Posts Tagged ‘horses; poetry; emotional’

Poem about an Amusement Park
that shuts down
 over the
 death of one
 of its
young patrons.
Graphic Art by Susan Joyner-Stumpf (aka sonnetwolf designz)



Even the air spun wrong

it felt the blow of leaves like circus bullets

two things that should never happen

a Fair should never run out of ice cream

and a Theater should never close.


Slice the breath with a kitchen knife

space is out sick today

having a hard time catching the sky

the cement paths of the park

emptier than the

the silence of footfalls

that only echo past loneliness.


An assembly of shadows

gather to mourn the loss of realism

swirling and screaming around with

spectral jealousy

why is it

we look at them as extensions of ourselves

but shadows look at us

as what they used to be

not remembering how to call us back

to them.


This can’t end good

statues feel the severance of

hands that molded them from

vats of liquid bronze

their likeness to austere form

feels the tendency to melt

beyond recognition of solid mass

now apertures having lost the

human-quality dream.


The rifts and shrills of laughter

weep in another dimension

cascades of grief slide down

walls of alien fortitude

we hear it on Earth

as the change in subtle wind

knocking at our tears

not reasoning why a sound

we cannot hear, only feel it

as the smile that will not



“Something special will come of this,”

says the entrance Billboard with the

face of a scary clown, lips moving

in slow-motion, reinforcing the

petrifying cracking lines of an

exaggerated, painted face.


Why is it

somewhere in this nameless town

a little boy dies

and his memory shuts down

the flow of life and whispers here

he remembers the Cotton-Candy Man

and wonders where he is today. . .


And why for this little boy

do suddenly those wooden horses

on a quiet carousel

come alive with welcoming whinny’s

that only HE can hear?



© Susan Joyner-Stumpf


Halted by the complexity of time
to wonder now where this moment
came from and why; and how long it

What matters is how you conquer Eternity

will last before the next.

Concepts seem to eternal their way
through the mind, a continuous flow
of meandering confusion.

fluid uneasiness, warm
frightened blood
passing vein to vein.

Where there can’t be time
there is no question
but life and even death
evolve that cycle

of numbed units….

that you eventually Die on a
Wednesday at noon makes no

From then on what matters is
how you conquer Eternity.

~ *•.¸♥♥¸.•*
© Susan Joyner-Stumpf

(One of my earliest poems, written at age 9. With this Poem, I won my first Writing Contest. The rest is history. I think even the Teachers were shocked.)

There you would have me

Bone silent

Seed of your love

A heart tapered

For fitting

Its delicacy wrapped

Between ivory incisors

Can we compromise

Or I am to be hushed

Like one of your slaves

Your eyes devouring

My many gowns

You have dreams of dismembering

Them layer by layer

As you hold gemstones and

Persian silk above my

Idle perusal

Thinking that’s sure to

Persuade me to feel

Something that was

Never there nor ever

Will be.


You think that

Would make the difference?

Like shown a landmark onColumbus’

Map, this is the spot to die for

But I look forlornly away

Outside that window ledge

Where you left your rival

(The real man I loved)

Dead and still hung in the courtyard

While I still smell his lingering blood

Stowed in this prisoned room

You’ve stolen everything

But it’s you left with

All you cannot have nor

Ever will; everything and everyone

That never wanted you.


You haul me away to

Meet other fates that

Even Darkness will

Live long enough to fear;

I pass by your white stallion, Apollo ~ ~

The wild of his eyes catch mine

Something for us both is tamed there,

Because it too, was forced to

Choose, and it wasn’t you it



So we both ride into a vicious storm

We’ll never regret.



© Susan Joyner-Stumpf

Graphic Art by Susan Joyner-Stumpf (© SonnetWolf Designz)


Simple slight of hoof

Beats hard the dust

And carves through

Space with invisible wing

His manner of weeping

To keep me in longing

Parade of brilliance

Fine Ivory horse

Of silken unbridled power

You corral intangible wind

As though your mighty

Royal seed

Nostrils drink of stolen rain

Frightening storms your children

I ache beneath the thunder

Of them that rage beyond

My grasp ~ I sit

Here fused to stone

Tears made of blown glass

Shorn of secrets

The millennia has whispered

With galloping lust

Outside the deafened

Aura of our bloodsouls

Oh ~ cursed are we for

Once to be a mere Human!!!


© Susan Joyner-Stumpf




The other horses gathered

Around her, as she closed her

Eyes forever……….

Oh God did she hear

The thunder as you called

Her hooves trailing like stardust

Raining down in my eyes

With unspeakable

Glitters of tears

Oh, did she ever look back at me

Galloping as she did



To  your precious pasture

In the sky?


© Susan Joyner-Stumpf



She died with angelic dignity

but with a loss I could never dismiss

miles of sweeping trails before us

shall forever reap their dust, untouched

Me and My Horse, Vanilla

acres of sky open to unseen emptiness

filtered frames of splintered moonlight

live to perhaps forgive another austere day

alone in melting shadows of tall weeping grass

no one hears the ruptured tears

they wouldn’t care anyway

sentiment was never a fashionable thing

so I walk the runways with benign, hidden sorrow

wearing it like silk from a third-world country

cherishing it as others would their homeless rags

that wore our bond like riches of ancient gold

never to agonize who blamed my wardrobe of gossamer despair

which I adorned quite well with diva model-ease

I was never born to caress nor intrinsically please

merely wanted the remains of a solitude day

to soften the blunt of my many tortured nights

where sleep begged for intimate foreplay

in fear of dreams that never fondled mortal empathy

always the opposite fever to my booming health

one moment in the outpost of serpentine pleasure

still never enough to call my own

only borrowed for a time from the Heavens

but given Vanilla

the horse of my dreams

for twelve blessed years

where did they go

but to a paradise

whose door I cannot knock

when God takes back a horse

regret is nothing less than divine sacrifice

and still I hear her hooves in thunder’s reckoning

distances I’ve learned to mirror as my reflective own

a silence rumbling far too long

allow the melody to die

so all will know

the singer once lived

inside my Soul

where the song never fades.




Author’s Note:


I lost my Soul-Mate Horse,

Vanilla, to Cancer,

April 10, 2010.


Goodbye Vanilla.  You

carried me across the

Earth and back home, always,

in safety.


I hope the Angels carried

you to Heaven just as well.



© Susan Joyner-Stumpf


Posted: November 2, 2011 in Poet; Writer; Author


The corral was empty where

He used to be

The wind had nothing to cut through

Silence looked for something to blame.

I tried once more to hear his whinny ~

Smell his sweet mane on my cheek.

But all I saw was a golden ghost.

All I heard was a faint echo

That still tells me goodbye

When I don’t want to hear it.

© Copyright 2011 ♥Susan Joyner-Stumpf