"foal" poems
i have loved,let us see if that’s all.
Bit into you as teeth,in the stone
of a musical fruit. My lips pleasantly groan
on your taste. Jumped the quick wall
of your smile into stupid gardens
if this were not enough(not really enough
pulled one before one the vague tough
exquisite
flowers, whom hardens
richly, darkness. On the whole
possibly have i loved….?you)
sheath before sheath
stripped to the Odour. (and here’s what WhoEver will know
Had you as bite teeth;
i stood with you as a foal
stands but as the trees,lay,which grow
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I took the left path where hydrangeas grew and sleepy primroses under woods, edged shady trees.
The empty stream ran quietly dry
With grass cuttings piling high.
If one peeped, one would find tiny creatures
To cast a sparkle here and there, a delight.
So on tip-toe, with sandels bent
Up high I reached to take
The plastic fairy as she twirled a pirouette
In a theatre made by chance.
Reflected in a silver mirror intwinned with ivy branch
A mottled foal tends his dreams and Chrismas robin chirps.
My brother took the right hand path where the trees grew fruit
Ripe berries from the gooseberry bush bulged their prickles.
Dangling from hawthorn now a cowboy with a hat
Looking for his fellow Indian with the yellow back sack.
Sheep gather in a hollow, dark, protected from the sun
And Mr toad, now lost of paint, has turned a bit glum.
And so we leave our woodland friends and travel up the slope
Winding round the rose bed and goldfish where they float.
Then up we climb, the middle route, to jump the pruned clipped
Hedge.
The lawn divided in two halves, a contemporary taste.
Now we're nearly at that place where if one was to turn
Could see down across the land
To the sea and sand.
Of all the beauties that I've known
Nothing beats this Island home.
Love Mary x
My grandfather’s retirement bungalow was in Totland Isle of Wight.
It was named Innisfail meaning ‘Isle of Ireland’.
Behind, the garden led down to magical and delightful to children who came as visitors. My grandfather would prepare this woodland with some suitable surprises.
The garden and woodland deserved its own name and in retrospect
Is now named ‘Innislandia’ to suggest a separate, mysterious land.
Beyond the real world.
In the poem A Country Lane on page 8 the latched gate is the back gate to my grandparent’s garden and bungalow in Totland as above.
Jun 23, 2018
Jun 23, 2018 at 7:57 AM UTC
Buds burst forthwith outward
Leaving the private world of
Growth to be anew
The foal steps lightly
First on air then grass
Smoke rushes in hunlike
Ostentatiously in combat
Purity is its own demise
Osmosis and entropy reign
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 9:28 AM UTC
While you were away,
My words seem to fall on deaf ears.
Unvoiced mutterings that fall out in droves,
Burning rants swallowed back in singes and sears...
While you were away,
Time was stagnant; a viscous puddle.
Hours only stretched longer,
The second hand jabbing its ferocious needle...
While you were away,
The clock drove me insane.
Ticking my life away in literal seconds.
Losing sand grain by grain...
While you were away,
And when it's all quiet and dark,
I could hear my heartbeat...
Awaiting the new day to make its mark.
While you were away,
My words seem to have lost their meaning...
As if they were stuck in limbo,
Unanswered calls that keep on ringing...
While you were away,
I am but a little lost foal...
Because whenever you're away,
I am never whole...
Nov 26, 2014
Nov 26, 2014 at 10:51 AM UTC
A fueling, flashing fulgent, furnace, fulgurous, frothy, fumes and feathery flakes,
I do not speak of waves of snow, hoary frost, or ice, a cold gelare or even frozen lakes!
Formidable, furrows, fructifying, functioning fruition to foremost fondly found a flaming,
I revel not in such destruction but choices for my naming!
For flowers flow fields forever, forswearing funneling fjords finitely, fire fray’s forests furthermost,
Instructing in the arts of language, for I am your gracious host!
Fakir formulates factious forms fading flummoxed into fury, a fugacious fusible and furtive fleeting feigning furiosity,
A deep ditch dug, tight as pug, wrapped blanket snub though not a flub, all perspicacity!
Finds frosty frore a frozen freezing faction for fusty flaming feasance,
Fomorian fantasy of formidable faggoting, facient up to fancying, fancying, furnaced flesh fluidity finds itself factitivity, facets for fabulists from the faint familiarity,
Relating cold to heat as such, requires but a human touch, apologize I do you see for all my clueless severity!
Fans of all the falconry, who fallow fields of family, falter for a fallacy, falling into infamy as forgone flame frontogenesis, fatigues a Faustian felony, for which fate finds is fastigiated foolery, febrile features featly and yet furiously, favonian fear of fellowship fiendishly, figures foal to fatherly, finally fiddle flinchingly, although not so too furtively;
I finagle in my filigree!
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 1:13 PM UTC
there was a little horse he was just a foal
he was very friendly a lovely little soul
the horse he had a dream that he was in race
running very fast as he set the pace
running round the track faster than the rest
proving to the others that he was the best
heading for the finish heading for the post
this his what he dreamed of the thing he wanted most
taking home is trophy a great big golden bowl
he dreamed he had grown up and forgot he was a foal
Nov 30, 2013
Nov 30, 2013 at 10:57 AM UTC
*Moon swept itching dark
Twilight, sunrises curtain
pink lids - open eyes
Crossing the shallows
trout fingerling feed at dawn
White dots steep hill path
My stride increases
a shadow skipping pebbles
lone thoughts dismissed
White dappled ginger
Ungainly long knobbed legs,
rolling - then sitting aware
Midday, pours blue heat
Standing shading their new young,
across clear pebbled flow
Smile’s triumphant glow
rests briefly on sweet green bank
Silver flash of joy
Dusk - apart painted,
eight queued paired mare and foal
Foliage lined dark black*
May 23, 2010
May 23, 2010 at 12:34 PM UTC
Young women so bold
Not afraid to try again
Not afraid to say no to the men who try and take advantage of them,
Young women so smart
Finding new and proper ways of doing things
Finding peace within,
Young women so strong
Like a stealthy leopard hunting its pry in the jungle,
Like a majestic mare willing to fight for her foal,
Young women never give up,
Never throughout your dreams just because some guy told you to,
Never do what you think isn't right.
Jul 11, 2018
Jul 11, 2018 at 10:25 PM UTC
Little jackrabbit heart
Jackhammering at this brittle bone cage
Salty tears from all parts
Looking for answers on an unmarked page.
Beating back fear with a big stick
Timid, mouse voice tries to squeak
The words of a lioness. Oh why did you pick
The littlest songbird with her bound beak?
Little squirrel darts off, afraid.
After a struggle to stand on shaky legs,
The tiniest foal gave up and laid
In the soft hay. Sweet little dog begs
On the back porch ( liquid scared, scary eyes).
Let me into your heart, let me into your home!
Caged bird becomes freebird of open skies
Dipping low to touch the ocean's foam.
Mar 16, 2010
Mar 16, 2010 at 10:08 PM UTC
I am done with my graceless heart, truly.
For it only beats to make me survive.
It's taken me through stark streets unduly.
Broken into shards in his hands, deprived.
He took the moon from my eyes; tore my soul.
I became an empty grave in the sun.
As frail and lax as a newborn foal
Distressed, from my hunter I could not run.
It is always darkest before the dawn.
I awoke from my slumber in the Spring.
I won't be that shell again or so drawn.
Hold it to up my ear and hear it ring.
Grief doth fade and hope doth thrive, from ashes
My all no longer under your lashes.
Oct 15, 2012
Oct 15, 2012 at 5:00 PM UTC
Warmth, it is the rising steam
Blowing against my lips
In clouds as thick as cream
I down it with timid sips
That numb my throat softly
Because the first cup is always costly
Release, it is the loosening of the soul
Uncoiling like a taught wire
Caught 'round the neck of a young foal
The bitter-sweet taste is a burning, liquid fire
But the feeling is contagious
There's no need to feel courageous
Desire, it's filled to the brim
Like a sea of flowers
Unwilling for their monthly trim
It churns within me, a growing power
That's too subdued to abuse
And too wonderful to refuse
Disappointment, it ends with the final drop
When the cup's tilted vertical
I realize it's time to stop
For my tongue will never reach the final hurtle
That mocks me from the shadowed curve
Making me think that it's too good to deserve
Rejoice, it's a teaspoon of honey
To ease the bitterness of the blessed brew
It clears the clouds and becomes quite sunny
So that I may offer some to you
Take this cup, and I swear you'll smile
For the unmistakable taste of honey-sweetened chamomile
Aug 30, 2013
Aug 30, 2013 at 1:23 PM UTC
Vaccuum-sealed sorrow
Cancer's curse
I wait for tomorrow
Hope it doesn't get worse
A parasite to the soul
No one has control
They let the poison in
But the tumor grows ag'in
Until they finally cease
Like a dog with fleas
Treatment is over
Nothing left to do
Except wait
Wait until the parasite consumes you
Eats you whole
There's nothing left
The mare leaves her foal
Nov 17, 2012
Nov 17, 2012 at 2:28 AM UTC
On Cruachan's plain slept he
That must sing in a rhyme
What most could shake his soul:
'The stallion Eternity
Mounted the mare of Time,
'Gat the foal of the world.'
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Lexical littorals illiterate foal
Talus and cirque shore and shoal
Iconoclast anarchy vortex knoll
****** matrix vertex peak
Semantic regalia flux and seek
Torrid allusions own and keep
Dichotomy paradox surge and swell
Primordial integumence purge and fell
Contiguity confluence dirge and knell
Reliquiae requiem show and tell
Accession assertion deliberative need
Transcendent ascension expiate seed
Subordinate ancillary exigency deed
Subliminal subjunctive sensorium seethe
Uxorious usury detinue blithe
Contiguous currency decimate tithe
Tractive proximity critical lithe
Delusory phantasm futurity kithe
Alacritous tactile acuity interstice
Accidence ambience resonance quipy pith
Scenario synopsis resilience gist
Endergonic protensive progressiveness rift
Prestissimo preterite retroactive gift
Poignant puissance piquant myth
Fable fantasticate legend list
Preternatural gesticulate proclivity pith
Propensity assimilate diabolical mist
********** fornicate zooidal mist
Parenthetical erudite erumpence fist
Quiescent gossamer lecherous wrist
Militant mercenary actuator aorist
Jul 8, 2015
Jul 8, 2015 at 8:04 PM UTC
out of the light some errant hope may creep
to stay harsh fears and keep in stern control
those bitter terrors which reign over sleep
since we are many miles short of our goal
nor can a single one afford the toll
for all our efforts we have come up short
one of our heads might yet adorn a pole
there is no justice in our rulers' court
our sense of history does not go deep
nor yet much further than the old school roll
for we want all our stories on the cheap
and honour is not something we extol
we want the stallion but not the foal
and find it is so easy to distort
the symbols that are written on the scroll
there is no justice in our rulers' court
in coming dark we will react like sheep
whose bleating the kind butcher must console
before he throws each body on the heap
or drinks another beer from his large bowl
the watcher might just find the whole thing droll
or take the scheduled slaughter for good sport
did he not see the shepherd on patrol
there is no justice in our rulers' court
prince you believe your subject has no soul
and can say nothing here of great import
but without him you cannot soon be whole
there is no justice in our rulers' court
Feb 27, 2010
Feb 27, 2010 at 12:27 PM UTC
Where do I put all this pain?
Is there a box made of steel
Where I can lock away all the hurt I feel?
How about a vault?
Or some kind of hidden chest?
Where I can throw away all my feelings
Except the best
I squirm with anger
Out of all control
Why do I let you do this to me?
A stallion to his foal
Would never kick with such force-
Leave a mark like this, a permanent bruise.
It’s been five years
And now you want to change?
Too little too late,
But you expect me to jump on board
Your sinking ship
With no hesitation,
Well, that I just can’t afford.
Because I’ve played that game
And lost over and over again.
There’s nothing left of me to lose this time-
My life is just on the mend;
I can’t weather another break in my sail,
Or my ship will go down
Right along with yours.
That’s what I fear most, more than “if I fail”.
You would like that though, wouldn’t you?
A companion to pull you all the way through
To the dark side--
Someone to blame
For all your mistakes
And for your downfall too.
I plead you to stop,
To just leave me out,
To take my feelings into consideration for once.
Instead, you strike repeatedly, causing blunt
Force trauma straight to my brain.
All this round-about
Is making me insane.
Too many forced rides
On this ferris wheel of terror,
Take me round and round,
Rock the carriage.
I beg for an escape,
But you always want more
Than I can take.
You come and go as you please
And you want my heart’s door to be wide open
Whenever you decide to return with ease?
Well honey it aint that easy-
Your turn to feel the burn,
The burn of being left
Alone
To fight life on your own.
Pretend like you don’t know the pain you made.
Go ahead, tell me it’s not a mistake.
“Could’ve should’ve would’ve”.
I’ve had all I can take.
Just let me be.
Can’t you see?
You’ve caused more than enough misery.
I can’t fight you anymore.
My knuckles, they’re getting too sore.
Forget about my heart-- it’s on the floor.
You want to play these emotional games,
But I’m through.
God didn’t know what He did to me
When he gave me to you.
Go on, live your life,
And I’ll live mine.
I’ve told you this already once before-
I mean it this time...
Goodbye.
Aug 11, 2012
Aug 11, 2012 at 5:37 AM UTC
Life is displayed in the color green,
Stalks of corn, a field of beans.
The oak tree's leaves, the roses stem,
The fresh mown hay, the forest glen.
Life is displayed in the color yellow,
A daffodil or lemon Jell-o.
The morning sun, a buttercup's wings,
A smiley face, a topaz ring.
Life is displayed in the color brown,
The deep rich soil at the edge of town.
A chocolate chip, a sorrel foal,
Steaming cocoa, a fresh baked roll.
Life is displayed in the color blue,
Neptune's ocean, and berries too.
A mountain stream, the desert skies,
But favorite to me are my little girl's eyes.
Jun 18, 2012
Jun 18, 2012 at 9:18 PM UTC
the rugged light stumbles like a foal
the juxtaposition of choice plays
between right and wrong
I recall the cup of forthrightness
infringed inherently
with the sad lady,
for what was said
was not even fair yesterday.
Watch my shoreline sand prints ebb
and decide on forgiveness if you wish.
Nov 9, 2013
Nov 9, 2013 at 2:01 PM UTC
Recoil. And recoil fast.
She was of simple taste so He shattered her veiny lungs with his spit almost effortlessly.
Under his weight she was stunted, her limbs frozen by the constant of his blarring audioporn.
At every touch she had to brace herself for his embrace.
Feb 11, 2019
Feb 11, 2019 at 7:29 PM UTC
In a swiveling chair, the black and white images of light to the west, are reflections of mind in a humming machine. Turning a head, there is a closed window, showing an energetically inspired pen the nearing sunset.
Moon swept itching dark
Twilight, sunrises curtain
pink lids - open eyes
With a blink of instaneous awakeness and sleep, the neck turns fast, to look for inspiration.
Dusk - apart painted
eight queued paired mare and foal
foliage lined dark black
Without my sister's presence, the filmed horse's birth is only an image, lost. Indeed, it's the shadows of sunlight that have lit up the southerly tree with darkness!
May 23, 2010
May 23, 2010 at 3:16 PM UTC
. WNTR, o
the earth
is how long
)in you?
crisply perhaps
stiffmuscling die erected
foal trees. Barely skinned
,
.
'
.
,
.
'
.
H
e A
V
y with
light dying
of shadows
)between
o
WNTR
i skip a penny
across
Bu
g e
yed june
(Ag
irl inn
ot enough
clothing
,cuz it was june o lord it was so hot i could feel my sweat across the
palm of each hand go slick like oil across the cool common pinch
of the fuzzed in ***** tinter grass.
i o and uncurling stiffly went like the shoots off of roses: topaz
i went red like the bitten ******
of girl tingling
unchastely
snowless hips
)without WNTR which
soft of hard
and hard of itch
itch
and itch
(in WNTR to please
remove me my health
and barely skin me
a foal tree
untwitching
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 6:31 AM UTC
Meandering footsteps throughout the Autumn darkness
Toward each sallow recluse of a moment
A simple ending ceaselessly beginning
With each sniff of smoldering residue from the grass
Beyond the harsh horizon of what may as well be eyelashes
And inside- yes, inside
Within the blank fortress
Is a scoundrel of a man, who
Knows not for what he’s come?
To die, dear dalliance; fickle, frolicking foal of the Frühling!
And out the pasture’s gateway
In the Autumn, in the Autumn
Unaware
Above the marshes and the moon-orb’s
Sweet icing on the water
In an eerie sort of night
Forgives the foal a mare’s ear
Silently reprising in delight
Yes, Yes it is the Autumn
And the riders are far from sight
Oct 21, 2010
Oct 21, 2010 at 12:30 AM UTC
soft as a foal
freshly birthed
in the morning sun
placental greeting of a new day
and I know it goes on either way
without us, even—dreadful day
to think—
should have been dead
long ago
yet life is but a dream,
so merrily on I row
Aug 17, 2011
Aug 17, 2011 at 8:19 PM UTC