"stables" poems
Branch out leafs stuck in tables
The call of the wild
Inner child alive
Bust lose wild horses hate their stables
Some birds don't fly?
Chicken with head cut off can dance
Do all 16 dances
Can't fly to France
Or live in a tree full of owls
Crows nest
Birds and the bees
Eat from flowers
Just like all the rest
Reincarnation, a dead man takes a vacation
When I die I want to return as a wise owl
Live with a girl owl
In a tree full of owls...
Davey of Montana
Jan 3, 2015
Jan 3, 2015 at 1:53 PM UTC
Let me tell you about something I saw the other day,
when I was out walking through a field of hay.
The night was quite pretty, the air crisp and clear,
when I suddenly encountered a cat who was drinking a beer!
I walked a little farther and encountered some mice,
sitting around a card table, all playing dice.
The mice looked quite serious, they all dressed like thugs,
I was dumbfounded, and simply stared down from above.
Then I saw something that completely blew my mind,
it was a variety of animals, dancing in a conga line.
For hours and hours and hours they danced,
more animals joined in, even deer came to prance.
This party was larger than any I’d seen,
a couple of badgers were even smoking something green.
“Innocent” deer were snorting lines off of snakes,
and a couple drunk farm dogs were fighting with rakes.
A cat and a mouse were sitting in a barn,
entirely too drunk, they took turn telling yarns.
From across the field, you could hear an owl retch,
while a gaggle of geese slurred “Benny and the Jets.”
Sheep laughed, “Bahaha!” while dancing on tables,
the horses were getting it on in the stables.
This party was crazier than any I’d attended,
a pig even ended up losing an appendage.
As the sun came up, things started winding down,
all the cows went home, and the "Keg King" took off his crown.
I took this as my cue, it was time to depart,
so a couple mice and I hitched a ride on a farmer’s cart.
"Sayonara!" I yelled, "It's been lots of fun!
Everybody get home safe, try not to hurt anyone!"
But enough about me, let's talk about you.
That was my weekend, what did you do?
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 11:55 PM UTC
In fields you walk with cloven wanderlust
With blankets carried on your back as fleece
Protecting fellow sheep-fold innocence
From devious behavior in the flock
Smiling as you bleat and stride as golden
Reflecting rays like sunlit drops of milk
A lamb of God your knowledge is your milk
Your curiosity breathes wanderlust
A message from the ancient one baas golden
Engraved upon your heart and curls of fleece
Observe the blessed range within your flock
Stray not for you may lose your innocence
A fog in hills may blind your innocence
Beware the wolf will take more than your milk
And with each day you bond among your flock
Behold the beauty of group wanderlust
We thank you for your warm and cherished fleece
That soothes us as earth's twilight breaks golden
Glory to the impossible golden
For myths of your spiritual innocence
Merely trumpets what liberates your fleece
The holy grail is your chalice of milk
Discovered in a cave of wanderlust
Restful within the shadow of your flock
What joy is raised in stables of your flock
An offering of ritual golden
Pasture of thirsty hearts in wanderlust
You teach us to hold fast to innocence
How precious is the richness of your milk
Our comfort is to rest our heads on fleece
A new dawn to behold an age of fleece
A new dusk to protect an ancient flock
A new day to preserve the gift of milk
A new memory to hold futures golden
A never ending age of innocence
A satiated age of wanderlust
Fruitful wanderlust of black sage fleece
Shepherds innocence to a white cloaked flock
Prepare ye golden moments with thine milk
© tHE tERRY tREE
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 2:45 PM UTC
Here I am, drunk again.
So long friend.
I can't recall how many times I tried to reach you. Or how many time my student became the teacher, but I'm drunk again.
Remember all those bottles left unshared.
Got my brain in a snare.
Remember how I tried to care? But I'm drunk again.
Tip the top til it topples over, this stables staggering, are we sure it's sober?
No, no, November was waiting but we're still just debating. Am I drunk again?
Killed you with water, drownd you with tomorrow's sorrow.
But we're you listening?
This fires raging but still contained. I promised I'd stay sain, if only to show you.
If only to hold you.
If only I was sober.
If only you would stop smoking those sick clovers.
But I'm drunk again.
So long friend.
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 7:21 PM UTC
Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
The night above the ****** starry,
Time let me hail and climb
Golden in the heydays of his eyes,
And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns
And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves
Trail with daisies and barley
Down the rivers of the windfall light.
And as I was green and carefree, famous among the barns
About the happy yard and singing as the farm was home,
In the sun that is young once only,
Time let me play and be
Golden in the mercy of his means,
And green and golden I was huntsman and herdsman, the calves
Sang to my horn, the foxes on the hills barked clear and cold,
And the sabbath rang slowly
In the pebbles of the holy streams.
All the sun long it was running, it was lovely, the hay
Fields high as the house, the tunes from the chimneys, it was air
And playing, lovely and watery
And fire green as grass.
And nightly under the simple stars
As I rode to sleep the owls were bearing the farm away,
All the moon long I heard, blessed among stables, the nightjars
Flying with the ricks, and the horses
Flashing into the dark.
And then to awake, and the farm, like a wanderer white
With the dew, come back, the **** on his shoulder: it was all
Shining, it was Adam and maiden,
The sky gathered again
And the sun grew round that very day.
So it must have been after the birth of the simple light
In the first, spinning place, the spellbound horses walking warm
Out of the whinnying green stable
On to the fields of praise.
And honoured among foxes and pheasants by the gay house
Under the new made clouds and happy as the heart was long,
In the sun born over and over,
I ran my heedless ways,
My wishes raced through the house high hay
And nothing I cared, at my sky blue trades, that time allows
In all his tuneful turning so few and such morning songs
Before the children green and golden
Follow him out of grace.
Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would
take me
Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand,
In the moon that is always rising,
Nor that riding to sleep
I should hear him fly with the high fields
And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land.
Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
Time held me green and dying
Though I sang in my chains like the sea.
3.3k
Celebrate our anniversary – can’t you see
tonight the snowy night of our first winter
comes back again in every road and tree -
that winter night of diamantine splendour.
Steam is pouring out of yellow stables,
the Moika river’s sinking under snow,
the moonlight’s misted as it is in fables,
and where we are heading – I don’t know.
There are icebergs on the Marsovo Pole.
The Lebyazh’ya’s crazed with crystal art.....
Whose soul can compare with my soul,
if joy and fear are in my heart? -
And if your voice, a marvellous bird’s,
quivers at my shoulder, in the night,
and the snow shines with a silver light,
warmed by a sudden ray, by your words?
3.1k
My home is not a product
My room is not for sale
My stove is not a bakery
Nor my yard a barbecue
My country is invaded
These strangers in a strange land
Their horses stomp their hooves
As if they own the stables
Their prostitutes stomp
Their heels and ****
In the bed I make each morning
I continue ghosting on the porch
The sun is not my friend
Nor my enemy
He is a battle over my home
Feb 22, 2013
Feb 22, 2013 at 9:55 PM UTC
Alice sits
in the room
with blackboard
and easel
and small desk
and small chair
with Nanny
stern and strict
pointing at
the blackboard
with her stick
teaching her
her letters
the grammar
paragraphs
sentences
by long rote
and command
and Alice
knows now that
any cause
of Nanny's
discontent
will bring her
punishment
her father's
hard hand smacks
whack and whack
she sits still
taking note
but bored she
stares out high
windows at
tall tree tops
and blue skies
thinking of
her mother
locked away
(ill in her
head Nanny
coldly said)
then she thinks
of her new
adoptive
mother who
works below
stairs(low stairs
her father
often says)
the one with
the red raw
fingers thin
and young who
secretly
said she would
be her new
adopted
mother but
to strive to
learn to do
her best and
so she does
but thinks of
the time when
lessons are
over she
can sneak down
below stairs
and along
passageways
to where her
adoptive new
mother works
and feel her
embrace her
earthy smell
her soft cheek
against that
rough cloth of
apron the
red fingers
caressing
her long hair
whispering
words but still
the nanny
drones on the
lesson now
taking its
toll boredom
sinking in
wishing her
adoptive
mother would
come and take
her away
for a walk
to the horse
stables or
into town
holding her
hand the red
hand holding
her pink one
or dreams of
snuggling
up to her
in her bed
feeling her
motherly
tender warmth
but Nanny
still drones on
the long lesson
word on word
keeping her
from the arms
and caress
and earthy
smell of cloth
of her new
adoptive
young mother
below stairs
Alice yawns
secretly
her small hand
over mouth
knowing this
blowing soft
from her palm
to her young
adoptive
mother a
secret kiss.
Jan 14, 2014
Jan 14, 2014 at 1:53 AM UTC
Percepts of enlightenment & civilization to encounter
The grim aftermath of tales unspoken from the galaxies afar
Betokening Indian tales of deeper truths than ever,
For the Great Spirit still swirls in gestures previously milder,
At a snail's pace and surely winning the pursuit among souls or
Is example better than pre-conceived precept?
or
“Is that a dog in the manger?”
Now cherishing the viper?
The human dilemma between liberty & authority?
“Has mythology now become psychology?”
A dingy white color in disguise of tranquility
To suit the blemished features of the 21st century
With fair women & brave men turning fables into verse,
Yet Socrates’ doctrine about death bespeaks a wafture so callous!
The new-age “iron claw” screams nastiness in time and space.
The pretences of mankind like the puritan;
Mars trapped in the net of Vulcan,
Jupiter is serene and above the conflict to win,
While Venus tries to fight upon the plains of troy
That the Greek gods of serenity may win at Tuscany.
“When do these sultry groans of mortal remorse cease?”
To calm the sordid uproar that Love may peruse
Through the scattered white aromatic rose petals
In search of the scintillating path back to the highland stables
Were snowflakes are an irresistible lure for the Arctic snowbirds!
Nature herself is proud of her designs
Yet!
There is nothing grating in mortal cosmoses but direct villainy.
Sinister fate climbs the lonesome banister faster
Before the “fanged dawn” descends nearer,
As stronger minds virtually become weaker;
These “shameless actors” are melted into “thin air”
“Must they cheat themselves with that same foolish vice of honesty?”
Mischievousnesses feed!
Like beasts till they be fat, and then they bleed
As they are led to bend the curve of “No return”
Since it is only rational that after the darkest of nights
There is a brighter day to reveal the true knights
Of the once gloomy age of Democritus.
Tis plain, from hence, that our vows
Request hurtful intense things,
or useless at the best.
Sep 17, 2009
Sep 17, 2009 at 5:16 AM UTC
****** Poem
1/26/2014
In the mind of a ****** person who doesn't rarely ever get ******
This is nice, getting to watch online videos on my laptop.
It is entertaining to think about.
Wow, what did people used to do in like ancient times when they got ****** without electronic devices?
Back in the ****** Ages, did they talk to horses in their stables or something?
I really wish I remembered to bring that guacamole to my bed,
I don't want to get up and grab it.
ugh, but the salt sounds so tasty right now.
Hey, why do we say stuff like 'sounds tasty?'
Maybe I should write a poem about StonedHenge.
haha henge henge
haha
Okay, that might have been a bit too much.
Do I always follow my stream of consciousness like that?
How long has this song been on?
Wow, it feels like forever.
The point of this poem at the beginning of the high
was to demonstrate some big idea that I thought sounded really smart
but I think I've lost it now that I'm a ****** person who doesn't rarely ever get ******
I'm gonna get up and get the guacamole, bye.
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 8:33 PM UTC
Sitting in a moon lit field
In my hands, the future I yield
I've got a personal stationary kit
Cross legged I sit
Swallowing stables to repair my inner self
Am I to be martyred?
Sitting in a moon lit field
In my hands, the future I yield
I've got a personal stationary kit
I'm in a panic, my heart's edging its final fit
Cross legged I sit
With a scissors I cut off my rough edges
Am I to be martyred?
Sitting in a moon lit field
In my hands, the future I yield
I've got a personal stationary kit
In my head I feel this is it
Using a ruler to guide my knife
Blood falls like a liquid hour glass ending my life
I can't be who I have to be
My aspirations far outweigh my ability
My motivation is hindered by my stupidity
I'm sick of the annual near life experience
Depression is the zeitgeist of our generation
Correct me if I'm wrong
Sitting in a moon lit field
In my hands, the future I yield
I've got a personal stationary kit
I try to hot clue my memories
The fondest, I fear, aren't even true
I feel like I'm being eaten alive
I'm a lobster in a *** slowly being boiled
My claws are being torn from me
My very soul being soiled
My heart is still beating
My legs are being ripped from my rife carcass
I cry louder than I ever thought possible
Still breathing I am in gross darkness
My eyes feel like they're going to bleed
My tail is ripped from me
I wish I could plea
But I'm just one
I'm just me
Sitting in a moon lit field
In my hands, the future I yield
I've got a personal stationary kit
But I will share
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 5:59 PM UTC
*Don't wait till I'm tired to encourage me,I won't move on
Don't wait till I'm crippled to tell me about miracles,I won't believe
Don't wait till I'm frozen to warm me,I won't appreciate
Don't wait until I've stepped the trap to caution me, it won't help
Don't wait till I'm shattered to tell me I can be whole, I won't listen
Don't wait for me to yawn to give me food, I won't eat it
Don't wait until the treasures are depleted to tell me if I dig I'll find
its useless to tell me passion will drive me insane after I'm out of my mind
Don't wait till I'm famous to praise my pieces, aren't you seeing them now?
Don't wait until the Antelope has turned tail to hand me the bow
Don't wait for the birds to fly off the tree to hand me the catapult
Don't wait for me to step on the live wire to lecture me about vaults
Don't wait for me to slip and fall to tell me the place is slippery when wet
Don't wait until you've wronged me to preach "forgive and forget"
Don't wait until I'm in flames to tell me not to play with fire, bury my ashes
Don't try shutting stables after they're gone, instead run after those Horses
Don't wait until I'm soaked to give me an umbrella,I won't accept
Don't wait for the storms to wreck me to show me how to sail
who can listen to instructions while battling waves and hail
Don't wait until the snake has stricken to tell me about the venoms
for a dying man has no time and ears for caution then on
Don't wait for the war to devastate and ruin to preach peace
bombs would have deafened or the machetes cut me piece by piece
Don't wait for me to plunge to ask me if I've worn a ******
like a kidnapper freeing hostages prior demanding for ransom
Don't wait until I've dived into the Sea to ask whether I can swim
Don't wait for the end of days to find out whether I believes in Him
Don't wait until I'm bleeding to tell me about the beauty of scars
or until a clear night to praise the beauty of stars
Don't wait until I'm malnourished to bring me aid
until I'm dead and gone to praise the words I said
Don't wait for my life to flood to dredge the silt
that wouldn't be kindness, that would either be mockery or guilt
Don't wait for me to find someone to feelings for me admit
Don't wait to offer a helping hand when I'm totally deadbeat
why wait to raise a wall when you can fill the crevice
you have something to do, to instill, to say, to caution, to give
do it now while I smile, while I'm strong, while I live
Don't speak about the adulterations after I've drunk from the chalice*
May 1, 2016
May 1, 2016 at 3:49 AM UTC
Tiny flame huddled close to fading wick,
A rag doll seized in the fist of a tempest.
Fading quick,
Wax molten in our grip.
Burning, viscous through trembling fingers it slips.
Knuckles crack like the fire in the hearth
Consuming logs uprooted from the earth
Giving birth to each ember on the mantle,
Dancing decay around subdued bowing candles.
Crying white tears upon the silent tables
The evening sneers at hush filled fables.
Horses bray in solemn stables
Dreaming of pastures new,
Wick snuffed out by daylights fingers
Flame made still by the morning dew.
Mar 7, 2015
Mar 7, 2015 at 6:51 PM UTC
*I, fluoride - sanity theft
Winding toy soldiers
to march the path toward furtive glory
While spurting the tune of war
to the end of their very last breaths*
*Harbinger of certain death
Peek from behind the curtain
Witness the brain mining
From inside your skull
eyeballs explode, deftly blinding
Defining images which pervade
Overwhelming emotions stowed
Once turned to stone
mental harm, tractor combines harvest FarmVille tards by the barnload
Certainly,
The eye of Horus and ISIS see all
scorching and seizing nations, arm in arm
All for one, none for all
Bombarding bravado
Clasp the trap
Lapse in conscious
All tapped out
Drowning in tap water
Until all comes tumbling down like Niagara Falls, dauntless
Like Satan's hands expanding
advance upon the homeland
Then race trickling downward
Total assest forfeiture
***** buried in sand)*
Faces hidden, ashamed
Orchestrate the line in frame
Shape my frame of mind
Until my thoughtscape escapes
To peer through one eye
Met to widespread acclaim
Descending into the mind of Chaos,
His stables gates
burst forth with beasts of fable, insatiable and rampant
Triumphant, turn the tables
Arch-Angels blare your trumpets
*Tell Famine get off his high horse
And rear his ugly head
So we can really show that *****
Mother Earth what for;
**** that ***** until nothing's left*
*Effectively wrecked
From careening trains of wretched *********
Now she's hit
& the caged bird that longs to be free, is inevitably
dismembered to pieces by the felines that be*
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 4:07 PM UTC
Christmas was just two days away
The letters were all sorted
One of them was pulled on out
And to Santa was reported
A young girl asked a question
Dear Santa, she did say
How can you love most everyone
Each and every single day?
You have your list of children
Some are naughty, some are nice
You review the list quite carefully
I'm told you check it twice
Santa read the letter
It gave the old man quite a jolt
A question from this little girl
Hit him like a lightning bolt
She asked about the adults
How could Santa love them too?
Especially the bad ones
Who do the naughty things they do
What about the children
Who are not Christian in belief?
This short and simple letter
Was giving Santa Claus some grief
He thought about replying
Tell her how he felt this love
But, he knew he could do better
It was then push came to shove
He called down to the stables
Ordered Comet be made ready
He was told "It's nearly Christmas"
He won't be flying steady
Santa said "I need him"
"There's somewhere I must go"
"There's a little girl out there somewhere"
"And there is something she should know"
Santa went and got his parka
Comet readied for some air
Santa had to give his answer
He thought that this was fair
Two nights before Christmas
Santa set out, Comet too
To tell this girl his reason
It was something he should do
Somewhere down in Kansas
Sleeping deep inside her bed
The little girl was dreaming
Christmas thoughts did fill her head
Down the young girls chimney
Santa came without his sack
It was two days on from Christmas
And he knew that he'd be back
He crept up to her bedside
Leaned on in and whispered low
He told her, it was Santa
There is something you should know
I love all the worlds children
They are innocent and free
They choose to be so open
Innocence is the key
Innocence, it surrounds them
In time the innocence is lost
You aren't born to hate
Innocence burns off like frost
I love all the worlds children
Adults once were children too
They were born without their darkness
The same as me and you
I love on different levels
That is why I have the list
That's why I double check it
To ensure no one's missed
So, I do not love them always
But for a short time, I do
The change is loss of innocence
It isn't all that new
Believe and you will feel it
My love for all the world
Now sleep, and wait for Christmas
You are a special little girl
He left and she lay sleeping
He made it home by break of day
Comet went back to his stable
Santa put his suit away
He had a cocoa and a cookie
It made him feel much better
It had been a huge adventure
Started by a single letter
Keep the faith and innocence
In the season winter kissed
And know that every person out there
Is always on one list
Remember, write your letters
Ask your questions, do not fear
For maybe, maybe one day
Santa will come and whisper in your ear
Jul 31, 2019
Jul 31, 2019 at 11:58 PM UTC
It's the smell. The smell of hundred-year-old
hardwood floors in this old school I recognize most,
floors grown thick and corpulent with untold layers
of pine-scented oil - floors darkened, smoothed
by the trample of children herded, then corralled
in dank stables down those long corridors. I also
remember the confinement I felt, pinned within
those stables, wanting nothing more than to run free,
with the wind of youth combing my untamed hair.
–
Oct 22, 2011
Oct 22, 2011 at 7:43 PM UTC
You can hear it in the ringing of bells
And the soundest of stories.
You can see it in the way the snow falls
And the way the world is full of light.
It is the magic all around us,
From the stories of brighter stars
And the idea that maybe
Reindeer can fly in December
And magic hats can bring cold men to life.
Right now
There are some wrapping gifts to give
And others are lighting candles,
All the while
The saints are outside singing
Of the Messiah,
Of God here with us,
Of wishing you a merry Christmas
And maybe we could join them.
But it’s a silent night
And baby
It’s cold outside
So stay a while,
Stay here in the warmth
Of vivid lights and winter memories.
And remember that the breath of heaven
Exists just beyond us,
Just beyond the firelight
Where the smoke billows out of chimneys
And where Nicholas watches and waits
For us to fall asleep
With dreams of sugarplums dancing.
And remember that faith
Is something that keeps us warm
And keeps our spirits merry.
So deck the halls
And let it snow,
Because I have heard
That there are saviors born
Under the bright stars in Bethlehem stables,
Meant to bring peace to all of us.
And right now
There are living nativities
And children rockin’ round evergreen trees,
All the while
There are angles in the sky singing
Gloria,
Of the Messiah.
Singing of joy
And maybe we should listen.
‘Cause it’s a holy night
So remember Jacob Marley,
And the little drummer boy.
And remember the truth of the Christmas story,
That it’s a wonderful life
And that if Charllie Brown’s Christmas tree
Taught us anything,
Is that a little love can make us grow.
So let it snow, let it snow,
Let it snow.
Dec 11, 2013
Dec 11, 2013 at 2:07 PM UTC
Alice walks with
the thin maid
to the stables, holding
the thin hand with
red knuckles, the
mild limp crossing
the narrow path like
a wounded ship. Do
you like the horses,
then? the maid asks,
bringing the eyes
upon the child,
holding tight the
pale pink hand.
Alice nods, yes,
I like the black one,
like its dark eyes
and coat. The maid
eyes the pinafore,
the hair tidy and neat,
the shiny shoes, the
tiny hand in hers.
Have you ridden
any yet? the maid
asks. No, not allowed
as yet, Alice says,
feeling the red thumb
rub the back of her
hand. Shame, the maid
says, perhaps soon.
Alice doesn't think so,
neither her father nor
the new nanny will
permit that; her mother
says she may, but that
amounts to little, in
the motions of things.
She can smell the
horses, hay and dung.
The red hand lets her
loose. The stable master
stares at her, his thick
brows bordering his
dark brown eyes,
conker like in their
hardness and colour.
Have you come to
look at the horses?
he says, holding a
horse near to her.
She nods, stares
at the horse, brown,
tall, sweating,
loudly snorting.
The maid stares
at the horse, stands
next to the child,
hand on the arm.
You're not to ride
them yet, he says,
but you can view,
I'm told. Alice runs
her small palm down
the horse's leg and
belly, warm, smooth,
the horse indifferent,
snorting, moving the
groom master aside.
The maid holds the
child close to her.
Be all right, he won't
harm, he says, smiling.
He leads the horse away,
the horse swaying to
a secret music, clip-
clop-clip-clop. Alice
watches the departing
horse. Come on, the
maid says, let's see
the others and lifts
the child up to view
the other horse in the
stable over the half
open door, then along
to see others in other
half doors. Alice smiles
at the sight and smells
and sounds. She senses
the red hands holding
her up, strong yet thin,
the fingers around her
waist. Having seen them
all, the maid puts her
down gently. Ain't that
good? the maid says.
Alice smiles, yes, love
them, she says. She
feels the thin hand, hold
her pale pink one again,
as they make their way
back to the house, the
slow trot of the limping
gait, the maid's thumb
rubbing her hand, smiling
through eyes and lips,
the morning sun blessing
their heads through the
trees and branches above.
if only, Alice thinks, looking
sidelong on at the thin
maid's smile, her father
did this, and showed such love.
Dec 15, 2013
Dec 15, 2013 at 11:54 AM UTC
Mountain hill ranges,
Goes on for ages.
Goats eating strangers,
Like dogs in mangers.
Back-stabbing bears in cages,
All through the dark ages.
Dying off in stables,
Evil continues his rages.
Mar 19, 2010
Mar 19, 2010 at 3:52 PM UTC
There lived an old man in the kingdom of Tess,
Who invented a purely original dress;
And when it was perfectly made and complete,
He opened the door, and walked into the street.
By way of a hat, he'd a loaf of Brown Bread,
In the middle of which he inserted his head;--
His Shirt was made up of no end of dead Mice,
The warmth of whose skins was quite fluffy and nice;--
His Drawers were of Rabbit-skins,--but it is not known whose;--
His Waistcoat and Trowsers were made of Pork Chops;--
His Buttons were Jujubes, and Chocolate Drops;--
His Coat was all Pancakes with Jam for a border,
And a girdle of Biscuits to keep it in order;
And he wore over all, as a screen from bad weather,
A Cloak of green Cabbage-leaves stitched all together.
He had walked a short way, when he heard a great noise,
Of all sorts of Beasticles, Birdlings, and Boys;--
And from every long street and dark lane in the town
Beasts, Birdles, and Boys in a tumult rushed down.
Two Cows and a half ate his Cabbage-leaf Cloak;--
Four Apes seized his Girdle, which vanished like smoke;--
Three Kids ate up half of his Pancaky Coat,--
And the tails were devour'd by an ancient He Goat;--
An army of Dogs in a twinkling tore up his
Pork Waistcoat and Trowsers to give to their Puppies;--
And while they were growling, and mumbling the Chops,
Ten boys prigged the Jujubes and Chocolate Drops.--
He tried to run back to his house, but in vain,
Four Scores of fat Pigs came again and again;--
They rushed out of stables and hovels and doors,--
They tore off his stockings, his shoes, and his drawers;--
And now from the housetops with screechings descend,
Striped, spotted, white, black, and gray Cats without end,
They jumped on his shoulders and knocked off his hat,--
When Crows, Ducks, and Hens made a mincemeat of that;--
They speedily flew at his sleeves in trice,
And utterly tore up his Shirt of dead Mice;--
They swallowed the last of his Shirt with a squall,--
Whereon he ran home with no clothes on at all.
And he said to himself as he bolted the door,
'I will not wear a similar dress any more,
'Any more, any more, any more, never more!'
1.4k
We live in a world surrounded with friendly monsters
disguised as friends, family, relatives and folksters.
Be wary of whom you let tame you
and be wary of whose cage and stables you enter into
for it will be invisible behind pretty smiles
hidden behind small talks and small walks in dangerous aisles
a journey seeming utterly beautiful like snowflakes in winter
but in reality, they’ll all use you, disgrace you and leave you bitter.
-fir.m
Nov 5, 2021
Nov 5, 2021 at 10:51 AM UTC
Thunder and lightening but no rain today. Stormy on one half of the sky, grey with hints of purple and brown. Lightning streaking through it, more yellow than I've ever seen before. Thunder seeming to shake the sky and rumble the low hanging clouds that form a cove. The other side of the sky, the other day so to speak, is most beautiful. An orange setting sun lights up the horizon to a beautiful glow. Floating wisps of clouds dance in the sky, white, turning pink as the sun goes to sleep. A rainbow centers the worlds, pulls them together. A rainbow traveling to depths seen never before. Depths seen only by the wandering unicorns on mushroom trails in the sky. I knew this crazy 110 heat meant something was coming. Something to twist the world open, to begin exploration.
Between storm and setting sun, along the Rainbow Lane, you might happen across a fairy maiden or water nymph. Veer right you'll find the forest, a hauntingly beautiful deep, bright green, accented in every corner by berry hues. Float down Waterfall Pass into the lake of the mermen, the most lustrous mermaiden, and the forever awed Water Monster. You've one last place to visit, before you join this adventure tale. The town on the left, where civilian like me reside. We have shoe makers, cobblers, stables and schools; manors, mansions, cabins and sheds. We eat, we drink, we're merry and magical. We live in Norvella, and our fantastical adventure begins here.
Jul 18, 2011
Jul 18, 2011 at 2:46 PM UTC
We're loose associations.
Brutality queues the phrases.
Reality loses luster,
in fallow with boot to daisies .
Cowering and embracing
our trusted tomes,
honing a fruitless joke,
that only touches on tones that suit the layman
Famous and clueless faces.
Racing to rue the cadence.
Faking a sweet embrace,
for imminent tears, but grew impatient.
California coos
sooth impostor fits,
but it's a syndrome
fifty shades dense,
and way to thick to fit the staples.
In case you were getting wayward;
our guiding fables,
sentinels that they are,
will guard the stables
and bark orders,
pouring out the spirits
and clearing history,
with brazen logic.
Honestly,
I carved a broken heart,
instead of tapping the maple,
sue me.
Dec 6, 2018
Dec 6, 2018 at 9:19 PM UTC
My brother was twelve years older so
I knew him not so well,
But heard of him in the taverns,
Getting drunk, and raising hell,
My mother said, ‘Keep away from him,’
And I did, for many years,
But blood is blood, and a brother should
Help out, though it ends in tears.
He’d done a spot of embezzling,
He’d picked the pockets of Earls,
You never left him to tend a horse
And he wasn’t safe with girls,
But he was my brother Toby,
And I was his brother Tim,
I’d often find him beneath my bed
When he said, ‘Don’t let them in!’
By ‘them’ he had meant the Runners
Who were active in the Bow,
And some of the old Thief-Takers
With their ruffians in tow,
They roamed the streets with their cudgels
And would lie, just out of sight,
Beyond the doors of the Taverns, when
They turned them adrift at night.
The streets were mean, and were far from clean
Where my brother used to roam,
Despite the pleas of our mother, who
Would beg him to come back home,
But father remained unbending, said
His eldest son was a swine,
‘His endless scrapes, a Jackanapes!
He is no son of mine!’
I heard he’d taken a horse and fled
From a stables in the Strand,
‘There’s little that anyone now can do,
When they catch him, he’ll be hanged!’
My mother, crying a flood of tears
As my father cursed and swore,
‘I’ll call the Runners, or I’ll be ******
If you let him through my door!’
So Toby galloped to Hounslow Heath
Along the Great West Road,
Teamed up with the brute Tom Wilmot,
Lay low in his abode,
They’d venture out on a moonlit night
To wait for the latest Stage,
But Tom was never the gentleman,
Or known to contain his rage.
They stopped the coach on a lonely night
‘Your money or your life!’
Dragged out a country gentleman,
His maid, and his homely wife,
He wanted the ring on the lady’s hand
But her finger held it tight,
So he sawed the finger off as well
With a sharp, serrated knife.
‘It was terrible,’ Toby told me
As they loaded him onto the cart,
‘The screams and the blood, unholy,’
As the horse was about to depart,
They hung him high on the Tyburn Tree
Next to the Wilmot pig,
Not undeserved, but I cried and cursed
As he danced the Tyburn jig.
David Lewis Paget
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 10:02 AM UTC