"neighing" poems
494
Going to Him! Happy letter!
Tell Him—
Tell Him the page I didn’t write—
Tell Him—I only said the Syntax—
And left the Verb and the pronoun out—
Tell Him just how the fingers hurried—
Then—how they waded—slow—slow—
And then you wished you had eyes in your pages—
So you could see what moved them so—
Tell Him—it wasn’t a Practised Writer—
You guessed—from the way the sentence toiled—
You could hear the Bodice tug, behind you—
As if it held but the might of a child—
You almost pitied it—you—it worked so—
Tell Him—no—you may quibble there—
For it would split His Heart, to know it—
And then you and I, were silenter.
Tell Him—Night finished—before we finished—
And the Old Clock kept neighing “Day”!
And you—got sleepy—and begged to be ended—
What could it hinder so—to say?
Tell Him—just how she sealed you—Cautious!
But—if He ask where you are hid
Until tomorrow—Happy letter!
Gesture Coquette—and shake your Head!
7.6k
Passing over mountains
and forging over fords
slipping though forests
filled with dappled shapes,
the Coward-King makes his escape
His heart is beating
and his mind is fleeing
As behind Him
burns all he has ever known
His kingdom ablaze
His cities razed
Fields salted
books torn and statues melted
His people fighting in the ruins
dying ,trying,
to let this not be the end
Flee Coward-King
as your nature becomes known
as the mailed fist torches your own.
**** whats been done!
the Great Enemy has come!
the dread Master
of a dark and terrible horde
and his servants seek you
with ****** swords
Dark Knights on vile steeds
Grim men of black heart
Exiles and renegades
each eager to do his part
To bring you low
to make sure you reap
what you've sown
Can you hear the hounds a baying?
Neath the trees swaying
was that the sound of horses neighing?
The shadows playing
Your wits derailing,
Coward-King,
Your fortress walls have failed
and your flight will be to no avail
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 4:45 PM UTC
It is morning, Senlin says, and in the morning
When the light drips through the shutters like the dew,
I arise, I face the sunrise,
And do the things my father learned to do.
Stars in the purple dusk above the rooftops
Pale in the saffron mist and seem to die
And I myself upon a swiftly tilting planet
Stand before a glass and tie my tie,
Vine leaves tap my window,
Dew-drops sing to the garden stones,
The robin chirps in the chinaberry tree
Repeating three clear tones.
It is morning. I stand by the mirror
And tie my tie once more.
While waves far off in a pale rose twilight
Crash on a white sand shore.
I stand by a mirror and comb my hair:
How small and white my face! -
The green earth tilts through a sphere of air
And bathes in a flame of space.
There are houses hanging above the stars
And stars hung under a sea...
And a sun far off in a shell of silence
Dapples my walls for me...
It is morning, Senlin says, and in the morning
Should I not pause in the light to remember god?
Upright and firm I stand on a star unstable,
He is immense and lonely as a cloud.
I will dedicate this moment before my mirror
To him alone, for him I will comb my hair.
Accept these humble offerings, cloud of silence!
I will think of you as I descend the star.
Vine leaves tap my window,
The snail track shines on the stones.
Dew-drops flash from the chinaberry tree
Repeating two clear tones.
It is morning, I awake from a cloud of silence,
Shining I rise from the starless waters of sleep.
The walls are about me still as in the evening,
I am the same, and the same name still I keep.
The earth revolves around with me, yet makes no motion,
The stars pale silently in a coral sky.
In a whistling void I stand before my mirror,
Unconcerned, and tie my tie.
There are horses neighing on far-off hills
Tossing their long white manes,
And mountains flash in the rose-white dusk,
Their shoulders black with the rains...
It is morning. I stand by the mirror
And surprise my soul once more;
The blue air rushes above my ceiling,
There are suns beneath my floor...
... it is morning, Senlin says, I ascend from darkness
And depart on the winds of space for I know not where,
My watch is wound, a key is in my pocket,
And the sky is darkened as I descend the stair.
There are shadows across the windows, clouds in heaven,
And a god among the stars; and I will go
Thinking of him as I might think of daybreak
And humming a tune I know...
Vine-leaves tap at the window,
Dew-drops sing to the garden stones,
The robin chirps in the chinaberry tree
Repeating three clear tones.
2.4k
Love is the greatest force of all mankind...
of all cosmos, of all movement
of all that is wild and deranged
held safe in a locket, clandestine,
casually singing reigning from clouds of rain
sonnets of seismic sound sway trees
encouraging sodded fields grow greener than yesterday
yet sprightly and anew
soon
nudging the node
of the naysayers neighing,
bulging out their blue button ups
cramping, beastly belly's brooding to feast
on the blooming young,
the callow of a courageous continuum
trooping along gaily with gallantry
on trails, heralding gnarled roots
but this is rhythm
and rhythm is rhyme
and rhyme reconciles reasoning
"i love you for no other reason
but i love you"
says the tales of two
seeking singularity,
soaking in the sauna of one,
sovereign sun.
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 6:24 PM UTC
I hear water singing,
the different musical symphonies of the rivers,
lakes and the vast ocean sea;
The sweet sorrowful song of the whale--the same song as when I first heard it,
off the edge of a boat in a yellow rain jacket when I was less than nine years old,
The children laughing as tadpoles swarm gaily around their tiny toes--the cream colored foam swallows their legs up to their knees in the orange midday sun,
The chirping of a dolphin, kissing the deep blue waves each time it leaps,
The seahorses galloping and neighing in the salt sea and the catfish purring and licking their paws in the lakes of Wisconsin and Minnesota,
The seagulls calling to the fish to leap out of the water to become breakfast,
The sobbing of the naked woman in her bathtub at home, the suds up to her pink neck--toes turning to raisins,
The deep bellowing of a cruise ship, filled with all of the people laughing inside its belly,
The ocean whispering against the sand as the moon is gazing into the largest mirror in the universe,
The sun singing loudly in the morning time, peeking above the horizon and pulling back the curtains of the night, greeting all of her lovely friends; bold, sweet, and strange.
Jun 1, 2011
Jun 1, 2011 at 6:45 PM UTC
It is evening, Senlin says, and in the evening,
By a silent shore, by a far distant sea,
White unicorns come gravely down to the water.
In the lilac dusk they come, they are white and stately,
Stars hang over the purple waveless sea;
A sea on which no sail was ever lifted,
Where a human voice was never heard.
The shadows of vague hills are dark on the water,
The silent stars seem silently to sing.
And gravely come white unicorns down to the water,
One by one they come and drink their fill;
And daisies burn like stars on the darkened hill.
It is evening Senlin says, and in the evening
The leaves on the trees, abandoned by the light,
Look to the earth, and whisper, and are still.
The bat with horned wings, tumbling through the darkness,
Breaks the web, and the spider falls to the ground.
The starry dewdrop gathers upon the oakleaf,
Clings to the edge, and falls without a sound.
Do maidens spread their white palms to the starlight
And walk three steps to the east and clearly sing?
Do dewdrops fall like a shower of stars from willows?
Has the small moon a ghostly ring? . . .
White skeletons dance on the moonlit grass,
Singing maidens are buried in deep graves,
The stars hang over a sea like polished glass . . .
And solemnly one by one in the darkness there
Neighing far off on the haunted air
White unicorns come gravely down to the water.
No silver bells are heard. The westering moon
Lights the pale floors of caverns by the sea.
Wet **** hangs on the rock. In shimmering pools
Left on the rocks by the receding sea
Starfish slowly turn their white and brown
Or writhe on the naked rocks and drown.
Do sea-girls haunt these caves--do we hear faint singing?
Do we hear from under the sea a faint bell ringing?
Was that a white hand lifted among the bubbles
And fallen softly back?
No, these shores and caverns are all silent,
Dead in the moonlight; only, far above,
On the smooth contours of these headlands,
White amid the eternal black,
One by one in the moonlight there
Neighing far off on the haunted air
The unicorns come down to the sea.
2.2k
1.
i may call it a leaflet
i may call it a handbill
but don’t you notice
a large number of gossips
is natant in the air
do you admit that the fuming heart
that’s glorifying the plate
should be made a must-read
for any seed-bed
the sun tells that to keep-fit
the health of the clouds
the instigation of the perfumed-soap
is required
with that pituitary
some neighing of horses
that is fastened tightly with cork
now see
if you can offer pregnancy
even to the barbie doll
by the by
it should be informed here
if the question of roaming in the woods
is raised
the highly-educated bathroom
feels very helpless
and taking repeated somersaults
in the sunshine
in the rains
the folding umbrella
also have got very much out-of-temper
Oct 5, 2010
Oct 5, 2010 at 5:20 PM UTC
Blithe dreams arise to greet us,
And life feels clean and new,
For the old love comes to meet us
In the dawning and the dew.
O'erblown with sunny shadows,
O'ersped with winds at play,
The woodlands and the meadows
Are keeping holiday.
Wild foals are scampering, neighing,
Brave merles their hautboys blow:
Come! let us go a-maying
As in the Long-Ago.
Here we but peak and dwindle:
The clank of chain and crane,
The whir of crank and spindle
Bewilder heart and brain;
The ends of our endeavour
Are merely wealth and fame,
Yet in the still Forever
We're one and all the same;
Delaying, still delaying,
We watch the fading west:
Come! let us go a-maying,
Nor fear to take the best.
Yet beautiful and spacious
The wise, old world appears.
Yet frank and fair and gracious
Outlaugh the jocund years.
Our arguments disputing,
The universal Pan
Still wanders fluting--fluting--
Fluting to maid and man.
Our weary well-a-waying
His music cannot still:
Come! let us go a-maying,
And pipe with him our fill.
When wanton winds are flowing
Among the gladdening glass;
Where hawthorn brakes are blowing,
And meadow perfumes pass;
Where morning's grace is greenest,
And fullest noon's of pride;
Where sunset spreads serenest,
And sacred night's most wide;
Where nests are swaying, swaying,
And spring's fresh voices call,
Come! let us go a-maying,
And bless the God of all!
1.7k
Pulsating honor doth corroded hearts impound
A blustery breeze echoes cries from each, preceding battleground
A recurring, eager parade of reporters, gawkers freely roam distant mound
Below, fatigued, tidy mass of steeled infantry; to death's throes bound
Neighing horses conditioned to mayhem the pageantry doth confound
On opposite ridges, mounted turrets prepared hell's fury to expound
On signal, a synchronized, concussive chorus doth its dark melody propound
Scraps of metal shards initiate; commencing another, toilsome round
After lengthy barrage, wits collected a more lethal volley to stound
Familiar, urgent order to charge christens hallowed ground
With youthful ardor a wide-eyed bugler doth the bridled expanse unbound
Shrieking rancor from recoiling rifles; a familiar anthem doth resound
Recurring cacophonous medley, weathered nerves drowned
Once more, a mass of flesh surges into the abyss with mortal hopes crowned
Anon, shattered limbs; gory wounds misery's cache compound
Jul 20, 2012
Jul 20, 2012 at 9:59 AM UTC
Hot desert winds’ve come up suddenly and
covered my reality with a blanket
of Sahara dust
obscuring the mountains
like fog in the fall
The view I so love is cast
in an eerie yellowish grey light
the endless horizon cut down to a fraction
of itself
surreal and unfamiliar
I’m feeling slightly schizophrenic
How can there be silence when
winds are howling and
why does my reality feel
so still
while everything’s clearly
in motion?
Sound in silence and movement in stillness
Blending dimensions are rattling
my mind as space and time
lose their meaning
for a while
Curiously detached from
what I observe yet
simultaneously
intensely involved I behold
these realities that are tumbling
in and out of each other
And I’m faintly aware of my leaden limbs
All the while
three little butterflies
gracefully defying gravity
are spiralling in an infinite dance around
my heavy form
inviting me to celebrate life
in the eye of
the storm
Mesmerized by this lightness of being
I contemplate my
quirky reality bubble
the appearance of which’d changed from
photoshop crispness to
confusing diffusion
turning sparkling colors into
a blur of drab pastels
The meseta lays parched, silently hiding
in a cloud of sand and holding its breath
in this searing onslaught
no goats bells are ringing
or horses neighing
ev’n the cricket has ceased to sing
*But undisturbed and unperturbed
the butterflies keep dancing*
Then
from one instant to the next
the storm has drowned in a moment of
deafening silence
time’s standing still
neither sound nor movement until
a sudden cool breeze shivers me out of
my reverie
Now distant thunder in darkened skies
is promising long awaited rain
and creation breathes out
in relief
*And undisturbed and unperturbed
the butterflies keep dancing*
©Jasmine, Vilacarillo, Spain, August 7, 2015
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 4:33 PM UTC
The tired cars go grumbling by,
The moaning, groaning cars,
And the old milk carts go rumbling by
Under the same dull stars.
Out of the tenements, cold as stone,
Dark figures start for work;
I watch them sadly shuffle on,
'Tis dawn, dawn in New York.
But I would be on the island of the sea,
In the heart of the island of the sea,
Where the ***** are crowing, crowing, crowing,
And the hens are cackling in the rose-apple tree,
Where the old draft-horse is neighing, neighing, neighing,
Out on the brown dew-silvered lawn,
And the tethered cow is lowing, lowing, lowing,
And dear old Ned is braying, braying, braying,
And the shaggy Nannie goat is calling, calling, calling
From her little trampled corner of the long wide lea
That stretches to the waters of the hill-stream falling
Sheer upon the flat rocks joyously!
There, oh, there! on the island of the sea,
There would I be at dawn.
The tired cars go grumbling by,
The crazy, lazy cars,
And the same milk carts go rumbling by
Under the dying stars.
A lonely newsboy hurries by,
Humming a recent ditty;
Red streaks strike through the gray of the sky,
The dawn comes to the city.
But I would be on the island of the sea,
In the heart of the island of the sea,
Where the ***** are crowing, crowing, crowing,
And the hens are cackling in the rose-apple tree,
Where the old draft-horse is neighing, neighing, neighing
Out on the brown dew-silvered lawn,
And the tethered cow is lowing, lowing, lowing,
And dear old Ned is braying, braying, braying,
And the shaggy Nannie goat is calling, calling, calling,
From her little trampled corner of the long wide lea
That stretches to the waters of the hill-stream falling
Sheer upon the flat rocks joyously!
There, oh, there! on the island of the sea,
There I would be at dawn.
1.5k
The Beatles said
it’s gonna be alright.
43 years later and look
at this place—
a rusty
steel fortress
surrounded by the idea of a wall.
Everyone’s afraid
the bloodthirsty
islamic extremists
are clamoring to get in.
Drips of gasoline have
killed
what little power
the flowers had.
Red elephants
& blue donkeys
neighing at each other
is the only entertainment
on the 3D Telly.
Children are forced
to pick one—
then support
said animal for the rest
of their lives
with t-shirts and books.
Nobody is allowed to have
multiple lovers
or **** a Muslim.
Someone once said
our only freedoms
were “paper or plastic?”
& “liberal or conservative.”
If anyone questions
said choices
or
the federal religion of God
they’re branded unpatriotic
& a granola nut.
It’s merely frowned upon
to drink neat whisky
or have a beer before noon.
but smoke a little plant
& that’s 5-10.
No one’s considered an adult
until they’re $20,000 in debt
for student loans
& been divorced once.
Not a soul
remembers
what happened
to the people here before
US.
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 7:40 AM UTC
It is morning, Senlin says, and in the morning
When the light drips through the shutters like the dew,
I arise, I face the sunrise,
And do the things my fathers learned to do.
Stars in the purple dusk above the rooftops
Pale in a saffron mist and seem to die,
And I myself on a swiftly tilting planet
Stand before a glass and tie my tie.
Vine leaves tap my window,
Dew-drops sing to the garden stones,
The robin chips in the chinaberry tree
Repeating three clear tones.
It is morning. I stand by the mirror
And tie my tie once more.
While waves far off in a pale rose twilight
Crash on a white sand shore.
I stand by a mirror and comb my hair:
How small and white my face!--
The green earth tilts through a sphere of air
And bathes in a flame of space.
There are houses hanging above the stars
And stars hung under a sea . . .
And a sun far off in a shell of silence
Dapples my walls for me . . .
It is morning, Senlin says, and in the morning
Should I not pause in the light to remember God?
Upright and firm I stand on a star unstable,
He is immense and lonely as a cloud.
I will dedicate this moment before my mirror
To him alone, and for him I will comb my hair.
Accept these humble offerings, cloud of silence!
I will think of you as I descend the stair.
Vine leaves tap my window,
The snail-track shines on the stones,
Dew-drops flash from the chinaberry tree
Repeating two clear tones.
It is morning, I awake from a bed of silence,
Shining I rise from the starless waters of sleep.
The walls are about me still as in the evening,
I am the same, and the same name still I keep.
The earth revolves with me, yet makes no motion,
The stars pale silently in a coral sky.
In a whistling void I stand before my mirror,
Unconcerned, I tie my tie.
There are horses neighing on far-off hills
Tossing their long white manes,
And mountains flash in the rose-white dusk,
Their shoulders black with rains . . .
It is morning. I stand by the mirror
And surprise my soul once more;
The blue air rushes above my ceiling,
There are suns beneath my floor . . .
. . . It is morning, Senlin says, I ascend from darkness
And depart on the winds of space for I know not where,
My watch is wound, a key is in my pocket,
And the sky is darkened as I descend the stair.
There are shadows across the windows, clouds in heaven,
And a god among the stars; and I will go
Thinking of him as I might think of daybreak
And humming a tune I know . . .
Vine-leaves tap at the window,
Dew-drops sing to the garden stones,
The robin chirps in the chinaberry tree
Repeating three clear tones.
1.2k
That day, the sun as bright as yellow-white,
the day Robinhood met Cinderella
on the fairgrounds at Montezuma
and Cervantes white steed was neighing
tied to the fence
and both them,
)Robin and Cindy(
at the same time
went over to try and calm him
and Cervantes tilted ( a bit high drunk stupored )
he was. Spilt the horse's water
all over both of them.
Cinderella's white shirt
became transparent.
Nubs soft curves
all apparent.
Robin stood,
impressed by the display before him.
Then, Maid Marion showed up,
grabbed Robin by the scruff of his neck.
And Cervantes saw Don Quixote
approaching.
Quickly he threw
the horses blanket
over Cinderella's beauty.
He whispered in her ear,
I know this abandoned windmill
near, we might
have a tilt or two,
Cinderella lost a shoe running
to the horse to mount
with Cervantes
whipping reins and dust flied
as they disappeared
to never ever be
seen again.
Sep 1, 2017
Sep 1, 2017 at 10:57 PM UTC
You must have skill of rope walker in order to walk on the periphery of the circle,
It's been years, you are stuck in the Zero,
Constantly revolving around,
From the window far far away, blinds are watching,
Blindness is not useful then,
Smokes are stretched between with heinous sounds,
you can project an arrow in the direction of the sound,
but it is noise every where,
Sound is not pure, like music
neighing can corrupt your ears,
fighting can corrupt your hands,
you have tied some gospels on your fingers,
it gives warmth in utter cold
in the mud pool of light besides,
you are dipping your arrow tip and aiming,
your hands are in mood of becoming a bowstring,
your speed must be hasty
and weight less than a thin air
then only you can penetrate those noises,
as soon as you enter in the dark matter,
slowly you fall into contrivance,
your delivery path is glowing like a glow warm,
at first you have to get **** in the end you can cover again,
hands, legs are constantly struggling,
No shields, Not even swords,
you are still involved in
Tumultuous war.
Mar 24, 2012
Mar 24, 2012 at 7:47 PM UTC
gasping for air
deep in the nitrite-laden murk
grasping at what lurks
in the reeds
needing the darkness lightened
the haze brightened and
offering clarity and
the rarity of an honest phrase
the razing of a debt that weighs
that brays its neighing and nagging reminder
a tick-tock doll wanting you to wind her
a quick chalk scrawl of admonition
desperate incitement and sedition
left breathless by your rescission
by your willing dispair
I'm left
gasping for air
Mar 19, 2012
Mar 19, 2012 at 8:57 PM UTC
Tombes , more to count than to sit at ,
Marcel Joséphine , weird name ;
.
.
.
Silence , eerily feeling which reminds us of it , pity that the almighty feels all of us , poor lord indeed
.
.
.
Old ones with lys , kids near them , family then , playing , grieving , singing , saddening
.
.
.
Vanilla , awful smell , rooting corpse in sunny Season , no milka anymore , nice Sun though
.
.
.
Leaves , dancing to Eole's humming , his music of his air , freedom , do they know their treasure
.
.
.
Thousand birds crying , light neighing , rain falls if not heaven's wrath , paining my earings
.
.
.
Steps , slow , sorrowful , slits , so grim reaper , smile , some soul shan't seen sad but happy
.
.
.
Jaa ne !
Nov 7, 2018
Nov 7, 2018 at 3:21 AM UTC
A cold and pitiless wind moves among us,
A current of current rising from epochs old.
Can we sleep serenely and without fear when
Amid stirrings of horse's hoofs he smiles?
Beneath primordial moons deviously does plot,
Time is of no value, eternity has evolved.
Without the ticking sound of the life's clock,
Snorting Arabian steed's anxious for the fight.
Poised on every shore, peering into windows,
O, so stealthy, when at last the moon has hid.
And the tide washes up, deposits combatants,
They come, by air, luxury liner, banana boat.
By the soles of their feet, souls of their God,
Like residue from a growing, fanatical storm.
What blood moves through these warriors,
Which provokes bloodlust as easily as a smile?
He is there, over there, here too, right here,
Where the children are at play with yesterday's
Values, yesterday's view, yesterday's excitement?
When the tongue and eyes of the ancient ones
Speak softly, gazing upon the long awaited prize.
The thundering of million's of hoofs let loose,
Neighing a battle cry to the dead, silent old ones.
And we, well we go about our business of sanity,
Thinking we are good, we are clean, we laugh.
Calmly we do leave the doors and the windows
Ajar for our visitors who are now neighbors,
To finish the ancient martyr's settling of scores.
©April 26, 2004 / Jerry Pat Bolton
Jan 2, 2012
Jan 2, 2012 at 9:34 AM UTC
the rooks glare at him
his pawns are all dead
on his neck roars the queen
crown trembles on his head!
smells his fall the neighing knight
hangs on thread his fate
crown would go and so his might
war over the bishops trumpet!
his army of pawns are nowhere seen
the king feels so alone
his chosen war he failed to win
about time he leaves the throne!
victory at last the pieces sing
we have the king checkmate
behind the new face the same old king
readies to wear the crown’s weight!
Nov 6, 2014
Nov 6, 2014 at 11:53 AM UTC
When I think of happiness I think of yellow, but not just yellow. When I think of happiness I see tulips buzzing to life from all the bees that sang to them. I see rainbows and butterflies over a vast country land on a beautiful sunny day with horses neighing their hello's. The sight gives me a goofy feeling. This happiness, It's now tugging at the corner of lips, pulling them towards my ears until my cheeks hurt and then a sound of squealing as I reach a full blown excited-happiness overload
Nov 24, 2017
Nov 24, 2017 at 8:57 PM UTC
As I get off
the bus from school
O'Brien says
that chick is waiting for you
by the bus stop
I look over
and see Fay
waiting there
in her school uniform
and her light fair hair
almost blonde
and her blue eyes
gazing at me
thought I may
have missed you
she says
no I missed
the first bus
I say
larking about
with O'Brien at school
o
she says
she looks at the bus
taking off
and then back at me
glad I've seen you
she says
I want to tell you something
but you must promise
not to tell anyone
not even your mother
or siblings
ok
I say
what is it?
we walk along
to the crossing
and wait until
the traffic stops
and cross over
and stand on the top
of Meadow Row
she looks at me and says
my mum's taking me soon
and we're leaving
my dad and brothers
I stand stunned
gazing at her
where you going?
don't know
Mum hasn't said
but you mustn't tell anyone
promise me Benedict
you won't
of course I won't
I say
she looks tearful
and we walk along
the Row
when are you going?
she shrugs her shoulders
quite soon
do you mind leaving
your old man and brothers?
yes very much
but Mum can't stay
any longer she says
and can't take the boys
as they're too young
and she can't have my dad
follow us or there'll
be hell to pay
she says
I look at her
my heart sinking
my mind getting overloaded
will you write to me?
I say
if I can
she says
we pause
by the green grocer's shop
and she looks around her
and up and down the Row
Dad will be so angry
and although she's said it
to him before he said
she couldn't leave him
because she'd be breaking
her promise to God
and then be ****** to Hell
I see
I say
not seeing but
standing there
giving the impression I do
I'll miss you
I say
I'll miss you too
so much
she says
and her eyes
are glassy with tears
I look
at the green grocer's shop
to take my eyes away
from her so any tears
I may have
are not seen
she lingers looking up
the Row
then her slim hand
takes mine
and she says
don't want to go
but I can't stay
have to go with Mum
I feel her hand in mine
warm kind of
pumping blood
kind of feel
she moves me up
Arch street
off of Meadow Row
and just behind
the green grocer' shop
and kisses me
on the cheek
up Arch street
coal men are filling
trucks and horse
drawn wagons
with sacks of coal
I sense her kiss
and her hand holding mine
and look at her
take in her eyes
her hair
and say
going to miss you
so much
I kiss her cheek
softly
shyly
and then silence
and in the background
the dropping
of sacks of coal
and horses neighing
and men shouting
or calling
and the bottom
of our shared hearts
and world
falling.
Aug 21, 2015
Aug 21, 2015 at 1:48 AM UTC
Living with a horse in a one-bedroom flat
up five-flight of stairs could become a nightmare
one of these days we're moving out ...
And we get on fine here - the filly and I
there's enough for us to eat -
always butter for the hay
Yet though she never nags me
nor goes neighing to the neighbours
I know how she longs for a taste of summer-grass
And when at night I'm riding her
bare back around the roof-tops
we both of us are dreaming of a boundless plain
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 11:03 AM UTC
✿⊰✲⊱✿
"Remember," Ainhara says to the young maid,
"that towel is to be hand-washed only. Do it
with care as rose-silk is costly. Our reign queen
deserves the best but she is also frugal."
"Yes, my lady."
✿⊰✲⊱✿
As the maids leave, I walk out to my balcony,
curious of the sights beyond. Passing the small
seat and table, I take it all in. My Kingdom is
blessed by the softness of the evening sun,
from lands to sea, my high walls to the docks,
all is coated by an orange-gold glow.
"Would you like the Jasmine Pearls again,
Sweet Queen?"
✿⊰✲⊱✿
"No," I say, "I'll have the Dragon's Pu-erh
for the evening."
She nods, bows and leaves my chambers.
So much done, yet so much to be done, still.
"The crown is light, but the burden is heavy,"
I remind myself as the warm zephyrs blow.
The seas look so calm, as do the docked
argosies. The walls so tall, so proud, so
new. I am proud and happy for it all
standing, I welcome both old and new.
Even though there are time I do not know
what to do.
✿⊰✲⊱✿
'Let me relax...' I turn around. The seats are a
mix of obsidian and bronze with filigree
style moulding that make the back of the
seat; the same with the small table with a
vase of lilies. Upon the seat's lap, a round
seat-cushion on which I gently sit.
My mind seems to run amok with
thoughts so I close my eyes and let
the sounds calm and distract me.
✿⊰✲⊱✿
The calm seas, the bird's songs, the gentle
bustling of life below, the flapping flags
above, the heavy steps of patrolling guards
on the walls, the neighing of horses, the wind
blowing, the leaves rustling and now the
opening of my chamber door and light
footsteps - ever so familiar.
✿⊰✲⊱✿
As I open my eyes, Ainhana is by my side with
a silver tray of hot water, my tea-cups and foil-
wrapped Pu-erh Pearls in a tea caddie.
"And so Aurelinaea's Phoenix will will drink
from the Dragon's fermented Pearl Moon!"
"Indeed." She places the tea on the table.
I pat the seat next to me and she graciously
sits down and I peel the foil from the Pearls;
seaweed green, yellow streaks with hints
of burnt umber.
Aug 19, 2018
Aug 19, 2018 at 4:10 AM UTC