PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

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