"corralling" poems
I see your hand waver, now you're faced with a ghost,
not the raw, killer features that were nailed to a post.
Just an old, dying cowboy, trying hard to play host.
There's a chair if you've mercy, and a story...come close.
The liquor of youth lights a fire in you, son.
Puts that flame in your eyes and the heat in your lungs.
I wore that expression, before your thread was spun,
so let me unload, you can shoot when I'm done.
Growing sore in my saddle as the nag became lame,
I sold off my shooters, then re-mortgaged my name.
But tease out the creases, we're exactly the same;
two felons of fortune, wanting someone to blame.
See, I never got settled, didn't take me a wife.
Sailed a ship in a bottle, on the edge of a knife.
I put stock in misfortune and invested in strife,
took diminished returns, paid no interest to life.
But corralling cattle won't hold them for long,
they're born to roam free where they know they belong.
Soon the lipstick and whiskey begins to taste wrong,
as the backroom piano sighs its monotone song.
By a tangerine sunset I scraped off my boots
and considered an orchard as it set down its roots.
As a buzzing of insects idly nurtured its fruits,
I was deafened by silence. My own garden was mute.
So I clutched at the earth as I fell to the floor,
to ask for forgiveness, as you darkened my door.
Seems redemption's eloped, like a gold digging *****
Just a name on a tombstone, for a few dollars more.
Quite an end would be fitting for a fool so innate,
who has squandered his years until the hour is late.
Son, unholster your weapon and wipe off the slate,
I beg execution, swift vengeance, But wait...
Did I catch my reflection as it fell from your face?
Like a hound in a heatwave, too tired to give chase?
Son, the trail that you're riding is easy replaced.
You can stand in the sunlight, or come sit in my place.
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 9:54 AM UTC
From dawn until dusk, you are here,
Meandering images smiling sweetly,
Your words, a thousand-fold message,
Caress me inside, soothing my soul,
Bringing perpetual joy to my mind,
For you are all, my loving constant.
My companion, thoughts of you jostle,
Real-time memories holding sway, yes,
Corralling projected musings, taming,
Horned unicorn harnessing wild stallions,
Calming dreams, wayward ripples in time,
Cosseting us with complete and utter love.
Whole, unified spiritually, emotionally,
We become unconquerable, unassailable,
Our Aztalan utopia, home to our musings,
Deep stronghold, fastened by pure love,
I kiss your humble mind, sincere heart,
Forging a blended alloy of true happiness.
Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 9:57 AM UTC
Our nights of assessing God,
With our heads conjoined to the windowpanes,
Our thoughts permeating throughout the glass.
Two lukewarm coffees embellished the windowsill,
The synthesis of our cognition and entwined fingers,
The soft touch of shoulders leaning upon each other,
Brought forth beatific vision, we saw God;
His blemished flesh, the formation of his bones.
It began,
His vertebral column, intangible lights, the Aurora Borealis.
His archaic vertebrae, stained in ethereal fluorescence;
The curvature, swirling, as the Deity writhes in euphoria,
A childish game,
Our God, content in the night.
His hands, formed from the dust of Bethlehem,
Grains of sand corralling to form flesh upon the detritus of Rome.
His Holy land, The Vatican; Structures of marble and stone,
Merely his cupped hands,
As his disciples' feet caress his palms.
His organs; The planets in orbit;
His heart, our sun.
The rays of light that adorn our skin,
Merely the palpitations of a hidden pulsating heart.
his divinity, subject of uncertainty in the petulant eyes of his children
walking in Terra Incognita.
His skin, Lo, to the stars;
Our hands yearned to touch the celestial freckles,
outstretched to feel the fibres of God;
And like our limbs, so did God outstretch,
his flesh, but space; suffusing within the translucent contours of the cosmos.
To be told we were made in the image of God, is to be deceived;
Our childish conjecturing, truly a theorem to be displaced,
Our augmented minds, illuminated;
An aureole behind our heads,
We became biblical as we touched lips by the mantelpiece.
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 1:25 PM UTC
I stopped commenting on airy internet objects long ago
lest it be a needed praise of some starving artists’ work
or in response to a worded response of my own work
It’s just such a waste of time to tell a million view band
they “rock” or they ****
All I will incite is defenders or refuters of my claim
who are just as petty as me
As an immature high schooler, that’s just what I wanted
The modern version of my dead grandfathers
with their white shirts, blue jeans, and duck *** hair
Driving from the city to hick school dances
just to pick fights
I once typed lines of **** talk on Elvis videos from the 1970s
just to see what would happen
- Nothing much
My grandfathers are dead and no one’s left to defend The King
I’m not so tough, but I felt scrappy then just the same
Now, with my lowly little job
my first world laptop and my glasses
Sipping coffee and mellowed out
I read some comments to see what people feel
about an article on my generation
How we’re more corporate than ever
bamboozled by a guise of fake uniqueness
Sure, I agree with the critique in the article
if you can even call it an article
People get paid for three lines of an opinion,
sometimes a link, and then the real entertainment's in the comments
Where can I get in line for this ******* job?
Not the commentors, their labor’s free
I mean the three lines guy, it sounds too easy
“Don’t ya get it yet, son”
My grandad chuckles
“His job’s just corralling all those comments,
inciting easy debate,
and getting advertising clicks”
He shook his head
went up through the roof
and his twenty-year-old jeans
ended in a wispy swirl
But I couldn't help noticing
they were name brand
Sep 11, 2014
Sep 11, 2014 at 7:59 PM UTC
There is no controlling life.
Try corralling a lightning bolt,
containing a tornado. Dam a
stream and it will create a new
channel. Resist, and the tide
will sweep you off your feet.
Allow, and grace will carry
you to higher ground. The only
safety lies in letting it all in –
the wild and the weak; fear,
fantasies, failures and success.
When loss rips off the doors of
the heart, or sadness veils your
vision with despair, practice
becomes simply bearing the truth.
In the choice to let go of your
known way of being, the whole
world is revealed to your new eyes.
Jan 25, 2018
Jan 25, 2018 at 10:12 AM UTC
collateral damage
Broken ,
i look at the shards of mirror
A lifetime shattered into instances
laden in heartbreak of broken memories
bloodstained fingerprints
walk in vain across the surface
In futility
desperate attempts to mend a broken heart,
But stabbed again, by the edges of infidelity
Slicing ridges , reminders , of those painful memories
Corralling the few wonderful ones
each splinter of glass,
holds yet another series of events , in the story of a lifetime
Unable to mend
Just like this broken heart
collateral damage , to another broken past " on the mend "
For that's all a broken heart is ,
is little pieces of " reflections " that still " cut you " whenever your soul reaches out to touch ....
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 11:51 AM UTC
~
What is it that always brings
my thoughts back to you,
which seems a strange thing to ask
because they never seem to leave
regardless of what I might see
during the many hours
of my day
Open or closed eyes,
heat of the moment
or laid back and relaxed,
it is you that I am always
thinking about
Traffic jams stacked
with blowing horns,
exhaust fumes
and frustrated fist shakes
or slow drives on country roads,
windows down
on a cool spring day
with the radio playing
Long check out lines
at the super market
corralling crying children
(close to the candy)
fighting over the best seat
in the shopping cart
or a quick in and out
at a convenience store
for a cold six pack
and a bag of chips
Work, (need I say more)
which requires a certain
amount of concentration,
attending meetings and
going over spread sheets
or a day off piddling
around the workshop
building or fixing something
that doesn't really need to be
built or fixed
No matter what occupies my day
it is always you who occupies my mind
So, what is it that always brings
my thoughts back to you…
well, I guess my thoughts of you
would have to leave once in a while
for me to figure that one out
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 3:49 PM UTC
Corralling my senses,
Rolling slot machines,
Softly purring words that disintegrate into empty promises,
Forget it, I'll end up smoking alone anyway.
Know your worth, what you stand for
Even what you sit for,
My *** hurts from the concrete stoop you left me on
Just a pack of cigarettes?
It's the final word,
Finally focusing,
What brought me here in the first place.
Love lost, love gained, love dropped
For the bright lights of a Vegas skyline
"No", to answer your question
"We can't be friends."
The new one is a nurse,
Ironic really.
Nov 18, 2017
Nov 18, 2017 at 2:08 AM UTC
Salty rain begins
Gliding its way down trunks
Getting lost in fabric leaves
Or resting gently on cheeks
Basking in the heat of skins
Molten bean soup
Housing shoals of ****
And Silken soy islands
Habituated by scallion trees
Brewing the perfect flavor group
Then a beam above
A blinding light
Followed by silver
Crashing with all might
With the grace of a bellied dove
The crash pays homage to Moses
Splitting tectonic plates
Paving a path to the scoop
The stew child ascends
And the gap below closes
Into the cave it goes
Entry barred
a serpent slithers
Corralling refuges back to nest
The only ritual it knows
The rain is dense
A body is a temple
This temple a sauna
Coated in scorched poison
It yearns for a cleanse
Watered Calvary sweeps in
Purging vile spice
With soothing touch
But glass only holds so much
And the cure is left thin
Slamming the clear dome
Icebergs swish
In a desolate tomb
But a savior passes by
Returning sea to the arctics home
Hope is restored
Now it’s time to desecrate
Pangea resumes
It won’t stop
Until bowl is fully toured
Aug 10, 2025
Aug 10, 2025 at 4:42 PM UTC
you tell yourself to
get out, just go
buy a beer, walk
around, but these
people still look
lifeless and you
end up having to
chaperone a field
trip to the local
dance bar,
corralling drunk
adults into corners
realizing that these
people have no
agenda other than
to touch you or
fight, what a
silly notion
to believe that
it would be any other
way--worst of all,
April is there,
probably March,
June and July, too.
Jun 25, 2017
Jun 25, 2017 at 10:52 AM UTC
People tell me that things will get better
to trust my gut and hum my songs.
But to waste goes all I've tried and done
left in deep dark drains and pitiful pits.
I envision my endeavours in magical colours
that seems so mundane, that haven't been
discovered.
And writing my dreams on a bland blank sheet
it feels so incomplete.
I cross my heart and swear
I swear
that the pieces I create shall be priceless and
timeless.
And that whatever lays in the far-fetched future
will only be sparkles and glitter-full glory.
With the rackety clack of a Newton's cradle
I live on in envy of what I have created.
My eyes are shut
so I can see
a myopic view of me.
Like Icarus who fell so far
my ambitions fly close to the sun.
The Phantom whose love was stolen
away
left trapped in a Box 5.
I drive myself to my greater potential
Like Jason and his Argonauts.
The insanity of such greatness is flattering
and absolutely morale flattening.
I keep my thoughts in stasis
pulling them
apart and piecing them back
the creativity of lego pieces
infinite
Corralling my inspirations
like Noah on his Ark.
The warnings given days too early
and now I hold naught
but the night hallucinations that
keep me going
and the sun in the dusk sky
Sep 3, 2019
Sep 3, 2019 at 7:37 AM UTC
Heard them corralling the rabbit
Chasing without mercy
Communicating with woops
&
Hollers
Their screeches
Their bloodlust
I kept quiet
Tippy toes
Opened the shade
Circling poor Thumper
Must’ve been 3 or 4 of them
Open field
Rabbit goes this way
Darts that way
Nowhere to go
Nature
Even coyotes have to go to
The store every once in a while
Mar 14, 2018
Mar 14, 2018 at 6:58 AM UTC