
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 9:58 AM UTC
Alice walks with
the thin maid
to the stables, holding
the thin hand with
red knuckles, the
mild limp crossing
the narrow path like
a wounded ship. Do
you like the horses,
then? the maid asks,
bringing the eyes
upon the child,
holding tight the
pale pink hand.
Alice nods, yes,
I like the black one,
like its dark eyes
and coat. The maid
eyes the pinafore,
the hair tidy and neat,
the shiny shoes, the
tiny hand in hers.
Have you ridden
any yet? the maid
asks. No, not allowed
as yet, Alice says,
feeling the red thumb
rub the back of her
hand. Shame, the maid
says, perhaps soon.
Alice doesn't think so,
neither her father nor
the new nanny will
permit that; her mother
says she may, but that
amounts to little, in
the motions of things.
She can smell the
horses, hay and dung.
The red hand lets her
loose. The stable master
stares at her, his thick
brows bordering his
dark brown eyes,
conker like in their
hardness and colour.
Have you come to
look at the horses?
he says, holding a
horse near to her.
She nods, stares
at the horse, brown,
tall, sweating,
loudly snorting.
The maid stares
at the horse, stands
next to the child,
hand on the arm.
You're not to ride
them yet, he says,
but you can view,
I'm told. Alice runs
her small palm down
the horse's leg and
belly, warm, smooth,
the horse indifferent,
snorting, moving the
groom master aside.
The maid holds the
child close to her.
Be all right, he won't
harm, he says, smiling.
He leads the horse away,
the horse swaying to
a secret music, clip-
clop-clip-clop. Alice
watches the departing
horse. Come on, the
maid says, let's see
the others and lifts
the child up to view
the other horse in the
stable over the half
open door, then along
to see others in other
half doors. Alice smiles
at the sight and smells
and sounds. She senses
the red hands holding
her up, strong yet thin,
the fingers around her
waist. Having seen them
all, the maid puts her
down gently. Ain't that
good? the maid says.
Alice smiles, yes, love
them, she says. She
feels the thin hand, hold
her pale pink one again,
as they make their way
back to the house, the
slow trot of the limping
gait, the maid's thumb
rubbing her hand, smiling
through eyes and lips,
the morning sun blessing
their heads through the
trees and branches above.
if only, Alice thinks, looking
sidelong on at the thin
maid's smile, her father
did this, and showed such love.
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 11:54 AM UTC
Horses clop,
Rabbits hop.
Frogs jump,
Caterpillar ****
Worms wiggle,
Bugs jiggle.
Snakes slide,
Seagulls glide.
Lion stalk,
I walk.
Come on all lets dance,
Let's take a chance.
Clippity clop, hop hop,
Jump and ****
Now bump your ****
One,two jiggle and wiggle,
Please don't giggle.
Slide and glide,
Don't hide,
The room is wide,
You can even ride.
Dear Mr Lion don't stalk,
Sit on a rock,
So I can do moon walk.
27/3/2019.
Mar 27, 2019
Mar 27, 2019 at 10:13 AM UTC
Martha was shown
into a parlour
inside the front door
of the mother house
by a plump nun
in black and white
who looked like a penguin
out for a stroll
wait in there
she said
someone
will fetch you
in time
so Martha looked around
the room at the plain
white walls
the heavy curtains
at the windows
the huge crucifix
on the wall opposite
whose plaster Christ
seemed battered
an aged
the plaster had lines
and cracks
on the legs
and arms
and the hands
were contorted
like a crab
on its back
with rusty nails
holding them in place
she moved nearer
and reached up a hand
so that her fingers
could touch the feet
of Christ and run
them over the toes
and feel the nail
going through the feet
she rubbed her fingers there
she used to rub the crucifix
in her grandmother's house
the big one over
the double bed
and if she stood
on the bed
she could reach right up
to touch the face
and beard
and see if she could
hear Him breathe
or if she reached
really high
she could feel His nose
which on her grandmother's
Christ the nose seemed broken
and her grandmother said
that was where
her grandfather
had thrown a shoe in temper
and crack the plaster nose
will he go to Hell?
she recalled asking
her grandmother
O no
her grandmother said
not just for that
and she was pleased
because she liked her grandfather
and his simple ways
and hard toffees
she felt each toe in turn
moving a finger
over the plaster
and remembered
her school friend Mary
who had pressed
chewing gum
into the bellybutton
of the plaster Christ
in the cloister
of the convent school
back in the 1960s
and when Sister Bede
saw it she had to gently
chiselled it out
with a screwdriver
threatening severe punishment
to the girl responsible
but no one told
and even when she left years
after the bellybutton
of the Christ still had
the scar where Sister Bede
had chiselled too hard
there was a cough behind her
and Martha turned
and there was a nun
standing by the door
her eyes dark like berries
and her thin mouth
slowly opened
and she said
are you the girl
who wants to be a nun?
Martha nodded her head
and the nun told her
to follow her and she
went down a dim lit
passageway
the nun in front
pacing slow
each footstep measured
her hands tucked
out of sight
with only the sound
of her heels going
clip clop clip clop
on the flagstones
and the black habit
swaying very gracefully
as she walked
no more words
no questions
no answers
because no one talked.
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 10:59 AM UTC
queen of sulfur
of action
of always going somewhere that isn't here
king of manipulation
i've got it
we're here
it's done
let's make up a story
queen sulfur and king manipulation are lovers
bad ones
king manipulation stole sulfur's heart
with no effort
before she even knew it was happening
and then boom
she knows it
i have been manipulated she describes
and here's the thing about sulfur
she's a little reactive
clippy clop don't stop
yeah that kind of thing
so she's doing and he's trying
without doing anything at all
finally sulfur decides to flip the script on him
he knows it, of course, tries to stop it
doesn't understand, acts like it anyway
he knows a lot of things but he doesn't know everything
king you must know best she replies
and king agrees
Dec 5, 2015
Dec 5, 2015 at 1:29 AM UTC
Lunar rays, the moon's array,
Through window screens and windy dreams,
Piercing minds like I pierce my face,
Without a trace, the human race
Chases time, charts out time, every time.
When no child is left behind,
The malformed mooncalf gets to shine,
On carpets; wine,
Matching glasses carry moonshine,
A rabbit one day, a man the next,
Kitty-cat smile, auntie knows best.
Bind Oceans and blood, marine ebb and flow,
Oh! You drive me mad;
Colour fades from visions that I had.
Tell-tale clip-clop of a modest kitten heel,
Starry-eyes, cruise the dark side,
Hell behind a wheel.
Mar 9, 2014
Mar 9, 2014 at 12:30 AM UTC
Caligula, wise man of course,
Sought due promotion for his horse:
With no prerequisite debate,
The beast became a magistrate.
And then one day, without a groom,
He clopped into the Senate Room,
Followed beastly intuition,
Became an instant politician.
Without regard for poll or slate,
He soon demolished all debate.
And senators called out for more
When he did wonders on the floor.
With misdemeanor as the rule
He was a true unbridled fool,
Guided by a brute suspicion,
Stamping out all opposition.
He was reviled by common folk,
Democracy was deemed a joke;
To quote the ancient anecdotes,
He once said, "Let them all eat oats!"
Now that he's passed beyond declension
His legacy deserves attention:
Some politicians to this day
Still emulate the equine way:
They clop and neigh, they snort and roar,
There's always something on the floor;
They pound their desks, they're downright corny
Making all the issues thorny.
Don't wonder when they clown around
And seem so shockingly unsound;
Just trace the madness to its source:
Caligula adored his horse.
Oct 10, 2016
Oct 10, 2016 at 5:50 PM UTC
Emerging from a distant dust-up,
A lone rider approaches on horse.
The clip-clop gallop grows,
The panting animal is alarming,
Sweat paints and streaks down
The dark hide.
The rider wears a bandana
Over mouth and nose,
Beneath a once white hat.
His clothes are covered with the trail.
Next, he's in the leather tub
With suds from chest to hair,
Shaving cream covering his face,
Mirror in one hand,
Probably a gun on the floor of the tub.
Eyes and nose poking through the foam.
Later, we see the clean, pressed black shirt
From the back, outlining shoulders we know
Have been busy righting wrongs.
He puts a cockey tilt to his hat and pivots
With a Parodi between his clean, straight teeth.
The champion. The underdog vanguard.
Clint.
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 9:14 AM UTC
Skeletons walk the streets
By night
Gripping lit candles found
In a fire fight
Holes in ripped rags hang
From their bones
As they tread (clip, clip, clip, clop)
On wet streets shining in the grey moonlight
Mar 28, 2013
Mar 28, 2013 at 1:30 PM UTC
A part of me has hated you from the moment we met
Because all the other parts of me were instantly
Pathetically
In love with you
I hate how I stare at my computer screen every night
Hoping to see that green circle next to your name
But you and I both know I’ll never do a **** thing about it
I loathe those little things that remind me of you
I pour coffee
I see you brushing your teeth
I drive down highway 105
Pass the Biscuitville sign
Instantly in my mind
I see you walking around in your cowboy hat
Hear brown boots making their familiar clip clop sound
Your footsteps sound like symphonies
And I hate that hat
You may be the cowboy of Roanoke
But to me you’ll always be that ******** from Alamance
Who I could never get over
May never get over
Usually nothing sticks with me
I’ve only been addicted to two things in my life
Self-destruction and you
And I’ve spent my entire life trying to find a replacement
Cigarettes are expensive
Coke has a bad comedown
Other people
They’re just not the same
I detest you
You’re pompous
Selfish
And the best human being I’ve ever met
I hate how I can’t forget you
I hate!
I hate…
Because it’s easier for me to hate than to love
I choose loathe over like
Obsession over rejection
Loneliness over loss
To love you would be to lose you
Hate it's my armor
The weight
It’s pulled me underwater
And even there you’re still swimming circles ‘round my head
You can’t help the way the current flows
But baby
No.
Not baby
Not darling
Not mine
I caught you once and threw you back
Cause I didn't know how to love
I still don't
But I know very well how to hate
And my God do I hate you
Sep 20, 2015
Sep 20, 2015 at 10:01 PM UTC
I used to enjoy the sound that the hooves of horses made
When traveling across cobble stone streets,
so it's a shame,
that the majority of the time it doesn't come from a horse at all
but from some idiot
hitting the two halves
of a hollowed out coconut together.
Some idiot who has the pleasure of walking around on two legs and doesn't have
to stand when sleeping
and doesn't have to worry about “strangles”
because “strangles” doesn't mean anything to this idiot
but then again “strangles” probably wouldn't mean much to a horse
If you were to talk to a horse about “strangles”.
Clip clop, clip clop, clip clop
**** you,
you're not fooling me.
Nov 28, 2011
Nov 28, 2011 at 8:50 PM UTC
It's good until it's bad and when it's bad it gets worse. I noticed the car, butterfly, car, butterfly, caught in the engine. Curling fumes and smoke and drip drip clip clop clipping of the pipe outside the window. It's all just sounds.
I transfer the days and the seasons, Winter as Summer and Summer as Fall. The seasons all come late, after all. And the days get shorter and the nights get longer and the air grows colder but our teeth get stronger. These are the months, this is the decade. This will be my year.
But as the seconds tick and the nines get closer, I wonder about the holes in the floor. Where will we go if it collapses? What does the center of the Earth hold for us? I don't buy all that heat. It's just friction, all the tension. The hand-wringing and the nerves. The butterflies. The awkward sidestep. The silence.
In my head, it all made sense. I would do what I wanted to do now, let the reflections continue digitally until the next time I had the opportunity. But my ego is large and I trip over it on the daily. And I confuse with my circles and expect and inspect and continue, move forward into a tangled mess of dubstep and electro and Tom Waits. Breath sweet like ecstasy and Ritalin framed by clouds and clouds of *** smoke. So uh, we need to get going now, right?
Carve me a square in that floor, carpet and curtain me up. Send me to the dance floor deep in the fog. Maybe that will quiet the butterflies.
Aug 29, 2013
Aug 29, 2013 at 4:50 PM UTC
briefly cancer dead before it knows
me well enough make judgement
but i to blame fluorescent cigarette
smoking exhaust walk street-side
no matter what i do choice mine to
serve-vive imperial clip-clop mingle
with the disease on the dr's clipboard
such is life in disgust and days are zero
-point finance game to lingering carbon
monoxide monotony monotone marriage
syndrome granted a free pass to imax un
to death do we partially consider one another
in
luv
Nov 21, 2013
Nov 21, 2013 at 6:45 PM UTC