"stirrup" poems
240
Ah, Moon—and Star!
You are very far—
But were no one
Farther than you—
Do you think I’d stop
For a Firmament—
Or a Cubit—or so?
I could borrow a Bonnet
Of the Lark—
And a Chamois’ Silver Boot—
And a stirrup of an Antelope—
And be with you—Tonight!
But, Moon, and Star,
Though you’re very far—
There is one—farther than you—
He—is more than a firmament—from Me—
So I can never go!
10.9k
Albert had an ARTHRITIC knee
which gave him curry
The core of a BOIL is oft hard
to extract
Yesterday June experienced
a server stomach CRAMP
Too much dry weather
can cause the outer DERMAL layer to peel
Never read in a poorly lit room
for you'll have EYE strain
After eating spicy pickles
dad had bad FLATULENCE
Some twenty eight years ago
my friend Helen had her GALLBLADDER removed
They say that a glass of water
will stop HICCUPS
From end to end
our INTESTINAL tract is thirty foot long
On Sunday afternoon John
broke his JAW playing football
Some people have
very boney KNUCKLES
One of my work colleagues
is prone to getting LARYNGITIS
Colin suffers terribly
with MIGRAINE headaches
Sometimes people tend
to endlessly NAVAL gaze
A woman's OVARIES need to be checked
on a regular basis for any abnormalities
The PANCREAS secrets a hormone
known as insulin
QUININE once was extensively used
in the treatment of Malaria
Since my sister has put on weight
she cannot find her RIBS
The STIRRUP bone lies
within one's ear
Dan Aykroyd the famous comic star
has webbed TOES
Should you bump your ULNA bone
it may give you reason to groan
The VARICOSE VEINS is great aunt Ruby's legs
were very pronounced
Does anyone know of a good remedy
for unsightly WARTS
At our local hospital
we have an antiquated X-RAY machine
As tiredness and weariness sets in
one YAWNS quite a lot
****** ZOSTER can make
a person constantly itch
Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 1:31 AM UTC
*ᚹᚨᛚᛖᛋ - alphabet above the ᚱᚻᛁᚾᛖ... bereft a cleaving for worth of fortitude, or Liverpool: so too the strongman for bow and two finger F; chisel the ******* bracket or ah into stone correctly, or i'll make you stake a thousand men's' worth of dough worthy of death, nation building etc.*
above the Rhine,
at least that's
my Austrian welcoming,
playfriends my beehive
**** the longship.
i said sooth
nearing rune toward Sweden
of Poland or Germania -
ALPHA BETUM, BETUM
try a care begotten a coliseum!
** SALVAGE DIE *** STIRRUP!
TO A *** RIDE! RIDGE A COLLAPSE
OF ROME! salvage it with Bach...
or else, the death-man's symphony,
you Welsh *****
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 11:17 PM UTC
The earth was sown with early flowers,
The heavens were blue and bright--
I met a youthful cavalier
As lovely as the light.
I knew him not--but in my heart
His graceful image lies,
And well I marked his open brow,
His sweet and tender eyes,
His ruddy lips that ever smiled,
His glittering teeth betwixt,
And flowing robe embroidered o'er,
With leaves and blossoms mixed.
He wore a chaplet of the rose;
His palfrey, white and sleek,
Was marked with many an ebon spot,
And many a purple streak;
Of jasper was his saddle-bow,
His housings sapphire stone,
And brightly in his stirrup glanced
The purple calcedon.
Fast rode the gallant cavalier,
As youthful horsemen ride;
"Peyre Vidal! know that I am Love,"
The blooming stranger cried;
"And this is Mercy by my side,
A dame of high degree;
This maid is Chastity," he said,
"This squire is Loyalty."
2.3k
you know what undermines most urban coolios?
you know what undermines the majority of urban hippies?
imitations - clones - we might wear the same sneakers
but at least we think different - we think different, aye-right?
we do, don't we? we don't?! ah ****
but that's what undermines the urban crew - (ha ha, i love
the impromptu slang) - they work their ***** off
and tease their ***** off with twerks -
and then they package hamburgers
with a squeeeeeeezes of the ol' Nutcracker -
but in London so many harvesters -
so many - coolio did fabric off of
Bacon?! **** straight he did -
bring back 1990's bling boo ya ah
ICE CUBE FACE 'N' A PUFFER FISH (MINUS THE LIP) -
like ghetto 1994 - yo yo - ice ice baby -
white man on the Michael - leisure,
leisure, leisure leisure - lacerations and a Las Vegas
weekend - bro got smoked -
and mm hmm - fixed up my pauper rich-man
Porsche - called a dachshund Lamborghini gallop
buckling a dentist's appointment; fuck's sake
buck tooth, drop a gear!
n'ah n'ah n'ah n'ah (lost count) - hmm stirrup song
evened vogue - puck'ah poo or as i shoo
the airs under the carpet with an audience of one.
but believe me, countryside boy says it -
the cool individuals meeting a clone or a mirror
outside their thought experiment and
panic sets in... just another countryside boy
in an urban environment fiddling with a violin
like he might be shining a pair of black leather shoes.
Jul 13, 2016
Jul 13, 2016 at 10:41 PM UTC
She nuzzles me as I reach for the curry comb
I gently brush her soft coat as I prepare to tack her up
she whinnies as I tighten the girth
shhh
I say.
*easy,
I'm not trying to hurt you*
I lead her out into the arena and I step into the stirrup
I hoist myself up
onto her gently curving back
I pat her neck and grab the reins
I gently squeeze her belly and off we go.
We are flying
I move with her
the gentle rhythm
1,2 1,2 1,2
pounding in my ears
and we approach the fence
As I lift myself out of the saddle
I give her a kick
and we leap
high above the ground
focused on the next flower box
and we leap over that, too
I could just keep soaring forever
but she is tired.
So I swing out of the saddle
and lead her back home
Dec 5, 2013
Dec 5, 2013 at 10:44 AM UTC
sometimes i have nothing to write about,
my father & mother worry why i love loneliness
and spend all my time alone,
they have good concern to worry... insert snigger...
i down a bottle of whiskey,
stir and stirrup it with some coca cola with a blunt knife -
lick the knife - and remind myself of what blood tastes like.
it truly does it does it does... truly...
accidental stitches undone and blood oozing
are pretty much the same for the palette as a knife...
call it what you want the Fe in haemoglobin is on the knife,
maybe it's the negative on the knife that makes the positive
of iron in 2+ (electron usurper!) of it in haemoglobin so potent to match-up.
Oct 4, 2015
Oct 4, 2015 at 6:56 PM UTC
hard to play the idiot; likened to Mr. Bean
taking the role from
Angus Daily into a Blackadder
hurrah who? ha, ha, ha!
my eyes never
left me baffled - or washington prone:
*** to a stirrup - furthermore,
or Rushmore:
Atilla with an entourage
worthy of Genghis: of prone gravitas -
i too santa's little helper
and sinatra's
five p.m. flamingo strut's
worth of martini -
when said slavic eye then lessened
germanic white-boy fisheyed to boot...
i mean less binocular and more concentrate...
but
there's me as a fifth of Nevada in Siberia
that's always the: **** we sold Alaska!
Nicolai! oh Nicolai! Alaska! **** or
of what was the Crimea, of what is the Kremlin:
k, c, k, c, s, c, k, c, k, c, Vlad, s, t, u, v, k, c, s,
Rasputin, k, c, k, c, Boney M....
i'm still fidgety about the third ethnicity in
europe... i have to gather them attune to being
southern slav, or pseudo-turkish,
Finns, Latvians and Greeks... sounds like
falafel: all guidance to the subsequent reprimands
of necessarily tongue-tied whiplash -
gravitas with the kink and jeopardy of a gimp
fetish on the loose.
Nov 8, 2016
Nov 8, 2016 at 9:24 PM UTC
I put the shoebox to my ear and hear nothing. I give it a shake. in it, my stepfather curses and I breathe closer to my quota a sigh of relief. I place the box on a higher shelf where I plan to leave it for three years. five years pass and I mean that. I can no longer reach the shelf and need a footstool or something similar. I stirrup my hands and there they are suspended. I step back from them. a cat meows or my stepfather sobs. I am bogged down. I am under my mother’s heart. when I finally use my hands in the manner I’ve meant, my fingers break and I land on my back. the box falls and the corner of it finds the cup of my stunned and still suspended hands and the fingers hold for a moment and then they are weak and then they feather the box sideways to my chest. I lift my head and see my stepfather jolly to be on the set of a show he’s the star of. he is smoking a prop pipe and pretending to read a book I remember my mother being buried in. a few episodes into it I realize the show is missing something and so supply grief.
Sep 26, 2012
Sep 26, 2012 at 2:12 AM UTC
We are all mothers
As we care for one another while going about business as usual
Our greatness in the guidance of the women whose scalloped hands stirrup our feet in the rooms and halls and roads of our lives
Who we notice only when we focus our eyes on our own faces, on our own working hands, on our own burdened hearts.
Dec 3, 2021
Dec 3, 2021 at 2:12 AM UTC
The smell of sweet maple syrup
I remember living there and the riding the horse with stirrup
All the furniture was made out of wood
The log Cabin had plenty of trees of Sherwood
Down the way was Joseph the Lumber Jack
He had muscles that were well stacked
Joseph could cut down some trees
In fact, our Log Cabin was built and it was a breeze
Yet that Log Cabin is what I called home
It was a place where I used to roam
There was an Sun roof we called the “Dome”
But I will leave that alone
Oh that Log Cabin takes me back
I have a clear memory of it like piles in a stack
I remember a little stream that ran behind
This whole memory is all mine
Log Cabin, thanks for showing up in my mind, I will visit again from time to time.
Feb 11, 2016
Feb 11, 2016 at 6:48 PM UTC
Gentle muzzle
velvet soft
lipping at my palm
searching for the treats,
sugar and molasses
a rich combination
only a good horse
earns.
Supple leather
worn smooth
over years of dedication
and application
that comes from
this sport.
Nights
already promised ahead of time,
three months earlier,
hauling to deserted fairgrounds
a dusky sky setting the tone
for lead ropes
threaded
through stock trailer slats
cow dogs
running
up down sideways
trailing owners between horses legs and rusty pickups.
Tacking up
underneath floodlights
set to the soundtrack
of jangling spurs
and soft nickers.
Younger kids
hanging on the arena rails
drinking syrupy sweet
soda
a tradition
root beers before your run
good luck
in our community.
Foot in the stirrup
old braided reins in hand
leather,
broken into submission,
pliable
under years
of use.
Slapping hands
with other riders
who already went
horses,
slick with sweat
foaming at the mouth
ready to go again
with rippling muscles
still taunt in the sticky summer night,
aching for one last run.
three turns
and a gallop home,
don't care about the money
unless you beat your last time-
your only competitor
is
yourself
and
the
clock.
Hard packed dirt
pounded down by hooves,
tails swishing at flies
as you wait
for your turn.
Adrenaline and happiness,
an addictive cocktail,
these are the nights
I
love.
Apr 21, 2019
Apr 21, 2019 at 9:52 PM UTC
She rode the wave of exclamation,
a borrowed stirrup buckled the wind -
of promises broken,
turning pledges to gorse
yellow stranding into infinity.
She pardoned with forgiveness,
self serving without a kiss
and finished the morsels
the crumbs
of her hard fought victory.
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 2:44 PM UTC
*don't harangue my life with care for pity at woman's idiocy, not having adopted Caesarian birth as universally adequate and prospering her, to instil this barbaric guilt in me wondering why women, of all mammals had no natural anaesthetic produced when giving birth... **** your little guilt-trip argument! Caesarian or no argument!*
to be robbed of a glorious death, and be given an
inglorious birth, esp. when women were given an ease
with a Caesarian birth diplomacy... what's there to retain for man?
ardency in labour? old age? i too was robbed of what
Caesar described as the ideal death: the sudden one...
am i to wait for my sickbed...
if i only chanced the thrill of life
within one sunset and sought no night
to encompass my life as worthy compensation
of nothing.
a life lived to the bell-tone of a replaced
uvula, no care for charity asserted...
in that one momentary exception of all life prior,
to have lived it, and hence entombed,
readied for the element acquiring me to
further its signature... as sustainable...
i'd rather die a painful death that live
a comfortable life: pain is eased with its short-lived
establishing awareness when the glory prior is "prolonged"
ascribed to the fates akin to Achilles... and indeed pain is
merely pain with its prolonging on the sickbed...
counter heroism, so defeatist;
how many times am i to be robbed? to thus experience
such shallows of thieves with cheap constantly
expedient thievery? i've had enough to concede to a juggle
of fates and fortunes! one smooth stroke of the ace
rather than the many axe-hackings of the neck
of ****** Mary. bothersome agitations via pride, honour
and braveness, only if they do not happen,
and should they, they'd be undertaken, but to no quest
of celebratory non-enactment, i.e.: farting rather than ********
prior: to be given a wave of the standard acupuncture
of infantry: as guarantee of mythology; and a nobleman
on his horse without a stirrup prior to the *** intervention.
May 25, 2016
May 25, 2016 at 10:14 PM UTC
As he stepped down from stirrup to dirt the road worn traveler reached up to the boiling sun.
How far had he rode today. From pillar to hitching post a wayward ghost a hollow merchant.
Swathed in leather and silver...tooled steel on his hip...a killer by trade. He was made to this
By nightfall alone on moonlit trail would he be in slow self procession to find bad intentions.Tradesman in sulfur and lead...black smoke and resounding explosions. Then silence.
Tradesman in black.
Death and deliverance.
Paid in full.
Jul 18, 2015
Jul 18, 2015 at 5:02 AM UTC
Misanthropic flagellum
quarter sized mellon
left foot stirrup
is hoping for rebellion
They tell you what
and They tell you how
"it's all right here
it's all right now"
forget the words
and drop the form
to know the cold
first know the warm
a drizzly dream
black dollop of cream
onward in silence
you continue to scream
The warriors path
is riddled with unease
the harder it gets
the more you believe
And when you die
look God in the eye
and say **** it was hard,
but oh what a time."
Feb 13, 2015
Feb 13, 2015 at 6:51 PM UTC
american drwal,
god almighty...
it's so ******* nasal....
it's almost like
listening to it due hubris:
i'm prone to titilate
***** and gag
and **** and dodgy
doggy the **** out
of shoving an umbrella
where the homosexual wished
it shined.
glutton nasal...
phlegm culprit...
it's almost likely,
that people forgot to utilise
the larynx...
but when jennifer lawrence says
it: i'm giddie i.e. stirrup ready i r
fidgety e e e e, e e e e,
am, cool...
because that's the last word
you'd use, right now, hawkish & priestly....
that nasal goo though... **** me!
what an enlarged concept
of a pond!
knee deep:
kneeling limbo, a Yiddish Dante...
hey presto!
lucky-lookie! a ******* rainbow!
secondant: a berserk's tourism escapade,
minus York....
given the: jawohl... alter.
(in the extreme: salutation...
in the least? ******* on the Irish...)
alter... ya-wol....
had there been a Hegel for
a ****** i guess the world would have
graced enough concerns for a lack
of a Napoleon:
it still means fuck-all to me,
to be certain.
me in a quiet room?
pleasantry or peasant talk?
probably the latter...
drill... drum...
Bulgaria vita spes mea!
ya-voll kungen - king - sh-wed
szved - karga - barren -
kryta: hidden -
ravéné minus gorgon:
culprit: ravaged due cruise invoking crude,
to, vector, noir also: too... x.
Jan 7, 2017
Jan 7, 2017 at 11:31 PM UTC
The night outside was a solid mist
You couldn’t see past three feet,
Or so she thought, the Telephonist
As she came back in from the street.
There was no point following Jill and Tim
For the mist had swallowed them up,
They’d wandered out for a drink before
To head for the ‘Stirrup Cup’.
So Caryn finally went inside
And stood by the lounge room door,
There was blood, red blood on the candlestick,
There was blood, red blood on the floor,
She opened her mouth and she tried to scream
But couldn’t begin to shout,
She seemed to be locked in a crazy dream
And the folk in the house were out.
There wasn’t a body that she could see
But chills ran over her spine,
She wondered about her sister, Jill,
Then thought, ‘I’m sure she’s fine!’
But Tim, now there was a moody man
And his anger knew no bounds,
She’d hidden from him in her room before
When he’d stomped the house and grounds.
She staggered into the street again
There must be someone to call,
She felt her way through the garden gate
There was blood, red blood on the wall,
And a trail of blood lay under her feet
That led to the ‘Stirrup Cup’,
She felt the gorge rise up in her throat,
She was close to throwing up.
She felt her way through the evening mist
Stuck close to the kerb as well,
There was blood all over the bailiwick
As she called her sister’s cell,
It rang and rang ‘til it rang right out
And Caryn let out a moan,
But then a text on her tiny screen
That said one word, ‘Alone!’
She felt so faint that she stumbled then
Her head was a pounding wreck,
There was blood, red blood in her auburn hair,
There was blood on her cheek and neck,
She seemed to glide to the further wall
And caught herself looking down,
Down to the blood where her body lay
All crumpled, there on the ground.
And Jill and Tim found her lying there
As they walked by a stranded bus,
‘Oh God, it’s Caryn, my sister, Tim,
She must have been following us!’
They called the Police and they got back home
To find the blood on the wall,
There was blood, red blood on the candlestick
And blood all over the hall.
While Caryn drifts in a nightly mist
That you can’t see past three feet,
She used to be a Telephonist
But now she’s lost in the street.
Wherever she turns there’s blood, red blood
But she can’t believe it’s hers,
She seems to be locked in a crazy dream
Of a never ending curse!
David Lewis Paget
Sep 6, 2014
Sep 6, 2014 at 11:40 PM UTC
A cottage in the country a woven roof of thatch
In the kitchen a fat lady her knickers on the latch
Pulled down past her chubby thighs exposing her hot hatch
Within those apple gatherers a juicy damp wet patch
Wearing an undone apron with her bra unclipped to match
A wooden spoon is waiting she's cooking up a batch
Arthritic hands maybe a snag but not much of a catch
Spoon up her hole to stir the bowl using her wide ******
Two 44dd mixing bowls a mixture of flour and ginger
Sugar hurled and butter twirled with her vigorous ***** ninja
Spoon dripping salted essences oozing down that wooded stirrup
Ground cinnamon is added with her special golden syrup
A touch of soda bicarb an egg mixed in with her *****
Spoon inserted actions ***** squeezing wince and cringe
Shaped and cut a ginger nut ***** mixing makes you ache
Ovens hot sheet trays are got greased slid inside to bake
A warming up made from her cup is this a big mistake
Gingers fine if dough is prime so now who's on the make
Your on the rise what a surprise now you are awake
Placed on the side with tarts beside I wonder what's at stake
Rampant ginger smells so good some pieces fall and flake
In bed with tarts a fancy start when Fred has had his cake
Mar 21, 2018
Mar 21, 2018 at 12:47 AM UTC
Supporting your chest
Avoiding dismount
Tied to a stirrup leather
Cocksurely ordering me
Overturned on my back
Oh please stop the chatter
I name it a ride
You call it a game
Cutout heart on a platter
For the very last time
You're allowing my ego
To feast on your anti-matter
Jun 7, 2014
Jun 7, 2014 at 7:51 AM UTC
you've heard of the greeks, they stated the tetra elements,
hardly a word to combine them
given the penta: electricity that replaced fire,
when Zeus ****** his rod into the earth
and out sprung electron linear from
what people supposed to be orbits and clouds.
and i'm sure you heard of the pentagon
of the sigma of man, via the five senses.
but i ask you, how many nerves are there?
to equate nerves with senses, sight and hearing
and feeling, we'd require to attribute
empathy, sympathy, apathy as among them...
compassion? like Marcus Aurelius asking
as to how he would be remembered:
philosopher... tyrant? i'm just wondering how
many nerves there are; are there a pentagonal
resemblance with the senses, or a tetra resemblance
of the elements? i can proclaim an infinity of
synapse roads and alleys and highways, motorways,
but i need to know a perfect categorical incubator
of the number of nerves... surely they ought to
reflect the senses... at this moment i have only
three: empathy, sympathy and apathy...
and indeed all spell out the root leverage
leading toward the tree of pathology -
then indeed there must be another trail guided by
the revelation of -logy rather than -pathy...
but there are too many to choose from,
e.g.: biology, psychology, etc.... it must be specific
and essential... if the -pathy root is stating verbs,
then the -logy root must also describe verbs (activities);
precursor atheism as argument for both
the non-existence of god, as indeed the soul -
synonymous implementation for the word
with psychologism, rather than a firm stirrup logic.
how many times brooding over a certain logic?
esp. in calculus or esp. in arithmetic,
how these numbers ploy a demise, to say
12 + 30 + 2 are akin to sentencing to the invisible glue
or lettering equally confidant units of usage:
br + av + e? what are the logical nerves after having
established the pathological ones?
i don't know at this moment, decidedly,
to have been governed by four elements and adding
a fifth, to have five senses and the sixth in hexagonal
deviations of the unseen... how many nerves are we
to attribute man?
May 22, 2016
May 22, 2016 at 1:26 PM UTC
oh, you don't actually think? ha ha! yeah, i aimed at expressing white man's reggae and selling my soul with the title and the oncoming tide of a hurricane!
i could write much
but i feel so exhausted;
the epitome of an epidemic,
esp. one that isn't stressed;
well then alice,
you're ably bodied, and,
well, p.s. **** you!
chase the ******* rabbit...
go! go! go you yuppie *****
everyone's waiting for karma marx!
teeth clenched and rubbing off
enamel with a smile...
well there's me with enamel hardly smiling...
ah, let's have a sing-along anyway to
hear a cowboy's ye-ha saddling up
like a *** with the stirrups!
i swear i discovered belgium with that chocolate
factory in Maine;
like the *** who found a balance saddled,
which brought him no closer to the Mongol's
successful escapade without the stirrup; oddly enough,
the russian said.
Mar 16, 2016
Mar 16, 2016 at 6:36 PM UTC
I want your arms around me. I want to hear my name slither out of your mouth like a ***** secret that hurts to conceal. I want to feel your cold hands on my hips again. I want to feel you. I want to feel you. Your hands pressed sweaty palm down on my back, burning a hole into my skin. I am yours. I am yours. I am so yours. I want to hear you caress my ossicles (hammer, anvil, stirrup) by whispering "babe" in my dreams. Making black clouds of lust fly through my head
Have "I miss you." sound sincere. I want to be whole with you. And I've never wanted to be whole with anyone.
Broken has always been my adjective. But for some reason you never complain about the glass stuck in your eyes. My rough shards harming your smooth soul. but you never complain about the constant scraping noise of you loving me.
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 10:48 PM UTC
.*so... horses are sadomasochistic? asked the jockey... you whip them on the *** and then they gallop faster? hmm... p'eculiar.*
ever rode a horse?
oh hell...
it's expensive in England,
but dirt cheap in Poland...
i rode a beauty
in pentkowice...
a beautiful mare...
she even decided to
gallop riding through
the woods...
the paradox comes with...
do you know how
to make a horse
turn, or ride in the direction
you want it to ride?
if you want to make the horse
turn left:
you tug at the reins
with your left arm...
and then dig with your right
foot on the stirrup with
your right heel...
so you're basically enforcing
the horse to look left
tightening the reins
and subsequently
the curb strap...
using your left hand,
while digging into the torso /
rib cage using your right
leg's heel...
and subsequently
the opposite for turning
right...
**** me... having to pet
cats is so liberating...
no leash... nothing...
just a comfort of ignoring
an animate object...
i can forget them...
and when they want
to be remembered they
just make themselves aware...
purr, intimidating you
for a petting...
and then snuggle into
a corner of the sofa
and fall asleep...
i grew up, raised around dogs...
but cats?
i just like having
them, but subsequently
not giving a **** about having
them...
it's like... i trust them,
in responding to the fact
that i feed them.
- but with horses?
left is also right,
left at the head,
right at the torso...
or it's right at the head,
and left at the torso...
pulling the reins to the left,
and then the heel digging
into the torso on the right
side of the body...
and if you want
to gallop?
you dig both heels
into the torso simultaneously.
Nov 8, 2018
Nov 8, 2018 at 8:20 PM UTC
where love sighs its last
is where i searched a buckling of a star crucible
in a stirrup hired to be an anomaly.
Oct 6, 2015
Oct 6, 2015 at 8:59 PM UTC