"whinnying" poems
Watching wild unicorns, dance in the snow,
Whinnying, frolicking, as happy as can be,
As I hover high above, observing all below.
Such stunning beauty, makes my heart glow,
Mythical creatures, running wild and free,
Watching wild unicorns, dance in the snow.
They are seeds of dreams, we lovingly sow,
Rearing in acknowledgement, just for me,
As I hover high above, observing all below.
They begin racing clouds, perhaps for show,
Maybe I am a dream, one only they can see,
Watching wild unicorns, dance in the snow.
Amongst trillions of stars, one must know,
Unicorns live and play, with unbridled glee,
As I hover high above, observing all below.
Through layers of cloud, drifting so slow,
To unlock sheer bliss, I now possess the key,
Watching wild unicorns, dance in the snow,
As I hover high above, observing all below.
©Paul M Chafer 2014
Nov 1, 2014
Nov 1, 2014 at 10:36 AM UTC
unsuccessful potatoes & you found a tree in the ocean
i spent the afternoon digging, digging
my fingernails into my own fear of commitment
the fear of my own reputation
now the cat's in heat & richard nixon (the dog)
is teasing her with his trump card
she takes it
& squeezes it
very gently
then rips it open madly & snarls
& it oozes and drips out of her mouth
we all pick up a thousand pieces of a minute
i cremated my sister this morning & new spirits
arrived at my doorstep before noon
they sang to me of instinct,
whinnying about the antique zenith
up in cheyenne
"gimmie some secrets" she said
so i carved them
into my arm
into a minotaur's chest
into a giant looking glass
into a wooden boat
& i set sail for the sundial,
"there is no truth"
my eyes are wax & the ocean
means nasty filth
but everything is useless now
frogs carry high powered harmonicas
& walk into the spells of Poe
& into the hexagrams of Hamlet
i do not want to carry a pitchfork across
some godforsaken desert
i do not want to feel my own evaporation
while the real artists brood in the meantime
i want to waste away on a slushy evening
i will live in my armpit
& hate you
& never wear deodorant
"your mind is small--it is limited--why must you understand?"
Jan 10, 2012
Jan 10, 2012 at 9:11 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
i.
caren forgot about her morning. caren forgot it was wednesday. caren had an event and she was not there.
caren is a shadow. caren is an absence of space. caren is a gap that people shy away from, women in black dresses sidestepping past her memory.
caren is a woman with a streetcar. caren is a woman with an office job. caren is a woman with a social network. caren goes to functions. caren is no longer a function, but a product of her own actions.
caren forgot herself.
ii.
shattered windshields. broken glass like triangle teeth. more monsters lurk in mirrors than in the recesses of the closet. behemoths wait by water coolers, demons sit in sweaty three-by-fours. the devil wears a motorcycle helmet and caren hasn't learned from her mistakes.
iii.
run a red light. it's december and she's egging on the new year. frosted features and blinkers hide hot flashes. she's impatient for her age, a businesswoman at her best.
a shift in gear. a change in mood. road rage, road rash. a few words from a dark knight on a whinnying bike.
iv.
lane changes and unintentional nudges. motorcycle launches the devil like a dove to heaven. caren stays earthbound, blood spilled to nourish the ground. fertilizer runs through her veins, and vampire trees in city parks drink it up. bystanders drink it up.
v.
caren is a casualty. caren is the victim of her own habits.
caren is a corpse in a coffin. caren is an elephant in the viewing room.
caren is to blame in eyes and minds. caren is condemned in whispers, but caren is lamented out loud, so caren is proud.
caren got **** done.
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 8:19 PM UTC
BEING out of heart with government
I took a broken root to fling
Where the proud, wayward squirrel went,
Taking delight that he could spring;
And he, with that low whinnying sound
That is like laughter, sprang again
And so to the other tree at a bound.
Nor the tame will, nor timid brain,
Nor heavy knitting of the brow
Bred that fierce tooth and cleanly limb
And threw him up to laugh on the bough;
No govermnent appointed him.
1.7k
(For Paula)THE GRIP of the ice is gone now.
The silvers chase purple.
The purples tag silver.
They let out their runners
Here where summer says to the lilies:
"Wish and be wistful,
Circle this wind-hunted, wind-sung water."
Come along always, come along now.
You for me, kiss me, pull me by the ear.
Push me along with the wind push.
Sing like the whinnying wind.
Sing like the hustling obstreperous wind.
Have you ever seen deeper purple ...
this in my wild wind fingers?
Could you have more fun with a pony or a goat?
Have you seen such flicking heels before,
Silver jig heels on the purple sky rim?
Come along always, come along now.
1.7k
How shall my animal
Whose wizard shape I trace in the cavernous skull,
Vessel of abscesses and exultation's shell,
Endure burial under the spelling wall,
The invoked, shrouding veil at the cap of the face,
Who should be furious,
Drunk as a vineyard snail, flailed like an octopus,
Roaring, crawling, quarrel
With the outside weathers,
The natural circle of the discovered skies
Draw down to its weird eyes?
How shall it magnetize,
Towards the studded male in a bent, midnight blaze
That melts the lionhead's heel and horseshoe of the heart
A brute land in the cool top of the country days
To trot with a loud mate the haybeds of a mile,
Love and labour and ****
In quick, sweet, cruel light till the locked ground sprout
The black, burst sea rejoice,
The bowels turn turtle,
Claw of the crabbed veins squeeze from each red particle
The parched and raging voice?
Fishermen of mermen
Creep and harp on the tide, sinking their charmed, bent pin
With bridebait of gold bread, I with a living skein,
Tongue and ear in the thread, angle the temple-bound
Curl-locked and animal cavepools of spells and bone,
Trace out a tentacle,
Nailed with an open eye, in the bowl of wounds and ****
To clasp my fury on ground
And clap its great blood down;
Never shall beast be born to atlas the few seas
Or poise the day on a horn.
Sigh long, clay cold, lie shorn,
Cast high, stunned on gilled stone; sly scissors ground in frost
Clack through the thicket of strength, love hewn in pillars drops
With carved bird, saint, and suns the wrackspiked maiden mouth
Lops, as a bush plumed with flames, the rant of the fierce eye,
Clips short the gesture of breath.
Die in red feathers when the flying heaven's cut,
And roll with the knocked earth:
Lie dry, rest robbed, my beast.
You have kicked from a dark den, leaped up the whinnying light,
And dug your grave in my breast.
1.8k
Purple hair, purple jewellery, and clothes.
Purple everything. The cross between male
and female. Mixed in a painting *** with dried up brush.
The coloured high of the ultimate low, for me.
It has caused me to see, beyond
my own yearnings and see that of more deeply
penetrating needs. Another living in my
soul. Cruel to me. One I couldn’t have fathomed had
I not fallen, into the dark. To see, to
need the pain and crush the happy thoughts.
Crave purple things above all. Crave a taste bitter
only sleep too long can create. Any creation is
hailed, heckled as the act of treason. How dare
you feel anything constructive?! And hide in
a corner till it’s gone. Till the thoughts vapor into
thin air and nothing is left but empty blackness.
Stand up, failing at first two attempts, and gain the
strength to not be ridiculed a third. Falling forward,
hanging in mid air. The wood hits the ribs, and sharp
pain adds to the blunt. The thumping in the words,
the washing of blood in the ears. The whinnying noise, tone
of loneliness reaffirming this connection cut off
felt from birth on. Never able to join the ranks of the
careless. Whether one lives or dies. Afraid to live, stuck
behind a thick glass wall. Alienation from birth, being
addicted to the dark. With purple hue. Purple ledged
in the deep of my soul. Purgatory keeps a flame to warm my
naked arms and legs. Huddled in the moist cold of
the hidden part of the mind. The most fundamental. Foundation
to build a life upon. Not fully corroded but hole ridden and
making for a perfect tomb. When life ends and you are
left with the colour of both male and female the same. Colour
of sadness.
© 2004
Jan 30, 2015
Jan 30, 2015 at 9:44 PM UTC
today is a day in autumn poised somewhere
on the toasted bread color spectrum
except wetter and chewier this morning
the gold light found me solemnly dancing
in the mud among the cypress knees
digging down to the bone to pass
this skin deep writer's block
the sun seemed huge and flat
when it sailed over the evergreen hill
misty on the beak of a warrior owl
but like me it's burning on the inside
tingling the tip of my spine causing
the blood in my arms and legs to buzz
beneath the unshockable woodpecker
with his tremendous hammer where
the monarch butterfly holds court
my skin becomes streaked with brown
as my bare feet slap the water face sending
slow elongated ripples through the swamp river
when the sun begins to spray tie dye off my shoulders
i'm haloed like a young madonna among the
jabbering leaves and whinnying branches
last night there was no howl at the moon cliche
as i let the hungry rain eat me i burped out
a victorious purple bird-sized butterfly
fighting in a gossamer heap from my tum
for my own confused psychoactive salvation
i'm still splashing and swooping
by the adenoidal afternoon
as the wild fox whimpers on the hill
the angelic chorus kicks in when
an ethereal forest nymph emerges
with her hair washed fresh
by the crisp autumn rain
out of the long trumpet gun barrel
of an orchid and dips her silken tongue into
the blue gray puddle of dew collected
in my bare navel
her skinny fingers flit between
the woven strings of an autoharp and
my arms fall limp like the branches of a wind
bent pine toward the fuzzy backs of centipedes
my chest glistens with perspiration
and my lips begin to quiver nostrils aroused
by the organic mating smells in the
daisy and dandelion clusters i
absorb through my open pores
like clear clean shining light
honing priming myself
into a glorious monumental
semi ***** pustule
Nov 13, 2015
Nov 13, 2015 at 11:09 AM UTC
Shall thou fade
or is it a blunder
if one can speak thy mind
in regards to ones perspective
from a standpoint?
Or is it ones best
to express hence
whining
or whinnying
Clouds are near
sun shall fade
rain may drip
darkness
Jun 15, 2010
Jun 15, 2010 at 10:55 AM UTC
She skipped and jumped her way
around one lap of the football pitch
squealing and whinnying
like a gazelle
exercising
and enjoying the fresh air
Feb 11, 2019
Feb 11, 2019 at 6:43 AM UTC
Here we are
a page to settle in on
our once silent thoughts
finally put into these special arrangement of letters
into these meager words that we hope will adequately describe
everything.
From the feelings;
such as the greatest joy of becoming a father
as he holds his little girl in his arms for the very first time
when he so wanted a boy, he could care less now
without reason, or rhyme.
He swells with a pride that none could ever take from him now
as the tears well up in his eye.
Yes this one special moment
he would not let anyone deny.
To the places;
There she sat atop of the largest hill
the only hill around, in fact
that would over look the valley of rolling knolls
as she watched over her flock of sheep
she watched the galloping mares
and listened to the whinnying of foals.
She felt the breeze as it slipped between the tips of the tall grass surround
she thanks the Lord of Hosts everyday
for this spot she's found.
For on top this sturdy rock, on this high, high hill
she sees her peaceful village down below
and takes the breath she's been holding
knowing for just moment
she can finally be still.
And the people, oh the silly, beautiful people;
There they were
this merry band of friends.
They have been there despite their dubious beginnings
their rough starts
and all sorts of wrong footing.
Stronger than steel
and closer than kin
years of friendships has shown to them
that kind of love will always win.
So here you are dear reader
with a voice in your head
reading every line that there is
I think the lesson is quite clear.
You belong
right here.
Dec 26, 2017
Dec 26, 2017 at 9:50 AM UTC
Deep thoughts
Fill her head
She wishes to share
But no one listens
The boy wants to say
To his love
I love you
But he doesn't listen
The dog howles
He is in pain
In the middle of the night
But the neighbors don't listen
The old house groans
Protests the people
The furniture too
But the people don't listen
The girl slits her wrists
Gives up on her life
Falls into an abyss
Because nobody listened
The boy told his love
His love laughed
Called him ***
Because his love did no listen
The dog lies dying
Still whinnying
Wanting to be loved
Because the neighbors did not listen
The house is tired
With holes and broken wood
Abandoned and forgotten
The people did not listen
So listen
Jan 24, 2013
Jan 24, 2013 at 12:04 AM UTC
Death rides at midnight
Filling the land with blight
He casts a frightful image
As he rides through the village
His frightful scythe gleams
Wet with the blood of unrealized dreams
The cold, hard metal
Is uncaring enough to unsettle
Beneath his dark hood
Lies nothing good
Only the husk of a man
Who signals the end of a lifespan
His skeletal horse
He rides along his dutiful course
Whinnying as he stops
To **** the farmer's crops
Solemn is his duty
To take away life's beauty
Unbearable to a living man
The underworld's ghastly helmsman
The pistol is his herald
In his black cloak appareled
Weapons of war
Bring him to the door
His job is made no easier
Nor and breezier
By mankinds love of violence
Or vile fraudulence
All the thousands of young souls
Lives lost without completing their goals
Brought to a swift end
By Death only to attend
Death rides at midnight
Filling the land with blight
He casts a frightful image
As he rides through the village
Searching for souls to pillage
Nov 4, 2019
Nov 4, 2019 at 2:01 PM UTC
Fill the room temperature of my lungs with your kiss's breath –
room temperature wine; compared to your lipstick, and a fine silken
complimented red dress. My compliments to the night, two bodies
twinned into each other, close to the hip’s side. We started off a feast
of sides; you took a piece of my heart – served on a platter. And by
your worth, you must cry diamond tears that cut your face; I tasted
all of your scars.
In the dark, we kiss in the warmth of our love, that it grows a spark –
the elephant in the room; how could I ever forget what you always
meant to me! You split my lips; opening myself to you as I told you
the deeper parts of my story – we are at the same level of building
this close connection, waiting on this storey.
You murdered my soul; killing parts of my time just to spend it all
on you – piercing me into silence from my core; the cause of you
smothering me in the heat of love. Nay, I dropped onto my feet
galloping after your love, crying after it in a whinnying neigh.
_I’m a horse in love._
Mar 15, 2025
Mar 15, 2025 at 3:25 AM UTC