Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Cné Jan 2017
Deep love within the heart
Ignite luscious flames aglow.
Spreads vast with just a spark,
Desires down below.

Keenly tantalizing,
Flawless colors and hue;
Unbridle free flying,
Loose reign while dreams come true.

Spreads rapidly, bright blaze,
Gold lighting of hope
Alive, aware, un hypnotize,
Curious Kaliedoscope.

A journey to enjoy
Burning fire devour
Life's burdensome's toy;
Amid a horse named Wildfire.
My artist's statement I wrote for an acrylic painting I painted of a horse.
Tammy M Darby Mar 2016
The black horse of nocturnal dreams
That of which the cursed angels sing
The black horse
Of man's design
The black horse of untold times

Braided mane fiery long and flowing
Riding into the darkness all knowing
I am that which feeds the demons fear
Hidden in a blind man's tears

The black horse of lost tomorrows
The ghosts of suffering and sorrow
Thundering hooves of the written word
The sound of blood trumpets can be heard

Bringer of nocturnal dreams
That of which the dark angels sing.
The black horse with deep earth eyes
Vicious wind of the people cries

The black horse of lost tomorrows
The ghosts of suffering and sorrow
       The listener of your agonized screams
The bearer of your darkest dreams


@ Copyright Tammy M Darby  3/6/2016
ConnectHook Sep 2017
White folks: pack your bags and go.
Our nut-brown world is quite offended.
Make your shame-faced exit NOW,
and leave your mansions unattended.
Wait—before you pass the doors,
it's time to settle ethnic scores.

No more ragtime Minstrel show.
Our Moorish science took it down.
Black lives matter. White, less so—
now move your pale face out of town . . .
but first, shell out for racial shame
Caucasian losers of the game.

Cultural pride is ours alone:
kings and Egyptian queens we were.
The glories of our race, well-known
bedazzle in a darkened blur
(clear to Africa's descendants—
puzzling to you white dependents).

Blackness lent your world its light,
taught the Dutch to tend those flowers.
Scandinavia grew bright
under our beneficent powers.
Negroes gave your blondes their beauty;
helped those Norsemen shake their *****.

The Seven Wonders of the world:
we built them all. No vain conjecture
dims our banner, black, unfurled,
above eternal architecture.
Arts and knowledge gained from us
are what we threaten to discuss.

We invented math and science
which you robbed from Timbuktu.
Swarthy wisdom's brave defiance
caused Old Europe to renew.
All our treasure that you plundered
testifies: your days are numbered.

Classics of our Greeks you stole:
Philosophy was never yours.
Shame upon your racist soul;
for Bach and Mozart both were Moors.
Misappropriated treasures
call for ruthless hard-line measures.

Latino fate falls next—but, where ?
Jews, Turks, and Arabs: are you. . . white ?
Orientals everywhere:
choose your side and join the fight.
Blackness rising! Late the hour;
heed your call to fight the power.

Crackers need to check your race—
stop rooting for that ****** clown.
Rednecks all up in our face;
racist throwbacks got us down.
But as your statues bite the dust
your light goes dark (you know it must).

So move on out, oppressor, thief.
Long have you held our nation back.
In some white galaxy seek relief—
but here the light itself is black.
Stars are racist. So is the sun.
Now let God's great black will be done.
Truth is stranger than:
http://tinyurl.com/yc9va3pl

Candace Owens understands . . .
PoserPersona Jun 2018
Yes, it's seemingly a nonsensical rhetorical question, but, for that precise reason, it will illustrate a lesson, if you so desire to tag along for this short session.

Per Wikipedia, "The horse (Equus ferus caballus) is one of two extant subspecies of Equus ferus. It is an odd-toed ungulate mammal belonging to the taxonomic family Equidae." Hmmm... I much prefer that the horse goes "Nay," eats hay, has a mane, and is ridden by cowboys, cowgirls, Indians, equestrians, knights, jockeys, conquistadors, Mongols, and all. Even better, just point a horse out or otherwise show a picture to a kid and they will never be mistaken again. Even the littlest ones will never be stumped when faced with a rhino, tiger, giraffe, camel, and such.

Admittedly, there is a worry that we could be fooled with that of a donkey or mule. How come no one has taken advantage of this?! What a scam to get us rich! "Duh doy," you say, cause we all know when we see a horse, so why would anyone try to trick us with an ***?! Well I ask you in turn, why does anyone try to trick us with good art versus bad, let alone art versus ****? How could anyone fall for that?!
Caroline May 2017
I remember how the clover was blooming
Reckless and scattered in vast
Swaths of golden sun
Bright and wild
Fragrant, free.

Across this pasture I remember
Flying, hands outstretched,
Rising in time to
His gaited steps.
His rhythmic breaths.

The scent of his clover-sweetened musk,
I remember, it was like
Earth and sage and rain
At dusk,

When you are crying in the barn,

Cradling his head,

In gentle, trembling arms.

I remember how the clover was blooming
At the brink of fall.
Reckless and scattered in
Thin swaths of graying tones,
Dying, free.
To you, my friend - my old brown horse. You taught me how to ride, and then my oldest daughter, and then her younger sister. Twenty-three years of riding through the clover. I miss you.
I want to build your high horse a stable
let it rest a while
let it lay down with mine.

I want to mill that hot air
see it put to use
turning wheels
blowing glass
warming the soil after a frost.

We'll skip stones across still ponds which once were cast in judgement.

See all that manure bring forth lush vegetation
so that winged beasts may perch and call to the spring.
M-E Apr 5
The first thing
I do
is looking at you
What can
I do
without looking
at you

looking at
this misshapen slide
that little children
abused; inside
in the playground

and the zit
that protruded on the
summit of your nose
and Oh, NO
it exploded as a volcano

looking
at this nevus that
made of your face
an hotel room
above your upper lip
and stayed there
for ever. No tips
and whatsoever

those two dishes
recepting and
looking at
two different
satellites

and all of your imperfections
and insecurities.

Just wash my face
and smile.
Austin Draper Dec 2018
A young horse went to the older horses, to tell them his goal.
“I want to fly!”
The older horses were confused.
“Horses can’t fly.”
“But I can do what I can dream right?”
“We need more horses to lug the humans around. It gives you a solid meal.”
The young horse then said.
“But if the humans see a flying horse, then I’ll get more than a few meals! And they’ll pay a lot to get a horse to fly since there isn’t that many.”
The horses said nothing, except one.
“Fly if you want, but if your wings carry you not; remember that your legs will.
Let not your label decide you, but make sure you have skill with your dreams. And if you wait for that skill or find another dream, then remember mundane labor. It will give you a simple meal.
This is another fable when I was considering getting a Job at Wendy's in the year following. Just Prose
English Jam Apr 2018
Each time a dark thought to sin gleefully entered me
Every one of those days blurred into one another that were tinged with blue
All those nights insomnia took hold, and I wished to end my life
Well, I'm glad I didn't

I'm glad because I was waiting for the day
The day the sun bursts into a kaleidoscope of light
The day the sky quickly parts itself, making a path
The day the clouds willingly sacrifice themselves to hold a gleaming white horse
And on the horse's back, sits The King
Holding a sword that shines magnificently
Wearing a crown that dazzles for all to see
I can't wait to see Jesus
Still I wait for that day
Still I wait
CK Baker Mar 2017
the walls of inside passage
look the same
from sound to straight
tugs and plugs
dot the coastline
as the quartermaster rolls
giving time for evening glare  

pods are in sequence
as the high tail smashes
and jaws at the krill
white bellies and sea cows
bob and weave
as bow heads glide
over haida gwaii  

northern lights dance
and tlingit chant
as the tide settles softly
on savory shores
their getting hungry in hoonah
as the blue back and beating drums
mark the life blood of the sea  

driftwood nets
and sitka spruce
surround the cook house
ravens and tinhorns
man the scullery
kerosene lamps flicker
as clam shells roast
on open flames  

villagers stroll
on pebbled sand
in the harbor of souls
where ships set sail
on might and mass
into the steady winds
of the golden skies


ice fields (to the north)
of kryptonite blue
cutting hills at
a glacial pace
knuckle clouds
above the snowline
where warlocks
craft a hidden trade  

trappers, skinners
muscle shoals
grizzly feasts
in kodiak bowl
determined pilgrims
on a dead horse trail
in search of gold
the holy grail
Donna Mar 6
A daisy said to
a horse ‘watch your step’! ‘ Sorry
neighhhhbour’ said the horse
Silly I know but was inspired by horses in a field and soon to be spring time :)
CK Baker Dec 2016
The napalan man in a violet cape  
descended the stair with a lopsided gait
a wretched procession; subscribers in cue
rattling off as they stream from the pew  

sounds and smells from a shadowy place
a catholic priest to gin up base
lanterns strung from bolted doors
cobbled streets and wooden floors  

stepping stones and iron bells
fortified by the citadel
hallowed halls and sepulcher
dragon cane for the horse drawn tour

castle turret,  archer holes
centaur scribed in chamber bowls
garden columns in courtyard view
the blood ballet and hullabaloo  

ancient tombs on warrior grounds
gods and saints who made their rounds
goliath still with battered scythe
knelt in prayer and mummified  

battle fires and crowds that roar
gallows, caves, abysmal war  
gargoyles flock the terrace *****
pearly gates to bring on hope  

serpents, snakes and burning ash
the lava bombs and trident clash
mariners drift in absentee
as neptune rises from the Tyrrhenian Sea
Onoma Jan 26
you preening,

devilish *****--

i love the way

your *** puckers

when you ride

your high horse.

please don't come

down.
The Iron Horse can still saddle this Coach,
Whose Extract nourishes the Children he trains:
One the Golden Girl; The Other a Hodge,
Transpose to the Miracle-Boy remains
Two-Scores-and-Four his Dedication baits,
Like Tunes based to emasculate them both
Here in the Pillow-Jungle Success does wait
Bending limbs into Sport; Then promotes their Growth
What Circus! Said the Lame Artist envine
Yet in Prayer begs him to join the Fray
He looked at his Pearls; And saw that they Shine
Which, suspend, trained his Boon-Dogs to obey.
Hence, to Devotion his Shoes retire
Partner and Career; In Big Thanks suspire.
#andybanksdive
CK Baker Mar 2017
there’s a barnacle scar
deeply ingrained
on the basalt stack
at mark thirty two
whispering summer winds
scented oil
cotton and roe
drift
as waves brush
and shape
the sandstone shore

the briny air
and lost erratic
set a tone to this
pollyanna portrait
it's andrews undulations
and gifted benches
its concessions
and traces of the barry burn
its sculpted driftwood
and sanko lines
make this picture
almost perfect

children play
as venom spews
from the caterwaul pair
those odd looking mates
casting smiles
with arrested despair
settling shots
swiping bugs
dipping and darting
as photo men
and muscles
and long neck seabirds
make their turn

the hunched hoody
and his sorted sidekick
get their fill
(of moss and rubble ~ chubby and kelp)
nice to meet your acquaintance
the pho man would say
an odd drop
and ironic turn
from those horrific corners
of timeless desperation
down by cannon bridge

harbor seals
and carriage horse
are fronted by
raven shade
jolly tides pause
in quiet bays
(with curious looters
and *** pickers)
sand merchants
and field totems
all streamed by the light

cirrus strands
blanket the
outer edge
hovering craft
and shimmering willows
bolt the evening frame
blood orange
and tethered
with a filtered glare
bottle-nose dolphins
and seabirds
(and shifting tides)
are all settling in
for the long night stay
Wayne Wysocki Sep 2018
There was a man who bought a horse
From a rancher known as Joe,
But Joe explained things to the man
Before he let him go.

This horse is strange, the rancher said,
You command him not like others;
Say "Oh my God" to make him go,
To stop, say "Smothers Brothers."

He commanded sternly, "Oh my God!"
Once mounted on the steed;
At once the stallion started off
With a frantic burst of speed.

Toward a canyon cliff he ran,
Across the desert sands;
The man, in wild excitement,
Forgot the two commands.

In fear he cried out random words
As fast they neared the drop,
Yet still he could not find the phrase
To make the stallion stop.

He then remembered "Smothers Brothers,"
And yelled with all his breath;
At once the beast slid to a halt
An inch away from death.

Afraid to move, he gazed upon
The canyon deep and broad
He wiped his brow, and in relief,
He whispered, "Oh my God!"
This poem was inspired by a joke going around in the 1970s.
Copyright © 2018 Wayne Wysocki
The children they run, jump through the Sun,
...scream at the Horse for nary the fun.

What have you seen? What do you believe?
Did you get burnt on St. John's Eve?

Which day is it? Oh what the time?
Who be the meaning of old fabled rhyme?

Can you see stars? Oh great the heavens...
...can you see stars, so great the heavens?
Can you see stars? Oh great the heavens...
...can you see stars, so great the heavens?

Shh, here she comes, break black -the night!
...washed away the horse with infernal delight!

One is left ******, burnt, torn, pieces broken,
..and Momma, please Pappa; one's life merely token.

The children they run, jump through the Sun,
...ritual of the fear, for New Age begun.

Can you see stars? Oh great the heavens...
...can you see stars, so great the heavens?
Can you see stars? Oh great the heavens...
...can you see stars, so great the heavens?
The ritual of the May, the Spring, May-Queen, Beltis and Bacchus as Beltane for both are one; two sides. The Catholic Church folded mythology into it's own canon by deifying Celtic, Greek, Norse and Roman gods. St. John's Eve is the ritual of Bacchus. In this ritual a fire pit is made and children jump through the flames; pass through the fire of the Sun. They do this while fleeing the two men dressed up as a white horse; the Pale Rider which is the Moon. Enacting the two sides of Janus; all coins have on their face an image of the sun god or sun king and an image on the obverse of a horse or horse's head. The moon has three faces that can be seen by the ***** eye and if you look at it you will see one of them appears to be grey spots that form a horse's head. They are chased by the moon and saved by the sun but one is caught and torn apart the way Bacchus was killed. In the longer form one constellation character is, "caught," each Spring as the Age of Precession and once every 2,160 years a new one is, "saved," by the Sun passing through him.
Next page