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Ah.. shes here...I shuffle around the stalls... watching..out of the corners of my eyes.... she knows ....Intimacy...a hand on flank..careful..
.you'll break me....with your gentle hands..
..My hard mouth....your soft lips..
..unruly, unruled....old horse...a kiss.
.. Confused, ...stallion in name only.
... You whisper... My ears *****..
... forward..the hunt! ....your scent on..
..My bridle...I smell u still...
.. Calm...Comfort...Welcome...
.Gentled, not too gently....a strong hand.
. It grows trust …..truth...a Stallion! Once more.
Panting...pawing...'Be easy'..nervous eyes roll.
.a hand on the neck...a caress..'Gently '...you whisper,
.... hot breath against ear
… I snuffle and toss my head
…. still a bit frightened…..her power!
..Will you ride.? ! ..firm thighs and buttocks..
..Toes point... Heels dig...all Give and Take….
. Instruction to...from...the muscled beast.
..straddled. Awkward… too long without….
..A Rider … the matching... Gait with hip...
Walk-on.. Trot, pounding...Heels clip.
..faster, just a bit..Then smoothly they fit her to him.
...a canter.....this long stretch....rocking like one creature
….each a part of the other...breathing evenly…
...caught ….. Breath comes quick...bodies warm.
. Exertion...strength..trust.. Leaning forward..
knees grip..pulling...toes curl..in..
..hot breath..whisper in an ear… Now!
...hands grip mane... As they clench
… bit between the teeth...She..
...gives him his head... Finding his rhythm
…. home in sight...a last burst……
Rider/Stallion sweat soaked … blood pounding..There... againthe scent of her...Sweet Hay rising.
..she whispers… yes oh yes… I knew…
you had it in you.. In me...oh gods….YES! ! .
. No! not the pasture yet for you.. She chuckles..
.bodies tangled in sheets ….. Her mane of dark hair..
Scent of her fills him …
glad to be..Alive? Yes..head…. Heat…
heart...bursting…Not now… But soon.
. A gift.. This youth.. Who see's value in an old war horse.
..ridden.. but no more to war and blood..
.gentled, both he and she… sleep…bridled passion.
..her...a scent of sweet hay…
.him...an old spice..and gunpowder? ..mmm.
by Alexander K Hamilton
For M.R. come safely home.
Dennis Lancet Aug 2013
Fast-walking past Timpsons',
I hear Attic Dithyrambs
In eternal rhythmic voyage
The Adjectives of Ancients
Crowd my senses, deliciously:

Artless and cretinly, everyone turns away
Quite leisurely into the bus station,
And I alone walk among these
Uninquiring minds
I will shell out for an unruled real faux leather notebook

Uncle Harold, you don't know what Poetry means;
otherwise, you might have got me a quaint old anthology
dense and esoteric, with Spender and Ezra,
for my twenty-third

And not the Readers' Digest Word Power Dictionary you sent off for with coupons:
sure, I know what quixotic means
and how to spell weird, and conceited,
but name two ways they apply to me? How will I confront
the unremitting suffering of my existence
with a list of Celebrity Anagrams?

True? or False? Poetry is Dead,
and with it, the bespirited core of commonman:
I will submit my first volume as a .pdf
Nat Lipstadt Oct 2013
The young poetess^ writes:

Sitting on the edge of brilliance,
that cuts my youthful pride to shreds,
are the verbal shards of bards,
poets, beyond my experience.

Expelling their lifeblood,
I can, but only,
place my hands upon
their open wounds
murmuring hopeful platitudes,
praying that their blood spilled,
is not their excellence drained,
their wisdom wasted and stained!


The old hoary replies:

Wishful thirsty drinkers
from the cups of youth are we.

We 'presumed' ancient bards
have lived to regret the
burden of our accumulations,
the weightiness of our pages,
owning insights, steeped,
fermented, wine-to-vinegar,
spoiled by age, time-wasted.

Our words, product of visions
grown dim and simp,
under no duress,
we-eager confess!

Better poets were we,
when possessed of
blood hotter, skin smoother,
brow clearer, innocent of fear!

Your eager cuts run
zesty red and freely,
Ours, clotted ones,
anemic, yellowed from
the curse of the boundaries
of too much experience,
purchased pricey rules,
murderers of our uninhibited courage.

You cogitate with
passions unlined, unruled.
We shuffle, bemoan
our drizzling days,
waiting for relief,
and yet, rue
our inevitable conclusion.

We curse our fate, our slow dissolution.

You bless the opportunistic rising sun,
enervated by energies unbounded,
You animate for answers, solutions!

We sit caned and quiet, acidic,
damning Solomon and his caustic words -
There is nothing new under the sun.

Perhaps we know a word or two more than you.
Gladly we'd trade that for youthful hands
that pray, point and scribe, with the eagerness
that sets words upon paper of spirits enflamed!

Time, our master, has shred our writs to pieces,
yet, you young poetess, greet the morn, confident, saying
**today I will give birth to the first of many, masterpieces.
^The Young Poetess - Helen
I want you
and all your molecules
blissfully unruly
bleeding comments on a scribble pad
interactions regulating a previous history
in words of spontaneous repeats
projecting the colour of dreams
in a world of violet sky
that has dispensed with night and day
in elliptical words that dilate
to a lacerating urgency
where apocalyptic statements
unleash in silent appraisal
a symbiosis of male and female
the creation of a new species
survivors of anaemic journeys
where one does not need to search
for identity in the other
but experiences that freedom
from the strain of isolation
and pieces together the fragments of
a once thought insoluble puzzle
that is disturbed in hidden speech
in bleeding comments on
an unruled scribble pad
Seán Mac Falls Sep 2014
.
Out
Doors
Shout
Floors,

Whispering
Wrings
Wilding
Wings,

Empt­iness
Full,
Loneliness
Unruled,

Spiritual
Angels.
Seán Mac Falls Sep 2016
( Sonnet )*
.
Out
Doors
Shout
Floors,

Whispering
Wrings,
Wilding
Wings,

­Emptin­ess
Full,
Loneliness
Unruled,

Angels'
Spirituals.
James Lindsay Nov 2011
i don’t claim to set the boundaries on my freedom.

checkpoints tend to become distractions


the trees shapeshift in the night buried deep in the sinking kingdom

frightfully stirring, unconsciously aligning through permeable borders


forwards cowards

onwards or bend backwards


a gripped touch shuffled past emotions, lowering and cowering

concealed by a brash rhythm.  


subtle inclinations shiver your frown

freedom can be locked in a box unruled.

the kingdom with a forgotten crown

and a lonely clown not fooled.


What you made will fade.
Like the sun creating shade.
BAM Aug 2012
sometimes it hurts so much
that dull ache turns sharp
heart-breaKer
**** taker
*****, make her

crawl on her kNees to get to you
tear away her skin
and make her sin, for you

love hurts, after all
in its twisted Games
OF placing the blame
it's all on her heart-
break her

til Her bones snap
and she falls flat
Enough for you to walk over
her fragile frame
whose fault to blame?

when we all play love
by its unruled chart
and try to create Art
where words can't be spoken
hearts will be bRoken

he'll Take her there
where alls fair- in love and war
she can't take anymore
but her Silence is golden
Lynn Hamilton Apr 2017
Measured
Out
Binded

Eighty sheets
Eighty  gram

Flicking
Through

Stick
Men

Drawn

Bottom
Right
Corner

Cart
Wheeling
Running

Pain
Stakingly
Disjointed

Up
And
Down

Unruled
Margins

Twenty
Pages
Blank

Right
Hand
Top
Corner
Full

Sixty
Pages
Left

To
Pencil
In
And
Flick
Through
annh Dec 2018
my brain vomited
onto the page
all squiggles
and misspellings
unpunctuated
heiroglyphics
a secret language
only i
could understand
not prose
not poetry
not correct
just me
my pen
wreaks havoc
on unruled
paper
i am errant
i am irritable
i am irreverent
i am making
my way
Emma Scott Aug 2020
You are the depths of dark and light

I fly... in your aspect, I shine.

Turning in your immortal glow

Above the horizon, I am divine.

The light extends to all I see

The dead risen with my breath

Unruled in passion, protector of all

Unassailable even in death.

I gaze upon your reflected face

As the illumination dies within

My flesh is torn, corrupt and base

My flight crippled in my sin.

Ripped asunder in your glare

A pool of black and viscous night

A road from whence there is no return

I wither in your slight.

— The End —