"sorely" poems
Why am I so dif-fer-ent?
They say I’m out of touch.
Why am I, ple-nar-ily sad?
This life it hurts so much.
And why do they come, come every day?
Shush, quiet now, they’re here.
Those awful tormentors of my soul all cackling and queer!
Whirling head of spinning revolutions,
…feel my stomach ache and pang.
Why will they not leave me alone?
This crew of darkness; Blackbird Gang.
I shouldn’t always feel like this, feel such solemn pain,
…troubling and trouble is these birds are driving me insane!
I’m screaming now! I’m mad with rage! Throwing ice cubes at my deck,
“Go away! Yes, go away!” -their numbers must be kept in check.
Blackhole-whirl, flying twirling darkness, their funnel it points to me-e-e-e-!
For too many is too painful and my mind’s a constant wreck!
One cannot think with those infernal be-e-e-asts,
...and the crazy song they sang.
Why do they so punish me?
The crew of darkness; Blackbird Gang.
I know they serve the Saturn’s wheel and now they’ve come for me.
What did I do? Oh what great sin, oh the blackbirds from within;
The Abyssimal Sea?
Their whirlpool funnel is all around, as my harried soul, it expiates.
I’m done-in; I’m over now, a sorely victim of the Fates!
They took me, took me away, when the tolling bell it rang.
Why could they not leave me alone?
The crew of darkness; Blackbird Gang.
If you find yourself all alone and mired in their thought,
…do not think, extirpate, all the human damage that you’ve wrought.
His flock of fledgling melancholy musical formation,
…will take you away and straight to Hell; the Seventh Circle congregation!
For they took me, took me away, when the tolling bell it rang.
And they will not leave you alone.
This crew of darkness; Blackbird Gang. *
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 11:23 AM UTC
The house was haunted
The family fled
They couldn't find the priest
So they got me instead.
I read aloud my poems
Full of sorrow and pain,
About dreary things
And nearly going insane.
"My Gawd", the ghosts cried
" This is fierce gloomy stuff,
I thought we were bad
But this, Enough! Enough! "
Well they wailed and they shrieked
And they wailed some more
Then holding their ears
They ran out the door.
Even ghosts they desert me I thought
After they'd gone
They'd never even heard of a sorrow
so deep
Or a pain as sharp as mine.
I sat there all alone in the silent house
With not a whisper, no! not a mouse
When all of a sudden there came
something strange
A little sound like that of slow trickling
water.
"Have you something to say to me
House", I asked
"Before I up and leave you forever",
The little sound, it stopped all at once
and looked up
As if very surprised at having been
discovered.
I rose to leave
But quickly turned back amazed
When from down & out of the
chimney
Crept this little voice so slight & warm
& tender.
" Forgive me Sir", it said,
"But I could contain myself no longer,
That little sound you hear, the tiny
trickle
Is but the teardrops from my eyes
dripping
Such a pain and sorrow as yours
I never heard before
Those anguish drenched words
They seeped through my walls right
into my heart
They pierced me deeply,
Yea, they pretty near tore me apart,
I'll remember you Sir when you're
gone
I don't think I could ever forget you".
I listened and was sorely moved
"Thank you House ", I said, "thank
you, thank you kindly"
And turning again at the front door
"Goodbye House, look after those
who'll live here, won't you".
Outside the birds, they were singing
And up in the sky, the sun
The sun, it was shining.
Mar 30, 2018
Mar 30, 2018 at 7:10 PM UTC
#*O Lord Jesus,
I want to live and walk and bow
in constant awe of You,
but I am so easily distracted and waylaid.
Fasten my eyes and heart on You,
for You alone are worthy.
I am not worthy to even peek at Your beauty,
but by Your own worthiness You've invited
me to dwell forever in Your presence,
yet how often I refuse the privilege.
Why would I ever do that?
What is wrong with me?
How hard-headed and hard-hearted I must be!
Save me from my messed-up self
and from this messed-up world,
for I am sorely helpless and lost without You.
Draw me by the force of Your love
into the light of Your glory and goodness,
awaken me to the healing touch of Your Word.
Capture and change me to the core,
for only You can, my Savior.
Rid my soul of its blinding
filth, muck, rot and **********
that I may freely sing, dance,
swim and soar in the wonder of You.
Cause me to crave You with an insatiable,
desperate appetite that expels my fleshly hunger.
Teach me to ever feast on You!
I need You and long for You, Jesus,
but send the burning, ripping ache
deeper, deeper, deeper until nothing
remains but desire for You.
Come and satisfy me, O Delight of delights,
in that glorious and awestruck place
of endless fascination and total possession
where my will is finally drowned in Yours.*#
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 2:12 PM UTC
Where do I start and where should I end,
Its about the wife and her in-between bits,
If she knows this is wrote it will be my end.
She was tight down their is what I could
Say, like ******* a ****** each time, but
No blood unless its that time of the month
If you know what I'm saying.
Then came the kids one, two, three, four,
And what was once tight is now sorely lacking
Even echoes as I sneezed up their before.
I'm not small, seven inches of love meat
If know what I'm saying (WINK).
But when I go to finger her bits, my hand
to my wrist sinks in, she moans with pleasure
Saying put more fingers in, doesn't she know
That my fist up to my wrist is in.
Then its time she is as wet as could be, she
sits on my lap and I feel water dripping off
My **** hair, she's like a tap dripping on me.
I moan, and she like's it, but I'm moaning
because I don't know if its in. I *** I am
Released, but what once stayed up, now
Doesn't even hit the walls, gravity takes
Over and it falls back on to me, no longer
Warm lands on my ***** and on me freezing
Soggy and cold.
What was once was pretty now looks like
Mashed meat. I love her but how can I tell
Her she now has a bucket, and I feel like a
Pebble in the grand canyon I love her but I
Will soon have to use my foot to **** it
Cutting my nails will she even feel it within....
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 2:40 PM UTC
Laid here counting roof tiles...
two at a time
my eyes heavy
but my lids in denial
of sleep
she whispers in my ear
are you awake
then adds
good
with a grin
WHY NOT abandon one basic need
for another
why not rest
upon anothers flesh
soft and warm
scented with the promise
of dreams
insomnia so cruely denies
Pillow pressed beneath her back
giving support
so sorely needed
amid the punctuated night time prayers
God called upon in blasphemous tongues
praised and cussed
in unison of mouths wet and open
Sheets that offer no warmth soon cast off
replaced by heat of breath
and perspiration sweet and salty
to the lips
kissing
nibbling
biting
nails find no fault inscribing thank yous
in reddened ink
Falling back exhausted yet wide awake
as by my side
cuddled in she sleeps
smiling
and I close my eyes and think myself blessed
for every night the first
for we two
have yet to sleep
together.
Nov 23, 2012
Nov 23, 2012 at 10:12 PM UTC
Some call it bi-polar
I prefer manic-depression
It fits us better with adequate expression
We live our life in swooping loops
We strive at our peak then it droops
And the doleful drudge is destitute
Until all progress stops and stoops
To a halt, face down in mud and roots
And then we rise
Called back to life by a guiding light held deep inside
Sorely self-aware, we work until we burst
Droll desperation, at our best when at our worst
"Wow you got your **** together you lost and soulless ruffian."
Then we hit our peak and it all starts back up again
Feb 18, 2017
Feb 18, 2017 at 3:08 AM UTC
Revelations of the heart
regarding how one's money is spent
echoes volumes about character
and our God-given talents.
For Jehovah is far from being poor;
He owns the cattle on a thousand hills.
He's not into ungodly extortion
to keep you from paying your bills.
By serving two masters,
one will be dearly loved - the other sorely hated;
so one can never be truly happy
until settling the God and Mammon debate.
The wealth of God lies in His Word.
His principle of tithing is a mechanism
to pour out financial blessings upon us.
Therefore, purge your mindset of secularism.
Jehovah desires our faithfulness
to fulfill our ministry to the Earth.
We won't be judged on our daily income -
Know that money can never define... Our true worth.
Author Notes:
FYI - Mammon is the church term for the "God of money".
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/
Apr 13, 2012
Apr 13, 2012 at 9:27 AM UTC
Coffee in the mornings
******* afternoons
Smoking joints in joints
Listening to music
Every night by moon
My youth went up
As another puff
As another sniff , a wiff
And before I knew it
I was looking very ruff
I can't even remember
If I slept at all
Or who I was sleeping with
For all I see are faces
Their names I don't recall
Rosebud tripped on the step
Coming out the entrance door
She fell into my open arms
I would never be the same man
As I was just before
See most women
Leave their jewelry
Rosebud left her name
Rosebud loved the thunder
Rosebud loved the rain
She scared me like lightning
Laugh at all my pain
She never asked me if I loved her
She never said the same
She laid her head upon my shoulder
Said when you're gone
I will be sorely pained
Rosebud tripped on the step
Coming out the entrance door
And fell into my open arms
I would never be the same man
As I was just before
See most woman
Leave their jewelry
Rosebud left her name .
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 7:48 PM UTC
The wind whispered his name.
He lingered, but he did not listen.
The sun shone it's bright face
Warmly upon his disgrace
And made his skin to glisten.
Bright leaves spun and danced
Taking every momentary chance
To entertain a sullen passerby
Who never did lift his eye.
He was not destined to know
Because he missed the show.
He didn't hear the music of birds,
The crickets all went unheard.
The sun might have been dim;
Rainbows were unseen by him.
He took no joy in a warm breeze
Unless it made him sneeze.
No human could catch his eye,
He was aware of no passersby.
There was no color to his sorrow
No yesterday or tomorrow,
Just the sameness painted gray
That he lived in every day.
The artist that is every day life
Painted his world with palette knife
And every kind of artful brush
But could not interrupt the hush
Of he who looked but did not see
Anything real in his reality;
His discourse with the world
Had become a sad soliloquy
He created his own catastrophe
Sculpting his world without mastery.
His sins bore him sorely down
Bent over nearly to the ground.
A painful stoop to his shoulder
He rested on a nearby boulder.
Replaying his dreadful history
He vowed to keep it a mystery.
He would refuse to bear witness
Certain there was no forgiveness.
He felt he was no better than sod,
Was a disappointment to God,
And in all there was in creation.
He was unworthy of salvation.
Oct 17, 2016
Oct 17, 2016 at 4:23 PM UTC
Black waters, cruel heart,
The Kelpie sits upon his throne
For eternity, doomed to play his part
And wait in vain for his one true own.
His servants are the poisonous eel,
Sea serpent, corpse, and dead man's ghost
Of his victims - though no pain they feel,
In death must earn his wrath the most.
In daylight was this lord's last goodness
Spurned and cast to mocking sea;
From damsel's touch this heart of darkness
Sprang, shall remain eternally
So: Once a time of cool recklessness
Brought the Kelpie ashore as the sun descended,
In pursuit of the voice as sweet as goodness
That sang ere the song of day had ended.
The Kelpie left the waters
For love of land-born daughter
And laid upon her lips a kiss,
And wove her his enchantment: --
"Tell me, maiden, do you weep
For Love's encounter sorely missed?
Do you not know the deep seas seek
Such tears as yours - they shall be kissed
"Beyond remembrance of those sad eyes,
Without recall of downcast smile
(The sea must love you in disguise
Only to scare sweet sorrows awhile.)
"Then let my voice your heart caress.
Come, take these hands to lead you hence
Into the surf, leave all duress
That land can offer; Love's light is sent
"To guide you, though the soulless waters
Close above your grief-bowed head.
Know, I will always follow after --
I, dark prince in daylight's stead."
He drew her to the sea's dark shore -
His eyes focused of one foul will:
To take her breath on ocean's floor
And so to bid her song be still.
*But the girl wouldn't go.
Behold! the mourning dawns
screams the shadows
away from the living orb!*
*Dark man -- melts the mask
Away: Black horse, drown
Your sorrows forever at the
Bottomless depths of loathing.*
She would not listen to his charms
When sunlight's worth came hers at last;
Now night, now day, his empty arms
Clutch mildewed dregs of the past.
Cruel waters guard the frozen heart
Of the Kelpie who sits upon his throne,
A slave to Love -- his one true part,
Bestowed by a gentle earthly voice
she left him alone.
Sep 17, 2012
Sep 17, 2012 at 5:39 AM UTC
Though I am sorely weary, I will not slow down on my journey. Many miles lie behind me and I have just a few more to go. The battle has been difficult, but the end is finally near. Many good friends have fallen by the wayside but cowardice will not stain their memories. As I see the coming horizon, I feel the weight of my burdens in my soul. I have carried many crosses and have lifted up many when they have fallen down. Now at the end of my weariness, I hear the warmth of laughter, at a grand table I see a empty chair. Though my body is growing feeble, my spirit is given renewed strength. Through all of my toil and suffering, I have finally completed my journey on the long road home.
Dec 29, 2015
Dec 29, 2015 at 5:55 AM UTC
When you had to go, I sorely regretted
every word I didn't say,
all the things I didn't do,
the debt of gratitude I didn't pay.
The years have been long and trying
and I miss you every day;
still I don't have the answer to
the question: "why couldn't you stay?"
When you left, I promised to achieve
all our plans and dreams, come what may,
and for the most part, I believe
I've fulfilled the vow that I made.
But I always think about what things
would've been like if you'd been here
to guide me, spur me on,
scold me or waylay all of my fears.
Then I realize that you are here
in every dream I live or trial I get through
for you taught me everything you could
and you always said I was the best of you.
So, really, I don't have to miss you every day,
yet I know in my heart I'll always do.
(c) emeraldine087
Sep 24, 2016
Sep 24, 2016 at 9:46 PM UTC
I scoffed at my minor cough
Until I was immobile as a sloth
I had to press pause on my life's tale
After I became a beached whale
And my body turned frail
In my illness jail
My stoic resolve tested
My pain threshold crested
The way I act is antisocial
The way I feel is anti-hopeful
For I treat others poorly
When I'm hurting sorely
In sickness for health
I give away my wealth
To feel one hundred percent
That's the physician's intent
To make me experience drainage
But I need the healing medicine
So I can practice the discipline
Of removing my diseased shark's fin
Ramses II, known as Ramesses the Great
Had a permanently fractured finger
And his teeth were significantly rotten
The pharaoh's excruciating pain
Must have effected his reign
A massive amount of men slain
Is discomfort what's to blame?
When there's no pain relief
We give each other grief
And there's a lion with a thorn stuck in its paw
Eventually that simple thorn becomes a claw
Nov 6, 2017
Nov 6, 2017 at 9:25 AM UTC
I cry because happiness is a harder concept to grasp than sorrow.
Because sorrow greets me as an old friend.
Fondly reminding me of my mistakes,
my flaws, and my current inner desolation.
Reminding me of how I failed
and how I cannot fix my mistakes.
While we **reminisce over a bottle of melancholia
and a plate of regret.**
Leaving me with yet another notch on my belt
of nights I cried myself to sleep
People pass you by because
pretending everything is alright is more
convenient than noticing they are broken.
They are the people that hide their silent tears
at the back of a closet and bury broken smiles
into the corner of a sock drawer.
But soon …There won’t be enough room
for the hidden emotions that you think are irrelevant
and can be dealt with another day,
soon every emotion you hid will come out of the closet
and show its face in the most unpleasant way.
Tears. You can’t escape them.
I cry because she cries,
my best friend, drowning in her own sorrow,
I cannot help but drown with her.
For what is a friend if that friend will not jump
into the murky depth we call depression, sinking ever deeper?
At least we sink together.
Treading conformity, stress, humiliation,
we tread together.
As we sink deeper, we try to grasp
at the bubbles of happiness escaping our lips,
somehow bring them back.
We can’t, because once they’re lost no amount
of pretending can give us the air we sorely need
or the fake smiles to get by without question, day by day.
But at least, we drown together.
So many times I have looked out to a warm sunset
and felt chilled to the bone.
Because if I let go of the railing, life would go on.
Because if I did not exist right now nothing
in the world would change.
It would just erase any memory of all the ***** ups
I collected like stamps and baseball cards.
Because no amount of blankets and soothing words
can warm the icy thought in the back of my head
whispering in the persuasive voice of a friend, “What’s the point?”
I cry for the people who don’t think they matter,
who think that turning to something
to relieve their pain will fix it.
I cry for the people who think
killing themselves will make them feel alive.
For the people who get lost trying to find themselves.
For the people who put on a mask
desperately waiting for someone to see through it.
And for the people who cut themselves
trying to become whole.
Breaking themselves down bit by bit,
holding all the pieces,
and waiting for someone to put them back together.
I cry because this entire explanation is just eloquently realizing that
I am sad.
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 1:22 PM UTC
*soft blonde curls around you
like a halo
warmest smiles one could ever know
from the heart*
You said in your elephant grass poem
“peace is less than me
and more than you
but we are almost free”
I find it hard to accept
such bright light snuffed out
so soon
May your light shine on
Sweet Masikani
Teej-light is sorely missed here
*will see you
in the stars one day*
S T, 26 July 2013
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 8:55 AM UTC
To all those people out there
who try to tell me how to run my life
I turn my back to you
I will stand my ground
I pay my bills on time,
I buy the things I need
Female products, shampoo,
razers, tooth brush, ect
SO WHO CARES HOW I SPEND MY EXTRA MONEY???
Yes I know I'm slightly obbsessed with Avengers
and I buy everything in sight that has to do with them.
BUT HEY I DO IT WITH THINGS I NEED!!!!
I needed a new bedset, my old one getting disgustingly ratty
There just so happened to be an avengers one
I needed a new bath towel,
Hey Look a cheap *** Avengers one!!!!
I needed shampoo
I found a three in one
shampoo, conditioner, body wash
3 buck! AVENGERS!!!
Sorely needed a new tooth brush
Dollar tree, Spiderman!!!!
So you see
even as I splurge
I'm doing it smartly
So to all those haters out there!
GET THE **** OFF MY BACK!!!
ITS MY LIFE
AND I WILL LIVE AND SPEND IT
HOW EVER I ******* WANT!!!!!!!!!!!
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 11:48 AM UTC
Revelations of the heart
regarding how one's money is spent
echoes volumes about character
and our God-given talents.
For Jehovah is far from being poor;
He owns the cattle on a thousand hills.
He's not into ungodly extortion
to keep you from paying your bills.
By serving two masters,
one will be dearly loved - the other sorely hated;
so one can never be truly happy
until settling the God and Mammon debate.
The wealth of God lies in His Word.
His principle of tithing is a mechanism
to pour out financial blessings upon us.
Therefore, purge your mindset of secularism.
Jehovah desires our faithfulness
to fulfill our ministry to the Earth.
We won't be judged on our daily income -
Know that money can never define... Our true worth.
Author Notes:
FYI - Mammon is the church term for the "God of money".
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/
Jun 28, 2012
Jun 28, 2012 at 5:07 PM UTC
Like falling to the earth, your wings aflame
but realizing that it isn't fear you're feeling
Like trying to keep yourself in perfect balance
but tempted, sorely tempted, to let go
Like telling yourself not to fly too close to the sun
but loving the way the burn cleanses
Like telling yourself not to fly too close to the waves
but tasting freedom in salty sea air
Like the moment when you realize you will fall
but accepting the inevitable with a smile
Like the spiraling decent toward your fate
but it feels like a roller coaster
Like the squeak and complaint of gears
this contraption wasn't made for this
Like a father's cry of complete horror
but weren't we aiming for escape?
Like the fear and attempt of saving your life
but don't martyrs die for freedom?
Like the scream of pure delight ripped from your smile
A trail of feathers all that remains of your inhibition
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 8:52 AM UTC
In the coffin lay your body silent and still
As with wax, sealed were your eyes
Bared of all passion, pain and strain
You were at rest, tranquil was your face
When your body was lowered into the grave
Tears trickled from our eyes like streams of blood
We stood orphaned beside the newly dug up pit
Knowing quite well that the days of glory have fled!
When you left, leaving in us a contused wound
We hoped time would heal the **** quite soon
But with every passing day you’re sorely missed
Especially when our life goes out of tune
At times when I feel lonesome with none to care
In weariness I search you among the stars of the sky
When my heart twitches with an unknown pain
To your comforting presence, my mind does fly
Sometimes I envision you coming into my room
Smiling that sweet smile in the dead of the night
But soon I realize it is only a fleeting vision
And from my sight, you vanish like an ethereal sprite
Rambling through the avenues of vanished years
We remember your sweet assurance, tender care n’ love
But never will we have the joy of having them again
For you flew into the horizon like a gentle dove
Mom, your presence my tiny world once filled
With that old bygone past how I was content
A treasure of sweet memories still I do hold
Now your eternal absence, how deeply I lament
Oh Mother, though you are dead and gone
Our love for you is inscribed deep in our hearts
Which nothing can erase or erode and will last
Until finally from our body, life silently departs!
May 28, 2016
May 28, 2016 at 8:34 AM UTC
I stood flat-footed upon an eroding hill
Here the sweet peas, on tip-toe for a fight
With wing of coarsest black o'er delicate night
And spiteful fingers grasping at all beauty
To bind us all in deeds unworthy
Oh, toxic wind and fertile rain
Disperse the fragrance of this pain
In healing gardens root a seed
Sprout the bliss we sorely need
This tiny pulse of life we hold
Thrives in soil tilled with love
And tender vines create a bower
Of sweet pea tended, brought to flower
I stand bare foot on an erupting volcanic mount
Here the sweet peas, on tip toe for a flight
With wing of justice verity o’er delicate sight
And nails that compassionately snowball serenity
To bind us all with concord and altruism
Oh, acidic rain share the tears
Wash thy tainted eye-sight
Then crux us in the high-yield land
As we germinate to heaven’s height
The seed so robust and fertile
A shell encased with human forms
The greenness of reflected sextile
Oh Sweet pea, our mirrored storm
*Inspired by a stanza from Keats' poem:
I stood tip-toe upon a little hill
Here are sweet peas, on tip-toe for a flight:
With wing of gentle flush o’er delicate white,
And taper fingers catching at all things,
To bind them all about with tiny rings."*
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 9:11 AM UTC
Hillary wants the top job
in Washington D C
but to give her position
would be a travesty
America had one Clinton
at the White House
does it really need
the other spouse
the oval office
can't be stained by Hillary
it took well enough
of Bill's awful villainy
a fresh outfit
is sorely sought at the place
Americans don't want
a trace of Hillary's face
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 7:31 AM UTC
And can you believe,
The horrible glee
With which his lips licked.
Dreaming-- carcass picked,
Reveling wholly.
Dismissing Holy
Enlightened beings,
Sinking in Needing.
Black black smack, alack!
I'm a crack-gack hack!
Or, mayhaps, I'm not?
Or, perhaps, just caught,
In nauseous verde waves
Of fanciful raves--
Rants all entertained--
I say makes me drained.
Baudelaire's half-baked,
Chatterton-- cracked
Morally, sorely
Standing half-poorly
But standing up still,
Avoiding the thrill
Of desert mirage,
It's poison barrage!
Apr 6, 2013
Apr 6, 2013 at 10:16 AM UTC
That night your great guns, unawares,
Shook all our coffins as we lay,
And broke the chancel window-squares,
We thought it was the Judgement-day
And sat upright. While drearisome
Arose the howl of wakened hounds:
The mouse let fall the altar-crumb,
The worm drew back into the mounds,
The glebe cow drooled. Till God cried, “No;
It’s gunnery practice out at sea
Just as before you went below;
The world is as it used to be:
“All nations striving strong to make
Red war yet redder. Mad as hatters
They do no more for Christés sake
Than you who are helpless in such matters.
“That this is not the judgment-hour
For some of them’s a blessed thing,
For if it were they’d have to scour
Hell’s floor for so much threatening. . . .
“Ha, ha. It will be warmer when
I blow the trumpet (if indeed
I ever do; for you are men,
And rest eternal sorely need).”
So down we lay again. “I wonder,
Will the world ever saner be,”
Said one, “than when He sent us under
In our indifferent century!”
And many a skeleton shook his head.
“Instead of preaching forty year,”
My neighbour Parson Thirdly said,
“I wish I had stuck to pipes and beer.”
Again the guns disturbed the hour,
Roaring their readiness to avenge,
As far inland as Stourton Tower,
And Camelot, and starlit Stonehenge.
2.5k
The hobby horse it bolted,
To him I'm still attached,
Bumping along the gravel track,
My arms are torn to ribbons,
My head is sorely hurt,
Hobby horse was just a game,
Grey corduroy head bowed low,
A matter of respect ,
I'm told,
It's neckerchief of gingham was checked in red and white,
Caught him on a bramble bush as I went flying by,
It poked him smartly in the eye,
Never saw what was going on,
His brain was made of fluff,
His heart was made of solid wood,
He wasn't always very good,
He was a dashing fellow,
His slender body pole,
Painted florescent yellow,
So all could see him coming,
He was just my favourite hobby horse,
Of course!
By ladylivvi1
I don't know if Americans have hobby horses. A horse made out of broom stick with a fabric head and children pretended to ride them!
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 5:03 PM UTC