I looked below from a four-legged beast.
The ground closing in around me
I tried my best not to see
my face pummeling the ground beneath.
I lay among the tall green grass
unhurt I seem to be.
The beast came along beconing me,
to get back on willingly.
I sighed "you brat"
he smiled, nuzzled, and nudged
till I stood and held him closely.
I adressed the scare that sent me pummeling
a sack tied loosely to a stump.
He sniffed then was okay
I praised him and got back on the beast back.
A horse was staring,
Staring for long,
At the sunflowers,
And listening to the song!
At times some glittery butterflies,
Sat for a second on the horse’s back,
Not hurting him even a bit,
The horse wanted them to come back!
The horse looked at the dying sun,
And sensing the brazen shadows did run.
It ill behoves a hive,
To be without a bee;
But it ill behooves a horse,
To shoe his hoof and flee.
nowadays all she does is whine about her bodily pains,
but when you were left alone,
she stayed drunk, prowling the bars
days on end,
oblivious to the emotional wreckage left
on your chest, like a hot iron
melted through the tender heart of a 10 year old,
the open wound to the
skin,
cauterized shut
too soon,
without even leaving any open flesh
for the pain to be released,
seared closed with the shame, pain, and false pride of generations,
sealed in for years like a safety box of magnets,
pulling you towards anything and everything self-destructive
in a desperate search for some morsel of hope,
that the next christmas dinner might be more than
knocking on the doors of neighbors, being lucky enough to be
asked in to share a holiday meal,
and an attempt to be noticed for something other than the burden
you were to her deep and fervent longing for
the escape, into smoke filled rooms,
that reeked with the heavy, putrid smell of week-old frying grease,
cigarettes, and hairspray, that became one of your main
reasons for going to live with your dad--
other than the day she up and left for california,
a 50 dollar bill to substitute her mac and cheese, dribbled with
one and a half inches of ashes off a pall mall,
only to be less than reluctantly welcomed by him,
and a stepbrother who most always was
notably more worthy of better dirtbikes, nicer clothes
and a much more frequent pat on the back
for a job well done,
that most often wasn't.
a dollar for him and quarter for you, along with the bottom bunk,
that smelled like pee from all the years he wet the bed,
only ever good enough for sloppy seconds--
and then there was brownie,
poor broken down swayback, with skin infections,
baldspots and degenertive bone disease,
in light of your brother's black stallion stud,
as if the 6 inch scar on the back of your leg wasn't enough
from your father's drunken rage with a 4 inch hunting knife,
and the glass from the window that left it's souvenir the night he threw you
across the room, all before the age of 14.
shit.
i may have shot that horse between the eyes too.
11:37 PM 6/26/2013
©
.........
black horse
midnight rider
wilting rose head
streaking towards the horizon
white angel
restless glow
nobody to watch over tonight
black midnight
wilting rose rider
head towards the streaking horizon
restless angel
white glow
nobody to take care of the night
full-moon heart
sings sad songs
watching over us all
tonight
black horse
white angel
full-moon heart
streaking towards the horizon
tonight
Tell u about eating meat
Lowers vibration exponentially
This is why gave up steak
The whole process full of hate
To get meat on your plate
Some cows sat in a field
Lots become your next meal
Get bundled in a truck
Reach the abbertoir
Dead out of luck
Unloaded, and stuck in a pen
They got noses to smell death
They get nervous, not happy
As low as it gets vibrationally
Watching the death of family
So when the animal is killed
Not very happy, hardly thrilled
The meat ends up sad too
And when you eat the stuff
The sadness passes INTO YOU
You may like the smell or taste
But of life its such a waste
If a christian, Bible says it’s ok
But thats also a trick sadly
Designed to lower vibration
EXPONENTIALLY
I know hippies that eat animals
But before give it lots of love
I have been told, tasitest meat
Every likely to eat
Better that primest quiality
And about the horsemeat in
Supermarket burgers, a sin
Not cos its bad for you
Or lowers the light within
Simply a matter of grabbing
Mis labelling food ingredients
Not only isnt heaven sent
People doing it to increase profit
Using cheap ingredients STOP IT
Dont worry every nazi pays
Karma ensures theres no escape
Not just meat, gluten too
But that stuff is NO GOOD FOR YOU
Aspartame, sulphites, list goes on
Flouride too, its all wrong
Horses for meat got to stop
Our 4 legged friends, good service
Pulling, pitponies, now nervous
Knackers yard or baby machine
Wholesale abuse, low vibrating
Doubly sad that meat will be
THE ANSWER IS
BE A VEGETARIAN LIKE ME.
I eat fish simply because
6 second memory, dont think a lot
They are happy when they die
So wont bring sadness to your life
Unlike abbertoir strife
Free range eggs too
The only ones good for you
Depressing life for Battery hens
Swimming in thier piss n shit
Might as well be dead
Its a free choice anyway
Mark my words for brighter days
Nothings dragging me down at all
I constantly have a ball
No meat; higher vibrational
Greetings Brockweir how do you do?
Just had to write a poem to you
What is happening to HAPPA right now
Unjust, Unfair, to lies they cow tow
Cos their staff as unfairly treated
As the horses being mistreated
looked after, great work of HAPPA
Just because cheap supermarket chains
Put horses in the food chain
It is their own fault I’m sure
Reasoning? You get what you pay for
HAPPA do INCREDIBLE WORK
Don’t deserve the flak being heard
Please look after, great work of HAPPA
Horses live for a long time
Not many charities too of equine
gypsy, pit ponies, race horses too
all the subject of widespread abuse
Decent human being? Caring?
Support HAPPA’s equine caring
Support HAPPA’s fight; troubled horses plights
My father rode his horse with a special feeling. He loved walking with his horse, enjoying the views of his field crops, feeling the breeze in his face, watching his ranch as he went by, relaxing at that large calmed place, beside his chestnut friend. My father would go riding whenever he could, whenever he was mad or stressed, whenever he felt happy and blessed, my father would scape to his ranch, and ride with his four legged friend. I liked it very much when he used to take me with him; I had a lot of fun with him and with his brownish horse. Riding beside him, he used to tell me stories about his youth, about his childhood, about his golden charreria days, and how good he was. We both rode together in that horse, while we both shared a happy peaceful time. While we talked and laughed, while I enjoyed what my father loved the most, in the same horse we rode. That horse was wonderful and loyal, the “Azteca” his name was, strong but short, fast but no for distance-long, he became my father’s best friend at work, and at every time he needed him. Every time my father was riding that horse, you could see him young, full of life, and free… looking like the real Charro he used to be. The “Azteca”, was part of the family. My father and his horse shared many moments together, they raced together, they competed in charrerias together, and they also learned from each other. My father thought him tricks and the horse thought him perseverance. My father taught him discipline and the horse to quickly stand up after you fall to the ground. My father even got married riding that horse; my mother was a little ashamed of course. Instead of a car taking the bride to church, it was the Azteca who brought her to the chapel’s front porch. Indeed, it was a very special horse. My family was very sad, when three years ago, it happened the worst; the poor old Azteca had a stroke. My father was very sad, but very thankful he also was. It was then, when I realized what that so very special horse meant. That horse belonged to my father’s brother, who died in a car accident 25 years ago. My dad used to tell me how close he was to him, to his brother. He was his best friend, just like the Azteca used to be.
He's tilled his soil through Spring
the farmer works really hard,
his horse works hard too
Winter snow, kept them on guard.
They waited all Winter
for the snow to melt,
so they could play in the dirt
the cold, they have felt.
The plough sits ready
to be hooked up to the horse,
there is more tilling to do
the farmer knows this, of course.
His rows are ready
to be planted with seeds,
planning for the Winter to come
the job is non-stop, yes indeed.
He waters his gardens
waiting for his crops to grow,
the Summer sun bakes the seeds
row after gently looked after row.
The farmer works hard every day
bringing in his harvest,
potatoes, cucumbers, onions
but the strawberries, are the best.
Copyright ©Cynthia Jones
Dec.17/2011