"horsed" poems
What is love?
Sweet nectar on poisoned lips;
Or ripened fruit on curious tongues.
Is love sealed with a righteous kiss;
Or is love selfish and stealing,
Hidden away for all to miss.
Does love see no bounds or limitations?
In awe of you; of your beauty.
Is love a relentless invasion?
On a four horsed chariot poisoned with cruelty.
Will love die for you; with you,
Take your last embrace.
Or will love trick you; take you,
To end the long, lonely chase.
When all is said and all is done;
pomegranate and poison are both written in fame;
Sweet and bitter,
But love all the same.
Sep 30, 2016
Sep 30, 2016 at 5:41 PM UTC
buddy didn’t tell me buddy was a two-spirit.
buddy rode into town,
blonde-horsed and golden god,
of my people’s cargo cult.
this was buddy’s second incarnation.
once before,
buddy rode into town,
we knew nothing of gold,
or time beyond the lengths of fingers.
buddy stood before us,
buddy showed us ourselves,
our unspoken intentions,
anointed us in oils,
buddy always said,
look up each night,
on a supermoon,
i leave and return within you endlessly.
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 12:43 PM UTC
From the fourth floor of my nineteen-story house, I peek out of the tinted windows. These are my only windows to whatever is outside, and they're tinted yellow and black. I am the first person on the moon. I am the first person on the edge of the planet. Will I fall off, or am I bold enough to carry on?
That, I think, is what has been bothering me for so long. I do not live in a nineteen-story house and neither am I peeking through yellow-and-black windows. No, these colors do not have any significance either. They are not symbols or metaphors. I have been making everything up as I hammer my fingers onto the keyboard and weave these unfathomable lines of thoughts. I am not the first person on the moon. I am not the first person on the edge of the planet. In fact, there isn't even an edge. I am an insignificant speck of dust. I am not even Horton's Who.
I just counted the number of 'I's in the first two paragraphs- fifteen. Fifteen of the same alphabet repeated throughout. That is, despite whatever you might say, a bad start to an essay (if you'd call this one). "Of course not, repetition is an important literary device!", you might say. Horseshit, I say. These words have no intrinsic meaning. These horribly structured sentences are disgustingly unfathomable. That's the second time I've said 'unfathomable'. Third. My 9-year old sister writes better than I do: "Today, I woke up. Today, I ate breakfast. Today, I horsed around with my dog. I am very happy. I am not hungry, because I ate today. Today, I ate." You can understand what she's saying- she woke up, she ate, she's not hungry, and she's happy. But what of me? I woke up, but just so. I ate and so I'm not hungry, but just so. I am happy, and yet I am not. These words that I write mean nothing to me, and yet they mean everything. Being the extreme nihilist that I am, life has no intrinsic meaning, and yet it is more meaningful than a poem that I once wrote about my tenth-grade crush. I've forgotten her name long since. The most absurd of all is that it hasn't been so long- perhaps a year. What is more absurd than the most absurd is that I am yet to turn sixteen; this I will do in a month's time- yet what is most absurd about the more absurd than the most absurd is the incongruity of the facts with reality. I shall not elaborate on this, for it has become nothing less of a meaningless telephone message constructed at the time of a drunken stupor.
Jan 22, 2014
Jan 22, 2014 at 7:35 AM UTC
I AM tired of cursing the Bishop,
(Said Crazy Jane)
Nine books or nine hats
Would not make him a man.
I have found something worse
To meditate on.
A King had some beautiful cousins.
But where are they gone?
Battered to death in a cellar,
And he stuck to his throne.
Last night I lay on the mountain.
(Said Crazy Jane)
There in a two-horsed carriage
That on two wheels ran
Great-bladdered Emer sat.
Her violent man
Cuchulain sat at her side;
Thereupon'
Propped upon my two knees,
I kissed a stone
I lay stretched out in the dirt
And I cried tears down.
1.3k
She's becoming numb to him
She use to feel comfort in there kiss
Now she can't feel the texture of his lips
It's like he's not there
Like she's kissing air
She loved his voice
But now it's like he's horsed
Somewhere along the line she lost him
When she looks his way
Her gaze he doesn't meet
Because he too has become numb
He use to run his fingers through her hair
The feeling of it set him free
Like he was touching a cloud
But now a storm has set in
He loved her hugs
But now it feels like he's touching a hollow shell
And when he does look in her eyes
Love is not there
Only a blank stare
He was her reflection and she was his
But now it's only transparency
They look through each other
She's out on the porch giving her life to a little white stick
Blowing smoke in the air
Using her fingers to draw images in it
And he sits in what use to be her favorite chair
Staring at a muted tv screen
He found peace in the quiet
But when they slept
They dreamed of of each other
Every morning the woke next to each other
And somewhere sat hope
Trying to build a bridge
To mend the gap the swept between them
And bring them back together
Hoping there's still time
To fix what's broken
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 11:45 AM UTC
The first kind of carnival I encountered besides at the county fair was a huge one on the far outer reaches of the North Bronx on the way to Yonkers and White Plains call Freedomland.
I remember Disneyland and the black licorice drops there at the old time confectionary store. I hope to go to Disney World in my lifetime.
AS far as a regular circus I went to one when I was on a locked ward (we were let out under supervision) at the Lyons New Jersey UAMC. I was so desperately feeling like a failure due to confinement, and felt such hopelessness, that I contemplated joining the circus as a roustabout, but it seemed futile in the big picture, after all, I felt because I'd just be going from the frying pan into the fire success or lack thereof wise.
I think I noticed a certain clown looking at me out of the corner of his eyes and reading my mind there and letting me know I'd mad e the fright decision, and seeing a choice female acrobat stride by that reminded me that I wanted to start a family someday and stars of circuses are probably kept separate from the roustabouts.
I can remember going to the Ringling Bros. and Barnum and Bailey circus with my mother as a kid and being thrilled at the taste of the cotton candy, the lion tamer doing his thing , the smell of the sawdust, and the ringmaster of that 3 ring circus and his whip. I was in awe.
In the meantime I was going to local carnivals and trying my hand with the pellet gun shooting sitting ducks that passed by in front of the king in the hall of mirrors, and going on the roller coasters and the Ferris wheel.
Later I went to the Barnum and Bailey circus as an adult and the trapeze artist, especially the female ones and , for example the parade of the Arabian horsed, thrilled me too.
I also took my foster son to a carnival and the sorta juvenile delinquent erstwhile deprived kid-he was, I though. I got a thrill out of him seeming impressed.
Enough of this, not that it's syrupy sentimentality, which I find enough in my poetry to have a sense of failure there but maybe kind of exercise in senility.
Feb 16, 2017
Feb 16, 2017 at 1:42 PM UTC
DEstroy(of)er(whothe)
earth
is slender waisted gaunt
pale skinny horsed
and short
in leggings
(smoKING a hard
fuck)wiggles pink at the
folds and heaving
in youth
wears some glitter on her
over the balcony
*****
Jan 23, 2013
Jan 23, 2013 at 3:42 AM UTC
sharing our duty
in ambulance cars
for several months
it took a masked ball
to make us meet
when I helped you
into your coat
in the wee hours
of a crisp December night
I just could not resist
to kiss the soft hair
on the back of your neck
you turned around
and held me close
though we did not
share a bed that night
this was when we turned lovers
without words
you were advanced in years
but not in love
so we explored together
a new world of sensations
love and pain and bliss
on benches hidden in the city parks
in my small Spartan student's room
and practically everywhere
our love and our bodies were
an endless source of pleasure
when I first kissed you
in a very tender spot
you simply fainted with delight
then came a perfect summer day
we horsed around in splashing water
when suddenly
the world went still
our play arrested
in a frozen moment
a time warp
to eternity
you still were close in space
yet worlds away
distance engraved forever
as one some Grecian urn
I knew then
I would always be
alone
to face myself
at my time's end
later you said
that I had looked
like I had seen a ghost
how right you were
took me some time to recognize
it was the ghost
of my most inner self
looked back at me
out of the glistening surface
of the pool
out of the cloudless summer sky
out of your loving frightened eyes
a self that had not then
and still has not
I am afraid
the strength to bare
his softness
to the one he loves
trying to save
a shining image
crystal clear
but in fact
dimmed long time ago
along the roads of life
perhaps it was this ghost
that made us
grow apart
you wanted all of me
and more of us
while I was still a student
with a goal
not ready yet
(would I ever be?)
for close menage á deux
determined but uncertain
in his quest for ...
well - in his quest
the flames were hard to quench
a whisp brought embers to a blaze
by the mere thought of you
we broke
made up
only to break again
talked over issues
faint with sleepless nights
embraced with desperate passion
for the last time
and then agreed to meet once more
at last we were burnt out
and
looking at the ashes
knew that we must have learned a lot
yet felt no wiser
only very
very sad
* * *
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 5:53 PM UTC
I've always hated thunderstorms
in the old neighborhood,
'cause days before &
even during the storm,
strange things usually take place.
Like the horsed-carriages
showing up at odd hours
throughout the night
over at the Frankenstein castle.
That's really suspicious.
Then the bodies
disappearing
from the local graveyards.
Talk about weird.
And that sidekick Igor
even gets kind of cocky.
The nerve of that guy!
The old doc gets so secretive,
he skirts around rather nervously,
pays us no attention
& acts like we don't even exist.
Wow, that's not very cool
to say the least.
And, when nature's fireworks
finally get started,
strange noises emanate
loudly from the dungeon lab,
ka-pow, holy-cow, ka-pow,
the sparks fly & power outages
roam across the community.
The constant surges
blow out bulbs
everywhere, too.
I lost three in the last tempest.
I insist he's doing
something creepy
over there!
I mean, why else
would a seven foot
green guy with stitches
be playing leapfrog
with the local kids
out in the Baron's backyard?
I'm telling you people,
I smell something fishy,
something just ain't right!
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 10:13 PM UTC
"Mommy says that Santa won't be visiting this year.
She says it is because I have been bad.
She always seems so angry and upset 'bout everything.
She always says, 'I'm going to tell your dad.'
"Just because I broke my sister's iPad yesterday:
I only wished to see if it could float.
And then I blew it once again when we all horsed around
And I spilled grape juice on her favorite coat.
"Last week I broke Mommy's Royal Copenhagen plates.
She said to me, 'That really takes the cake!'
But I don't understand because she didn't even use them.
It's stupid to collect things that can break!
"A month ago my daddy bought a brand new fancy car--
The old one, he said, was 'obsolete.'
Boy he really blew his stack one day when he found
My chocolate candy melting on the seat.
"My brother had a new flat-screen TV in his room.
He proudly called it 'state of the art.'
I kind of knocked it over, though, while playing with my friend.
Yeah, I know: I wasn't being smart.
"If Santa has been watching me my chances will be slim
Of getting that expensive baseball glove.
But if you ask me, I think that it really ***** that Santa
Does NOT believe in unconditional love!
"I'm the victim here, you see. That is what I am.
I try to my best year after year.
If Santa wants to play that way I hope he gets my message:
Tell him he can stick it in his ear!
Yep!
Tell him he can stick it in his ear."
- by Bob B
Nov 21, 2016
Nov 21, 2016 at 1:27 PM UTC
Twisted silver
Aged divine
Horsed gallop
Priests beg
Gold flowers
Grow on
Bronze designs
Jun 26, 2018
Jun 26, 2018 at 1:40 AM UTC
do unto me what has been done to you
fear is no longer king
we are breaking
we are smiling with blood in our teeth
we are the truth of fairy tales
watch both our destruction
across a river
just wave
don't worry, you need not move
it will swim to you
May 6, 2014
May 6, 2014 at 2:10 PM UTC