On Dead Horse
We are on dead horse
Trembling ourselves
And consoling we are
Hundred kilometres
Per hours.
Tremendously we are
Not ours and who are
There to welcome us
We do not know.
We are not biased
Over sectoral approach
And not swift to
Comment on our
Departure at the moment.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Sleeping on Horseback
We had rode long and were still far from the inn;
My eyes grew dim; for a moment I fell asleep.
Under my right arm the whip still dangled;
In my left hand the reins for an instant slackened.
Suddenly I woke and turned to question my groom:
'We have gone a hundred paces since you fell asleep.'
Body and spirit for a while had exchanged place;
Swift and slow had turned to their contraries.
For these few steps that my horse had carried me
Had taken in my dream countless aeons of time!
True indeed is that saying of Wise Men
'A hundred years are but a moment of sleep.'
Just another flight
At the wind blown, dusty
and cold De Brug that is full of tents
we get into lorries
and at Bloemspruit air force base
near to Bloemfontein
airborne soldiers armed and equipped
at sixteen hundred hours
get onto aircraft
and the Hercules is hardly in the air
(like it is with soldiers
most start sleeping)
as if this thirteen hundred kilometres
is just another flight
to Grootfontein air force base
and I see the sun setting
stars moving past in the sky
and the big yellow moon
while we cross the airspace
of Botswana
and the coming action
is already gnawing at me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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One Little Comment
One little comment can really change your life;
It can make you feel good or cut you like a knife.
As a result, you may now want to try something new,
Or with an aspect of life, you may now be through.
You mull the comment over and take it to heart;
The speaker of the comment, unaware they’ve played a part.
The chances are that, of the comment, the speaker has forgotten,
But you are now left feeling really encouraged or really rotten.
Some comments are just throw-a-ways,
But they can easily make or break your day.
Some comments stick forever in your mind,
Whether they’re really hurtful or really kind.
Many years later, a comment you may still be able to quote;
It could be one which made you sink or one which made you float.
You will probably still be able to recall it word for word,
And even imitate the tone in which the comment was first heard.
As the result of a comment, you may feel better or worse,
And the speaker of the comment, you’ll either love or curse.
A comment can make you give up or give you the will to succeed;
Off one little comment, our further thoughts will often feed.
They can change the way that you see yourself,
And even have a good or bad effect on your health.
A bad comment can leave us feeling rather unsure,
Whereas a good comment, can leave us wanting more.
Just one comment, which may last only a few fleeting seconds,
May result in a whole new life, which suddenly now beckons.
You may leave your old life far behind,
Or a whole new life, you may now find.
So just take a moment and think before you speak;
Of the joy you may bring or the havoc you may wreak.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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The Miracle of a Moment
A week?
A day?
An hour?
Time enough
For excellence
A moment?
Too little!
Too swift!
Too short!
Too brief!
Not so
Not right
Not true
A moment?
It’s enough!
Pregnant with possibilities
A moment
Overflowing with opportunities
A Moment
Saturated with significance
A moment
Rich with reality
A moment
Bursting with beauty
A moment
Loaded with life
A moment
Encoded with eternity
A moment
Maximize every moment
poem by Howard Simon
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Love grows more tremendously full, swift, poignant, as the years multiply.
A goal in sight
One two or go on making it to eight hundred
The poems may go on piling without any end
There is definite goal or aim in sight
You might attain it or would like to continue the fight
'You are good man but bad poet'
I read message which cautioned me not to write
This is not right place for you to reflect the views
I too felt it needed constant reviews
It has become craze among writers
They try to play easy and not prove as good fighters
They may approach readers to view their articles
They also try to limit themselves in small circle
'You read my article and I shall read yours'
This may please each other to have some favors
The quality may limit to one particular leave
The writers may not have good chance to excel
The flaws or drawbacks may not be pointed to him at all
It may be crushed under friendly observation or call
Why at all we need to approach viewers to comment?
Is there no other option to approach them for a moment?
Many comment sarcastically as if they are very good expert
The writer' only crime is request for support
This is not essentially to find any favor at the outset
It is only aimed at getting foot hold to set
Some writers get alienated over the honest remark
They want favorable remarks when try to venture or embark
This is not correct approach as it may not allow their real talents to surface
It may block the creativity and finally they enter in mad race
Any human being may not be pleased with the criticism
It hurts their ego and they take it affront to individualism
The relation has to be kept at one side and profession on other
Both should not be mixed and it should not concern or bother
The writing skill is God's gift and may come out as creation
To some it may prove dine piece and to others only recreation
Everybody has different perception and right to evaluate
The writers weight pro and con and the calculate
It is always nice to find place with some recognition
Your pen may be contributing more with ammunition
They may embark up on new themes and excel
Everything may then move on sound footing to fare well
Let us bear in mind that writing is good skill
They must write original and not try to steal
This may give them real test of poetry
It may prompt them to write new and it may also vary
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Going Home
When I was a student
I came through the rain,
with storms whipping the Cape
right through the Karoo
into Gauteng
flooding rivers
and blocking mountain passes
with land slides.
Avoiding fallen rocks and creeping
at sixty kilometres an hour
on the N1 till Worchester
on a road
that had only one lane open,
I passed the police
who were closing the freeway.
For fifteen hundred kilometres
the road was soaking wet
and my BMW’s four headlights glared
at any other vehicle that I met
and the ABS-brakes,
the six-cylinder engine
and power steering
did their fare share
to keep me on the road.
Every now and then
I had to stop to get fuel,
checked the oil,
checked the air pressure,
visited the washing room
and Coca Cola kept me awake
right through a soaking night
while I was on my way home
to sunny Pretoria.
I came to the house
in a early dawn,
was greeted by the dog
crying from joy
and wagging its tail,
got a huge plate
of sausage, putu porridge
with tomato gravy
and fried eggs
and coffee from my mother,
went to bed
and slept as if I were dead
right into the next day.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Painful Title
It’s just a useless try to fall in love
It’s just a cry
Just a die
And you ignore
All I want
Time is up
I am down
It needs time
time, like a horse
like a dead horse
dead hours
turn the seconds
No, no, no need to help
No help
No word
No alarm
No fight
Love is leaving
And the world is bored of
My fixed moments
Of my silence
Of my dead horse
Big pains
Big souls
Small cures
Short smiles
Deep eye
Deep mind
A little word
Destroy world
No time
No cure
No mind
No word
Big pain
Bigger pain
Largest pain
No word
No cure
No time
There’s a question
A pain
A painful cancer
A sculpture
Numb like a dead
I’m a beautiful reflection of sadness.
poem by Mohammad Reza Dousti
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What is a Horse?
What is a horse?
A horse has eyes as dainty as a mink.
The grace is interrupted merely by a blink.
A horse is beauty.
What is a horse?
A horse is a tree in a storm that never goes down.
A horse is a weathered rock that stays around.
A horse is ancient.
What is a horse?
A horse waltzes like breeze over rivers.
She curvets and leaps like rain shivers.
A horse is a marionette.
What is a horse?
A horse is determination, that never stops flowing.
A horse is fondness, that never stops growing.
A horse is poetic power.
poem by Lily Whittaker
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O Hymen! O Hymenee!
O HYMEN! O hymenee!
Why do you tantalize me thus?
O why sting me for a swift moment only?
Why can you not continue? O why do you now cease?
Is it because, if you continued beyond the swift moment, you would
soon certainly kill me?
poem by Walt Whitman
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Every Moment Felt Kept Precious
In these hours now,
With every moment felt kept precious.
I've become more sensitive to your needs.
With a satisfaction I am able to feed them.
In these hours now.
In these hours now,
With every moment felt kept precious.
Simple talks and quiet walks I welcome.
Leaving complexities and what they could be,
Left...
Alone.
Wanting us to be more honest with an openness.
Are wishes like this I am glad we witness and condone.
To know our love has never roamed.
And just as strong as steel and stone!
In these hours now!
And every moment felt kept precious...
In a respectfulness that has survived,
Through sour times.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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done journey to moon
seven sixty eight thousand
aero kilometres
ended life's voyage bit less
seven twenty thousand hours
tanka by S.D. Tiwari
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Wind Horse
Da naho… It is said,
Wind Horse, gentle Wind horse, you were the last of your kind.
Wind Horse, Wind Horse, you were running wild and free.
Wind Horse, Wind Horse, with this freedom you did nothing but give;
When one called for help you carried them to safety,
No enemy did you have.
Da naho… It is said,
Wind Horse, Wind Horse, you gave your life one day
To a boy with no leg.
Wind Horse, Wind Horse, you gave him your endless love.
Wind Horse, Wind Horse, you now run in the Great Hunting Grounds;
Giving joy to those there, as you did here.
Da naho… It is said,
Wind Horse, Wind Horse, your life was not the last gift
You gave the People.
Wind Horse, Wind Horse, you prayed for us, you wished a wish for us.
Wind Horse, Wind Horse, we remember you through your brother Horse.
Wi: yo: h … It is good.
Wind Horse, Wind Horse, we see you still.
poem by Tolly Rebeka Christian BlackWolf Hawk
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A Horse Is A Horse
A horse is a horse and a man is a man
And neither can be the other
And each can survive but is much better
In the company of one another.
And while a horse is a horse and that is true
A horse is but a beast
As a cow is a cow, some ask how
On its flesh we should not feast?
For they do so in France as in other places
And I don't know how they can
For while a horse is a horse and is only a horse
It is less a cow than it is a man!
poem by Tomás Ó Cárthaigh
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Shadow of the Horse
In bright sun’s wash
Over concrete & stone
Outlined in strong contrast
The shadow appears
Before the white horse
Who bows its curved head
In acknowledgment.
The images stream-
And its swift appearance
Stays, as light & heat seem
To do, although, it’s been
Only a short while.
The folklore of archetypes
weaves tales
Of a soul longing to be seen.
“I see you & I love you, ”
The shadow tells the horse
Without uttering a sound.
The evidence is in the light. In
The arrest of time-
In the passing moment like
The crucial note in a song. The
Horse sees that its not alone.
The dream of the horse & the shadow
Is hard to let go of.
There is comfort in love that
Doesn’t talk back. A long walk
Down the bridle path releases
The need.
The sun fades & filters through
The leaves & the breeze...Yes,
The sun fades & filters through
The leaves & the breeze as
Autumn comes & the horse
Gives thanks by merely living
the seasons.
The shadow increases & decreases
At will. And the curvature of the earth
bows low with a simple nod.
poem by E.E. Green
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Such A Short Stay
it is such a short stay
and will always be
so temporary
the moment one arrives
he prepares
for another departure
such is our nature
the moment one is born
he begins to die
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Shy Christmas Tree And The Hundred Fairy Lights
Now the Christmas tree sits shyly
In the corner of the room,
Like a shining beam of brightness
In the dismal winter gloom,
All aglow with tiny twinkles
Of a hundred fairy lights
Dancing round shy, trembling branches
In the dark December nights.
Shiny tinsel shimmers sparkling,
Twined around like silver string,
While the multicoloured baubles
Turn around and gently swing,
All reflecting light and glitter
From the hundred fairy lights
Dancing round shy, trembling branches
In the dark December nights.
Stuck tight to the top’s a fairy
In her ballerina dress;
As to what she might be thinking
You will have to try and guess:
Is she looking on with longing
At the hundred fairy lights
Dancing round shy, trembling branches
In the dark December nights?
There are presents for the grown-ups
Underneath the Christmas tree
But there’s nothing for the children
Who will have to wait and see
What old Santa has got for them
While the hundred fairy lights
Dance around shy, trembling branches
In the dark December nights.
He will go collect his reindeer
And pack presents on his sleigh
And then fly among the moonbeams,
Just before it’s Christmas day,
Guided by the twinkling starshine
Bright as all those fairy lights
Dancing round shy, trembling branches
In the dark December nights.
He will wait until each infant
Is tucked up so tight asleep,
For they mustn’t ever catch him
And they mustn’t ever peep
Till he vanishes in stardust
Glittering bright as fairy lights
Dancing round shy, trembling branches
In the dark December nights.
And then, when it’s Christmas morning,
At the bottom of each bed
There will be a pile of presents
For each smiling, happy head
That sees toys and gifts, as welcome
As the hundred fairy lights
Dancing round shy, trembling branches
In the dark December nights.
And they’ll hurry down the staircase
For their breakfast and they’ll see
That the Christmas tree is smiling,
Joining in with all their glee
As it shakes, with happy laughter,
All its hundred fairy lights
Which dance round shy, trembling branches
In the dark December nights.
But the Christmas tree grows sadder,
For the next twelve days will fly
And then Christmas will be over
And it’s time to say goodbye,
Though it’s thankful for the friendship
Of the hundred fairy lights
Which danced round shy, trembling branches
In the dark December nights.
But one of its relations,
In a forest, far away,
Waits, in keen anticipation,
For next year’s Christmas day
When it stands, proud, in the corner
With a hundred fairy lights
To dance round brave, waving branches
In the dark December nights.
poem by C. Richard Miles
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Just a Horse
A friend died recently
Our hearts filled with remorse
Some may not understand
They’ll say, “He was just a horse”
Broke his heart to sell Apache
But when Dad died he was forced
Three hundred and fifty dollars
“If you want just a horse”
For my daughter, a new chapter
In her growing up course
Her heart and eyes burned bright
Yet, “he was just a horse”
In the arena, through the poles
Riding natures own source
Mounted on her lithe steed
“Yes, he was just a horse”
A queen in the parade
With a crown and sash, of course
Riding regally through the cheering crowd
Noble and proud, “but just a horse”
In the corral or just around the pasture
Listening to her gentle discourse
Love applied with a curry brush
For an animal “who was just a horse”
God created all the animals
Before he created man in due course
Gave humanity all his best
God’s own plan, but “never just a horse”
At a Hasty Wedding
If hours be years the twain are blest,
For now they solace swift desire
By bonds of every bond the best,
If hours be years. The twain are blest
Do eastern stars slope never west,
Nor pallid ashes follow fire:
If hours be years the twain are blest,
For now they solace swift desire.
poem by Thomas Hardy
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I Want To Talk To A Horse
at this moment i want to talk to a horse
perhaps this animal makes sense
at least the horse does not know
how is it to be sad and still be human
and please my dear classy one
don't ever talk to me and please please
don't send me any message
you might be mistaken as another horse with me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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