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Quotes about dismount

Winston Churchill

Dictators ride to and fro upon tigers which they dare not dismount. And the tigers are getting hungry.

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Chells 1957 No 2 the swing

Mornings on my swing
In the apple shadow
Riding for the theme
To call the dismount
Then at the gate
Watching the aching fields
As the bus stops
To rob my mind

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Be Reborn

Bask in the mire of guilt
and let the vultures surround you,
Dismount the scaffolds of regret,
count the perching crows
and cry with the parliament
From the sanguinary land
open a stone-fleshed hand
and let life reborn

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What Cowboys Know About Love

Last night on the sports channel
I watched the rodeo.
Those cowboys have it right;
the best and the beauty of it.
You cannot win, so you ride
for as long as you can and enjoy it.
When you dismount,
whether it be on your own or not,
it won't look pretty. You'll limp off.
But you'll feel good; your heart
will be pounding like it never has,
and walking away, one crazy step
after another, your ears will ring
with the loud approval
of those who never felt so good.


Anonymous submission.

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Women

Women Or they
should be should be
pedestals little horses
moving those wooden
pedestals sweet
moving oldfashioned
to the painted
motions rocking
of men horses


the gladdest things in the toyroom


The feelingly
pegs and then
of their unfeelingly
ears To be
so familiar joyfully
and dear ridden

[...] Read more

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Visiting the Hsi-Lin Temple

I dismount from my horse at the Hsi-Lin Temple;
I hurry forward, speeding with light cane.
In the morning I work at a Govermnment office-desk;
In the evening I become a dweller in the Sacred Hills.
In the second month to the north of K’uang-lu
The ice breaks and the snow begins to melt.
On the southern plantation the tea-plant trusts its sprouts;
Through the northern crevice the view of the spring ooze.

This year there is war in An-hui,
In every place soldiers are rushing to arms.
Men of learning have been summoned to the Council Board;
Men of action are marching to the battle-line.
Only I, who have no talents at all,
Am left in the mountains to play with the pebbles of the stream.

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On a White Horse

Some day you’ll appear on a white horse.
I’ll see you on a horseback from afar.
You’ll dismount it and I’ll hear your voice,
“Lady, you dazzled me like the brightest star...”

I’ll lower my eyes, burning with shame
And give you my silk lacy handkerchief.
“Lady, could you tell me your name? ”
I’ll raise my head, though I’ll be stunned a bit...

You and your horse will be very tired,
So I’ll offer my castle to you,
Though my burning cheeks will be still red,
Though the sudden feeling will be quite new...

Some day you’ll appear on a white horse.
I’ll see you on a horseback from afar.
This day I’ll find my life-giving source.
But today I still don’t know where you are...

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Lawrence Durrell

Acropolis

The soft quem quam will be Scops the Owl
conjugation of nouns, a line of enquiry,
powdery stubble of the socratic prison
laurels crack like parchments in the wind.
who walks here in the violet dust at night
by the tower of the winds and water-clocks?
tapers smoke upon open coffins
surely the shattered pitchers must one day
revive in the gush of marble breathing up?
call again softly, and again.
the fresh spring empties like a vein
no children spit on their reflected faces
but from the blazing souk below the passive smells
bread urine cooking printing-ink
will tell you what the sullen races think
and among the tombs gnawing of mandolines
confounding sleep with carnage where
strangers arrive like sleepy gods
dismount at nightfall at desolate inns.

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Horse

What does the horse give you
That I cannot give you?

I watch you when you are alone,
When you ride into the field behind the dairy,
Your hands buried in the mare's
Dark mane.

Then I know what lies behind your silence:
Scorn, hatred of me, of marriage. Still,
You want me to touch you; you cry out
As brides cry, but when I look at you I see
There are no children in your body.
Then what is there?

Nothing, I think. Only haste
To die before I die.

In a dream, I watched you ride the horse
Over the dry fields and then

[...] Read more

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At The Lattice

Behind the curtain,
With glance uncertain,
Peeps pet Florence as I gaily ride;
Half demurely,
But, though purely,
Most, most surely
Wishing she were riding, riding by my side.

In leafy alleys,
Where sunlight dallies,
Pleasant were it, bonnie, to be riding rein by rein;
And where summer tosses,
All about in bosses,
Velvet verdant mosses,
Still more pleasant, surely, to dismount us and remain.

O thou Beauty!
Hanging ripe and fruity
At the muslined lattice in the drooping eve,
Whisper from the casement

[...] Read more

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