"neighs" poems
IT'S a jazz affair, drum crashes and cornet razzes
The trombone pony neighs and the tuba ******* snorts.
The banjo tickles and titters too awful.
The chippies talk about the funnies in the papers.
The cartoonists weep in their beer.
Ship riveters talk with their feet
To the feet of floozies under the tables.
A quartet of white hopes mourn with interspersed snickers:
"I got the blues.
I got the blues.
I got the blues."
And ... as we said earlier:
The cartoonists weep in their beer.
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LOQUITUR: En Bertans de Born.
Dante Alighieri put this man in hell for that he was a stirrer up of strife.
Eccovi!
Judge ye!
Have I dug him up again?
The scene is at his castle, Altaforte. “Papiols” is his jongleur.
“The Leopard,” the device of Richard Coeur de Lion.
I
**** it all! all this our South stinks peace.
You whoreson dog, Papiols, come! Let’s to music!
I have no life save when the swords clash.
But ah! when I see the standards gold, vair, purple, opposing
And the broad fields beneath them turn crimson,
Then howl I my heart nigh mad with rejoicing.
II
In hot summer I have great rejoicing
When the tempests **** the earth’s foul peace,
And the lightning from black heav’n flash crimson,
And the fierce thunders roar me their music
And the winds shriek through the clouds mad, opposing,
And through all the riven skies God’s swords clash.
III
Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash!
And the shrill neighs of destriers in battle rejoicing,
Spiked breast to spiked breat opposing!
Better one hour’s stour than a year’s peace
With fat boards, bawds, wine and frail music!
Bah! there’s no wine like the blood’s crimson!
IV
And I love to see the sun rise blood-crimson.
And I watch his spears through the dark clash
And it fills all my heart with rejoicing
And pries wide my mouth with fast music
When I see him so scorn and defy peace,
His long might ‘gainst all darkness opposing.
V
The man who fears war and squats opposing
My words for stour, hath no blood of crimson
But is fit only to rot in womanish peace
Far from where worth’s won and the swords clash
For the death of such ***** I go rejoicing;
Yea, I fill all the air with my music.
VI
Papiols, Papiols, to the music!
There’s no sound like to swords swords opposing,
No cry like the battle’s rejoicing
When our elbows and swords drip the crimson
And our charges ‘gainst “The Leopard’s” rush clash.
May God **** for ever all who cry “Peace!”
VII
And let the music of the swords make them crimson!
Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash!
Hell blot black for always the thought “Peace!”
2.6k
*Here the horse munches the grass
little knowing the trots of yore
for time when lays the bricks with curse
unhinges the strongest door.
Here the horse is tethered to feed
little hearing the neighs of past
for time when crumbles sows a seed
grows new order from soil of dust.
Here the horse lazes in sun
little seeing the shadow's growth
for time when ends a period's run
buries in the walls a lover's oath.
Here the horse walks in a round
little feeling the earth's spin
for time when shrinks the highest to ground
kingdoms fall in heaps of ruin.*
Jun 20, 2017
Jun 20, 2017 at 4:33 AM UTC
I buckle to my slender side
The pistol and the scimitar,
And in my maiden flower and pride
Am come to share the tasks of war.
And yonder stands my fiery steed,
That paws the ground and neighs to go,
My charger of the Arab breed,--
I took him from the routed foe.
My mirror is the mountain spring,
At which I dress my ruffled hair;
My dimmed and dusty arms I bring,
And wash away the blood-stain there.
Why should I guard from wind and sun
This cheek, whose ****** rose is fled?
It was for one--oh, only one--
I kept its bloom, and he is dead.
But they who slew him--unaware
Of coward murderers lurking nigh--
And left him to the fowls of air,
Are yet alive--and they must die.
They slew him--and my ****** years
Are vowed to Greece and vengeance now,
And many an Othman dame, in tears,
Shall rue the Grecian maiden's vow.
I touched the lute in better days,
I led in dance the joyous band;
Ah! they may move to mirthful lays
Whose hands can touch a lover's hand.
The march of hosts that haste to meet
Seems gayer than the dance to me;
The lute's sweet tones are not so sweet
As the fierce shout of victory.
1.4k
Stop battering her mind by invasions
of your curious cultural perversions
Get out of her way I tell you for god sake.
She needs quietude
To come out of her servitude
to repair and restore her aptitude
In the balm and calm of solitude
Her dome is broken with throbs
torn yarns spasm derobes
With velocity escape to infinity
Due to your ferocious felinity
She needs peace to space walk
To gather the ruffled rob safe back
So leave her alone I tell you
As if she were in ICU
She needs silence to settle
Down to revive her mettle
with rarer precious metals
Cement her mental pieces
Mind can swoop down with trough
Ride on a rough wave's crest
Pat and pacify with suavity
bring back the halo from infinity
zero down the hero with unity,
from a state of KD
rejuvenate the PD
Back to an ambience of 3D
So Leave her alone I tell you
Let her bleed, perspire in despire
If mind willing, desire compelling
Let it prepare her self, to repair itself
the broken respiration sighs
With high waves of neighs
conspires to set in her scattred inspiration
To the errected pyre of desperation
Asunder to cinder and surrender.
Let the fire embrace her to scintillation
In a catalystic ambiance of ventilation
Mix and suffix with whirling flame
To phoenix her into a healing dame.
For god sake leave her alone I tell you..
Dec 14, 2018
Dec 14, 2018 at 2:45 PM UTC
Our hearts will match such thunder,
from hooves; such gentle neighs.
As time approaches slowly;
An ending to this pain.
May 8, 2012
May 8, 2012 at 3:55 PM UTC
Not a horseman, nor a coach,
The horses are down the high pitched coast;
Only a weak whip-like reproach
Made the horses run from their own ghost.
Down the hill, the horses flying
Into the deep like doomed pegasuses' *****
The neighs and waves are crying,
Replying the peaceful song of a fiendish siren.
Before the dark water turns to scarlet,
It paints a mad reflection of them horror haunted;
A demerited dark life-span mindset
That vanishes in the wild waves delighted.
Oct 6, 2019
Oct 6, 2019 at 11:52 AM UTC
Soft and padded grass
Outside, the wind that blows
Dirt surrounding my pale feet
Where I am? I do not know.
You say my name, but my feet are glued
Solid into the ground
Not moving
Not twitching
and Never blinking
Beneath the golden clouds
Whinnies and snorts
Small puffs of air
Like fog on the window sill
Warm breath slicing through the icy cold
You call for me but my feet are glued
The weather is dangerous now
wind to
rain to
thunderstorms
Beneath the golden clouds
Neighs of alarm
though I never look back
They’re trying to wake me up
But reality is a planet so far in the distance
You scream but my feet are glued
I want to
I have to
I desperately need
to turn the tables somehow
but I don’t, I stay as still as a statue
Beneath the golden clouds
Soft and padded grass
Outside, the wind that blows
Dirt surrounding your fallen body
Alive? I do not know.
Nobody says my name
and my feet are off the ground
You are not moving
Not twitching
and Never blinking
Beneath the golden clouds
Sep 14, 2016
Sep 14, 2016 at 7:01 PM UTC
Boomboom cannons flair and scare. And
me? Scared. Frightened. Covered.
Stink. Sweat. ***** too.
Look at me. All alone with my crew of
skeletons and ghosts.
Or soon to be.
-Watch out!
someone shouts and I do watch out. Only
to see
wet rage of lead to greet the dead
with a new life.
-Over there!
-Over where?
Everywhere men fall
and babies bawl.
And me time stalls for just a minute.
For an hour.
Perhaps I will stay.
And play in this deadly game
of hide and seek
with Grim himself whose not so bad.
-Follow me
and see
what waits beyond
the flame and sorrow,
But I stay to see tomorrow.
And what do I see?
Same story different chapter
of history for the future
of future for the past.
Past what? Time has no meaning.
Only dead or alive
but which is which?
The living dead maybe?
Who knows. I knows.
I can see, smell, taste the
souls leaving with a swoooooosh!
Mooooooosh the day begins.
when did it end?
-It never ends.
For the living.
-Get up up up!
There here everywhere!
Neighs the Steed. And I do
Not wishing I had. To see what happened
Devils yell
-To hell we will take.
You, me, even the Steed.
But through his good deed
bayonet stings and swings at
hell itself.
Blood covered and
fearydreary run too
the night.
Wizzing rounds around me
I run for the safe dark. Steed snorts
-Selfish! Idiot! Nincompoop!
Your men are in danger
when you slink away!
I am swayed not
by Steed but by Grim’s
gentle hand.
Jan 3, 2010
Jan 3, 2010 at 8:33 PM UTC
From stars to cars and bars of all kinds,
I snarl of wreaths that paraded mankind,
Which once gargled me in a brawling growl,
But it will no longer howl
No more.
Forgotten
Sootened,
They lay in
Blackened
Lying
Ice of Cold and Tremors
Murmurs of sore nerves
Of Cold chills
spine-wrenching curves
I have no remorse.
Whining groins to pawning reigns,
I gwaah at sheaths made of chatoyant neighs
It once skewed in me a featherly meow
Lest I forget the breeze
And howl into that ol’e reprise.
Mar 11, 2018
Mar 11, 2018 at 3:06 AM UTC
A chilly outside morning
It's twilight
Birds flapping up in the cloudy sky
Brother **** flirting us to rise
Crickets belittling nature
They want to stay more
Insect chirping
They are happy to noise musically
A breeze has married laziness
Boycotting the filth humans
The dancing dew drops dangling down
The hasty mist reigning before
Boss sun appears.
Brays of donkeys and neighs of horses
Fill the air.
I think I am in Love with this.
Wind announces it's presence
With trees swaying majestically
And leaves falling sarcastically
Icy still waters in the wells
Dead cold
All this for morning reception
Hello.. It's a new dawn
Fairness captured by nature.
Sep 16, 2017
Sep 16, 2017 at 9:52 AM UTC
Tell me when this horse of mine,
So adventurous and wild and fine,
Lost the reins that had kept it's rider binded for all time.
Now without them,
Not even the horse knows where the next fork in the road will lead.
Find them, find them!
The horse's neighs slice through my destiny.
But how
Can I possibly know where to go,
When I can't even get back the reins to my own life?
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 9:53 PM UTC
Dusk settles over the plains
A horse neighs as the village awakens
It smells like new beginnings and dew
A familiar scent
On a summer's eve
The butterfly rests its wings on a bench
Soaking in the rays of the sun
Before the shadow of the night approaches
It meets its friend the ladybug
They converse
And share
And motion
To the sky they would like to fly
And to the sky they eventually go
But first, a suggested pause
At the wonder of life's flow
Aug 6, 2020
Aug 6, 2020 at 12:04 PM UTC
**** butterflies in my stomach when i see you, i get the rush of wild mustangs trampling my body. the pounding hooves rattle my heart, and blurs of the meadow between heel and head hint at your blue-green eyes i so intently memorized. deafening neighs mask whispers in my head telling me to gaze a little longer. the force of their stampede whisks me off my feet just as your voice always does. but as the trailing horse disappears over the horizon, i'm left with the intoxicating feeling of your arms holding my broken pieces together.
Dec 11, 2017
Dec 11, 2017 at 7:11 PM UTC
Vane glorious and absolutistic,
though I defiantly,
cavalierly, and blithely attest
Yukon bet your (laugh-in) sweet bippy
mine acidic breast
houses anarchic, anti-poetic ballistic,
barbaric, and bubonic
cannibalistic demons within thy
safely guarded Pandora chest
atomic cesium clock
timed to trigger avast
burst of anxiety, frenzy, and
(What me worry
Alfred E. Neuman) blast
ting mental quietude at most
inappropriate, inconvenient,
inopportune, out classed
adrenaline rush, nausea,
palpitating heart, vertigo
besieging, corrupting,
endeavoring fractured arrant
cleft daemonic gripping
hellishly psychic chant
rendering unto sieze ****
a choking vise grip extant
yule hiss sieze indomitable
banshee fully controlling grant
diabolic, dogmatic, and dynamic,
anguished corporeal ache
easily, egregiously, and emblematically,
exemplified historically
graphic fatalistic, and ecstatic coup,
(koo), when I caused furious frantic flight,
and/or fight betake
king angst causing just desserts
for Marie Antoinette,
who got her humble pie cake,
thence dispensing with formalities,
where a joshing drake
(named Gill O. Teen)
also known (solely known
to mine selfish source error ways)
alias i.e. as; the Lewis (loose)
lunatic, heady harvester,
and decapitation Deacon trumpeting,
trouncing, and triumphing tranquility
for fifty three Tuesdays,
thence sea king punishing psychotic
pre pound payment
basking in glory (re: gory us)
amidship crashing quays
music to mine ears hearing plaintive neighs
high pitched straining
vocal chord hamstrung keys
regaling oceanographic
lambent hagiographic essays
and keeping at bathos bays.
Jun 24, 2018
Jun 24, 2018 at 11:45 PM UTC
We had a mission, but
We didn’t know.
It was like the dialogue
Wasn’t there, or
We skipped it.
After leaving the
Second floor as
Stallions
I threw the core
Into disarray as he
Became a lizard.
While I was monkeying
Around I found
The cure
To then hear
A cry for help.
The objective made
Itself known
As I followed the
Neighs to outside the
Armory wall my horse
Friend found himself in.
The elevator doesn’t like horses.
The objective asked
What we were doing.
“Just horsing around!”
He said.
“Gross.”
Nov 20, 2024
Nov 20, 2024 at 3:44 PM UTC