"warhorse" poems
[Sidra of the Stars]
a goddess has awakened
eyes slowly open
penetrating...
light reflects off the irises
(recessive blue alleles on chromosome 15)
my name is Sidra
and I will not be diverted.
-
I stand under sol
I stand under the earth's satellite
I stand in the vale.
-
look upon my feet
the fine lines of support
and strength of design
golden light showers
my long legs
strong and graceful
gaze upon my curves...
silky
ample
hypnotic
look at my golden arms
that comfort babes
dig into the earth
and create abstractions
hands and fingers of elegance
given to me by my grandmother
nails to claw and hands to hold
look at my long neck
draped in silver metal and black glass
falling between my *******
hips compliment the
curve of my spine and
the upward tilt of my chin
my hair is a golden light
shining over hoops of silver
and diamond studs
crystal pierces my nose
lips soft and full
eyes lined in black, never faltering
-
this goddess is aware
conscious
enlightened
eager.
-
I will not abide
silence
undeserved
because you lack the courage
to face me.
I will not abide
deception
manipulation
or syrupy black selfishness.
I will not abide
injustice
mockery
or ultimatums.
I will not abide
misrepresentation
vagueness
or weakness.
-
I am Sidra
of
the stars
of
the sky
of
the night
-
I move swiftly in the night
eyes bright
a creator
a lover
a muse
thoughts align
images swirl
pen to paper
my body moves
sensuous and confident
music booms
lips curve upwards
-
the day descends with
distractions pulling awareness
into waves of concentration
tiny fragments of
thoughts and ideas
begin to build
for later contemplation
-
I know the minds of men.
I will not be diverted.
My power has been revealed.
I will protect the unprotected
**And I will stand
Made of stars
And unleash Hell.**
-
I will reign terror on your ego
and bring the sword down
on your garishness.
Naked and ******** on my warhorse
I will strike you down with silver spear
and you will pay for your misdeeds.
In all my thundering beauty
with nothing but logic and art
I will slam you to the wall
and declare you a fool.
-
I am Sidra of the Stars
I stand in the vale
I will not be diverted.
Jun 13, 2013
Jun 13, 2013 at 1:07 AM UTC
"There is a clarity you feel...something like a bride would feel, removing a veil and seeing her husband without it. No thin mesh, clouding you. There is a clarity you feel when you finally put down your abuse."
I say while abusing once again. It's funny how light on dark moments makes the light seem brighter than normal. The truth is, the light is no different than any other day, but since you've never seen the light here its brighter. A funny perspective skew. With abuse it's the same way. You quit, give up the vice that holds you tighter than any human hand. And feels more comfortable than love. You quit addiction for sun light because after you've given death a few rounds you realize that sun isn't just bright...it's warm.
It touches your skin
and all your cells race
to the surface,
antioxidize my sins.
Months pass and you become used to the light. It's normal again, and it grows weary under the weight of the boots. The veil would be better than this.
It was better than this.
And so the light becomes the same, and maybe you need darkness again to feel that warmth. Maybe you need the vice to cut off your circulation, make you shiver in the summer winter. So that sunlight doesn't just slide past you, so that it touches you again, the way it did when you opened your eyes for the first time...
Guilt rides your
back instead,
the warhorse
of an individual
apocalypse.
You make it, though...you keep secrets, you tell lies, so no one knows. It's not just darkness, it's silence, to deprivate from
"You can get through this"
"You'll be okay"
"Youre strong"
Because paranoid whispers are better friends. But it takes awakening from the right dream to remember that the sun loves you more. Your sun loves everyone, it pours down on everyone, it fills the darkness. All the darkness is just empty space anyway. Waiting for something warm to fill it.
It takes awakening from the right dream to make you realize that the sun doesn't just fill darkness, it grows life, it lives at the crest of mountain peaks, above the ocean of clouds.
So you understand that sun lights a path,
and you run it,
you plant feet
and
oaks blossom.
You never again take the world for granted.
You never again compare light.
Because even if it is the same light overflowing a new dark,
It is a growing light.
And it is always warm,
And it sometimes burns.
Apr 30, 2014
Apr 30, 2014 at 10:53 AM UTC
(panic in the woods)
i will name things
i will name myself
i am not afraid
i will speak
my name
i will show
my face
i am not afraid
i cannot
in good conscience
remain anonymous
with this
one life
**i cannot
stifle the
one thing
i have
that is
my own**
in the woods i named
a stick and
in a rage i held it
wanting to break
stones with wood
i looked frantically
about at
the trees
with their many
notches and
dark hideaways
and was astonished
to find they
had not made
a place for me
to live and hide
i wanted to
scream fire
i am here!
why isn't there
a place for me?
then i felt as if
i were a tree
a bare tree
with thieves already
bargaining for
next spring's leaves
not yet sprung
so i marched
down the trail
in a desperate
fury and suddenly stopped
because there
on the grey, dusty ground
was the most beautiful,
vibrant red berry
i had ever seen
and i silently
shouted and named,
red berry!
i am a red berry!
i know i am a red berry!
why, then
do i feel like
the trampled
grey dust?
tears streamed down
my face
and i panicked
my breath came
too fast
i looked around
wildly
and i named everything i saw
and in my rapid
breathing
i desperately wanted
nothing more than
a warhorse
i wanted my stick back,
that i had flung aside
i wanted to roar
"break!"
and watch the stone crumble
i wanted my horse
to be strong and lithe,
beautiful
a thundering
terror
i wanted to
wreak vengeance on...
what? who?
i couldn't name
my enemy
but i am the namer
i will name
the bane of my heart
the cursed
corrupt nightmares
of government and
moral authority
but my deepest self
is lashing out
for something more
to name
something to break
myself against
but this thing
escapes me
remains nameless
slippery
and out of
my control
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 7:37 PM UTC
The path falls out behind me
Shaking my world into stillness
My warhorse is tired
And I am battle weary
Still we ride, even blindly
Having faith in our fulfillment
Within the shadow of the spire
I can see clearly
Among the flowers, a fair haired maiden
Softly sings my name in praise
But no one else seems to hear
Or notice her presence
Yet to me it is blatant
This vision fills most my days
But is she really in front of me here
Or do I merely feel her essence
Either way I’m left elated
By how we can beget such a paradise
I would sacrifice all of reality
To bring forth its existence
All effort is for naught, these worlds remain separated
Dreams eternally tantalize
Every waking moment of normality
Until the day we share in the writing of a sentence.
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 6:43 PM UTC
Trip Sitter Poem by Rob Sandman
We’ve all got a friend like this of course,
Istabraq, Seabiscuit the ould warhorse,
Snortin like a whale inhaling at the surface,
Smokes til just lookin’ at them makes your lungs hurt its-
Amazing grace while you’re off your face messed up,
They’re in the corner laughin' - not a hair mussed up,
**Not out of place in the place to be,
The opposite in fact a life saver to see,
Always at your back with a friendly shoulder,
A spliff, skins smokes-well timed glass of water**
Not immune or a ****** just seasoned,
When you’re lost-beyond all reason,
Lost the end of your sentence?-they’ve got it,
a well tuned part in the heart of the party chaotic,
The calm center of the whirlpool, Deadpool-
Quick with a line, not too cuttin’ but nobodies fool,
trip sitter, designated brain at the sesh,
A little OCD maybe, but nonetheless,
We’re all thankful with a full tankful
Its gas havin' a laugh knowin' you can bank full-
Confidence in your mates if you trip,
*But no mercy with the quips, quick! zip your lips
If you’re not in full control of the tongue,
They’ll be followin’ the slips and zip down your lungs
You’re a wounded gazelle on the plains and they’ll lunge,
Like a cheetah once you’ve taken the plunge*
I’m not talkin of only one person of course,
We all take turns as the tour de force-
goes round
**Like a Merry go round sound friends abound
While you’re bewildered the wildebeest takes the crown,
Don’t know about you, but I’m blessed with a few true-
Trip sitters babysitters life fitters diametrically opposed to bullshitters**
*Sideplitters with one liners that leave you gaspin’
For air beyond compare got the grasp and flavor
Best savour the moments-they’re all too few ,
Best friends are saviours who help you pull through,
So lets all give thanks to the big hitters,
Thanks lads and lasses I’m always grateful for me trip sitters!*
Jun 7, 2017
Jun 7, 2017 at 12:37 AM UTC
Let me not be the warhorse to this myth called love
That the wisest of men shall bow before me
Erewhile, that warm light, hid in the clouds above;
Its grim shadows casting my uncertainty
From the chambers of scorn, locked on my own;
Thou drewest near like a wildflower, setting me free
O my torn heart restored, thou hast carefully sewn
Thou art my rescue; and thy smile, the key
Unto every one that hath felt this enchantment,
Whose power turns timid souls into beasts
If this be fate’s scheme, or divine entrapment
In the court of doubts, I testify to its fulfillment
Cometh my love, and delve into thine own heart
I am but a humble man, if I may ask of thee
My beloved, canst thou be with me forever?
Yonder, not far from here, lies our happily ever after
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 4:53 AM UTC
crusaders
christianized, zealous warmongers with ****** stains on stainless steel blades
hauling with them the great flapping insignias of royalty, emblems of their special heritage
disregarding the fact blood flows warm and fast all the same, nobody spared
familiar ties shattered over petty disputes of land and territory in the name of a great purpose
a great purpose disguising glory-seekers and painters whose favorite color is red
led by a massive snowy warhorse with crimson hooves and jet black beady eyes
old, worn, and of a raggedy golden mane forever worshipped
it is my fate to follow
(that’s what they tell me)
crusaders
biblical storytales springing to life as they gallivant across the country singing do-goods
while their actions connotate some great demon lurking about behind their holy words
valiant warriors in service to a mighty omnipresent deity watching woefully from above
as they unnecessarily **** innocents that they knew it was wrong to ******
blind belief is as alive as bloodlust to them, screaming their lungs out for the almighty
they are the salvation and the scourge, leeches of the land and lordly leaders for long
fearful eyes of aliens stare to the sky and grovel in a piteous attempt for mercy
he cannot condone this
(and that’s what they don’t)
crusaders
knights of cardboard armor and ironclad skulls falling by the thousands
yet they relentlessly hunt the enemy like predatory raptors of the past, voracious
not yet declawed or defanged as they are before the plastic wisdom of man claiming to be
the god of glory, gold, and gore; suddenly he is a savage ravager and avenger of the undead
men swear themselves to a cloaked idol in order to become accusers of the guilty
when the openness of perception may be all that is truly necessary
even kings are defenseless against the all-consuming force of religious blessing
how is it just?
crusaders
god’s greatest success
crusaders
god’s greatest regret
(am i both or neither?)
Mar 4, 2019
Mar 4, 2019 at 10:26 PM UTC
blessed with blemish-less-ness
the ole warhorse decided a new dawn
was upon us all
and dawned a frock of silky white
to grace the cover
as a lady of glamour
instead of the epitome
of masculinity –
decathlete hero in drag
or
a lifelong sufferer of gender
uncertainty
either way
today we have Caitlyn
a vision of beauty
with a funny little scar –
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 11:09 AM UTC
a stiff lesson in letting go.
a fastball to the chest.
an image of death
approaching on his warhorse.
got a lot to accept about catch
and release,
about the karmic patterns chasing me.
i'll eat my own tail before i acknowledge
history is repeating itself.
a recursive curse
of love unreturned,
rebirths.
dizzy at the sight of my own bleeding/bleating heart,
i howl in frenzy and
deny i was bit by a werewolf
in the new moon's dark.
am i as translucent,
as you are opaque?
does my breath feel like an earthquake
as i quiver at the sound of your name?
nowadays,
i am sure of nothing
more than my spinning.
your elusive grin
pins me to the wet dirt of august,
and dares me to chase you all over again.
a lesson in walking away.
a slow burn in the stomach.
a never-ending plummet
into this fever-dream's abyss.
Aug 4, 2016
Aug 4, 2016 at 5:24 PM UTC
A man’s bike is very much like a loyal dog,
Obedient, fast and often times clumsy
For us men, our bike’s can mean the world to us,
For they take us from A to B, and from Y to Z
Our bike’s can’t survive on their own you know, the past has proven this so
Maintenance is a must, not a maybe,
Just like you wouldn’t leave home without feeding the hound, would you?
We’ve travelled across cities ten-fold, my bike and I,
Beyond mountainous regions and across lakes and rivers
You see, my bike has this energy,
Not like anything I have witnessed before
It surpasses all expectations, and has held together strong through the ages of time
I never gave my bike a name,
And nor will I ever plan to do so
For the bike, you see is part of our physical being,
And has one solid purpose in life
See, It’s just a piece of mechanical assembly
Built for our pleasure in mind
It takes us places where the foot dare not enter,
And where the car wheel would struggle to go
Two wheels, rotating simultaneously at dizzying speeds!
Ah! What a sight to behold
As I take my dear boy by the handle bars, its glistening paintwork shines bright
I make sure it’s sturdy for the ride ahead, my mechanical warhorse
I say to myself under uncertain breath..
“Let’s follow the sunset, or where the rainbow ends its journey”
For our uncertainty leads to great adventure and discovery
And in the end, isn’t life meant to be one big beautiful adventure, anyway?
Jan 5, 2019
Jan 5, 2019 at 7:34 AM UTC
And so I walk upon this stage of life
Set before this night of a thousand eyes
Sans players and bereft of drum and fife
My given charge to sift the truth from lies,
To extract from the ore of distant past
Some kernel of what the years ahead may hold
And though I know full well the die is cast
My gestures and speeches long since foretold
And I am content with the part I play
In this warhorse my fathers have composed
Though other dramas are now underway,
Sad and hackneyed things which I had supposed
Would proceed, my presence not required.
The director demurred when I sent regrets
And so that preordained was what transpired,
This life no stroll upon the parapets.
Apr 8, 2021
Apr 8, 2021 at 4:21 PM UTC
Deep within this flute of bone
Within this drum of skin
There's a war that's rising up
A battle will begin.
A war which has no victims
A fight no one can lose
It is the conflict of the heart
The heart of the abused.
A warhorse in armor
A champion in chains
We have fallen VERY low
Blood coursing
Down our manes.
The stain upon the spoils
A crying crimson curse
To those who have abused us
The subjects of our verse.
We put pen to paper
With our dark puce ink
We aim our silver bullet
And make our reader THINK.
With tempered steel
swords we wield
The plunder of our youth
We, as valiant knights of old
Slay dragons with
The TRUTH!
How innocence was
brought to naught
Our soul a waxy taper
Guttering upon its sconce
Our hearts becoming vapor.
But the One who
fights the BEST
Has given me a lance
And so I fight...
so i write
He's given me a chance!
Strength, the very
atmosphere!
Courage as the air!
A living hell
becomes a well
Its ink is my despair...
O come! You demons
of the drought!
You minions of the mind!
You will try...
but you will DIE!
Your fate will be unkind!
I said there was no victor?
I'm telling truth, you see.
No one is truly vanquished...
The enemy was ME.
Cathy Jarvis
November 10, 2018
Revised March 21, 2019
Mar 22, 2019
Mar 22, 2019 at 3:38 AM UTC