"trode" poems
The manly cowboy
continued his travels
across the land,
of merry ole England,
drinking a little mead,
riding his steed.
Walking along one day
beside his horse,
says to his horse,
a question this way,
says he.
"What's your name?"
"Randall." she replied.
for his steed was a she.
"WHAT did you say?
What the hell kinda name is that?"
"And please pardon me for my language,
your answer took me by surprise."
"For your information kind sir,
i am highly educated
and well brought up.
what did you expect?
some silly name
like Bay
or Susie?
or ,
if i hailed from
your part of the world,
Cochise
or Blaze
or Cimmaron?
Oh no, i know,
you might
have very well
named me
General
Blueberry."
Scratching his head,
the manly cowboy
just looked askew,
completely anew,
at this fine steed.
Randall!
Off they trode,
adventures to be made,
fast becoming fine friends,
as they were
running the roads to the ends.
Many a new sight did they see,
then one day they happened upon
Queen E.
"That's one fine looking six shooter
you have there."
said the great ruler with
the neatly coiffed gray hair.
"May I?" asked she,
her royal hand outstretched.
Happy to oblige,
this woman who
has ruled so long,
seen so much.
Handing her his gun,
so carefully,
he inquired,
"Do you know how one of these things works Ma'm?"
asked he
"Don't be so silly
you manly cowboy.
Of course! "
said she,
With that,
she turned
and shot
every chamber bare,
six apples from
the tops of six heads
of her many heirs.
"Here, come join us."
said she,
"We're out for a ride
to look at the tide."
So the manly cowboy
threw in with the royal
mob for the day.
Riding far and wide
treated to vast
expanses and views,
and the eternal tide.
Having so much fun
shooting and riding,
out in the fresh air,
out in the sun.
At last evening approached
too fast and suddenly.
"What a day i have had,
one to always remember,
to recount over fires
many a coming night."
With that,
he took his leave,
tipped his hat,
and bowed to Queen E
so very gentlemanly.
Sep 14, 2015
Sep 14, 2015 at 12:34 PM UTC
clad in a grey native **** cloth
he sat,quivering on a stool
with a aged breast on furrows breath,
that shook the folds of his shoulders
Now and then does he seems to gasp
about a menlancholys spit,
but amis his grey eye lashes
it pierce through what words cannot paint
He folds his feet and *** his head
like a lizard amist a bait,
but his vague stare hold a mist
which mystries cant be shook from him
What ails him so, the world wont ask,
but lost to what all eyes cant see
it lingers through the heart of man
that trode the earth with guns and roses
He breath in and expires in lort,
his thought search for truth in his heart,
he bow his head and close his eye
and found no peace,even as he sleeps
All rights reserved
Jun 1, 2012
Jun 1, 2012 at 12:54 PM UTC
..........PATH OF LEARNING..........
In dark we are born,
to behold the new light,in dark we trode,
Till we know light to our paths.
From the moral guidance set to accompany us,
from our Parents leading paths,
little by little we are held
by arms to the field of gatherings.
Painfully,it seems to us on start,
for we know not it
pleasures and values untold!
With our peers we echoed in one tone,
A,!B!,!C,D!.
1,!2!,3!,4!.
Until Apple taught us the value of A.
Then B,tells us of a circuler object called ball.
Until C,gives us cup for drinking
And D,tells us of an Animal friend called dog,
with all the gatherings from our homes,
and from the fields of learning,
we've all come to know the value of life.
I love to learn!
I love to learn!
For in learning i've known the light,
i've seen knowledge!
I've known widom.
For in wisdom
I've learned to number my days.
Teach me to learn!
Teach me to read!
Teach me to write!
For in this path i love to go.
Jul 15, 2013
Jul 15, 2013 at 3:56 AM UTC
To those who look in the mirror
And see a beautiful person
And those that look in the mirror
But see nothing.
It matters not what cold gray world
We all may live on
Or a world of vibrant green and gold
It is our world.
Soak what gray you most in blood.
Whether it be black blood of hate
Blue blood of envy
Green blood of greed
Purple blood of lust
Or the crimson of life.
Take this world in your hands
And cradle whats here.
There is someone who understands.
Someone with your taste.
Take the leg broken amd trode upon
And pick yourself up.
Prove that the strongest people
See nothing in the mirror.
Show that the empty mirror
Only shows whats important to you.
Those that see a beautiful person...
Show them that hate
Hate is the best motivator
The best for success.
The best for a great life.
For hate is a driving force
Behind the bullet that is you.
Fired feom the mouth of that
Beauty seeking mirror looker.
Take beauty from your surroundings
As well as within yourself.
Only then will you finally see
Something in your mirror.
And what you'll see wont be beauty
But success.
Seen or unseen,
It matters not to the strong.
Because the mirror isn't real.
You made it because they did.
Destroy ot like you did their words.
Use that broken leg to stand tall.
Taller than anyone.
But always remember where you come from.
Stay humble no matter where life leads.
For if you don't
Your reflection will change.
And so will your leg.
Apr 10, 2018
Apr 10, 2018 at 4:10 PM UTC
We were walking, the painter and I,
Across the plain and towards the hill.
The moon had waxed into her glory
Causing the zephyrs to sigh.
We rested awhile at the foot of the rise
Nestled in a comfortable silence.
The night moved on languid feet
Passion hidden under a serene guise.
We took the path on the dark leeward
My golden quill our only light.
The painter promised a spectacle
And anticipation fueled my climb
Cherry Blossoms swirled in the wind,
As we stood on silver bathed ground.
A man stood at the edge of the hill,
His hands on the railing, waiting.
Under the tree he stood.
The flowers hiding the wrinkles
Of his suit and his skin.
His gaze fixed upon the moon.
My friend and I sat against a boulder
And waited with him.
The wind whispered with the flowers
And the Sakura tree sang to the night.
The song was impossible,
Yet hear it we did.
Violins and keys, flutes and harps -
A haunting tune of longing.
And as the song rose,
A woman stood beside the man;
A bride clad in a moonlight gown,
Her veil of starshine trailing behind.
The man took her hand,
And the woman drew closer.
And groom and bride,
They danced among the flowers.
Wrinkles were smoothened
Trembling hands strengthened
Faltering feet trode sure
And wilting heart bloomed anew.
Happiness perfused the air.
Cruelly brief the phenomenon would be -
So the man knew, and chose to forget.
He held on to the past and danced.
We sat there, intruders and fools,
Too ashamed to look on,
Too enthralled to look away,
Until sleep hid them from our eyes.
The melody rains with the petals,
Tears dance with the smiles.
The waltz of the weary hearts
Lasts as long as the moon.
Jun 17, 2025
Jun 17, 2025 at 8:38 AM UTC