A good resolution is like an old horse, which is often saddled but rarely ridden.
Mexican proverbs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ghost Song
An old man and an old horse moved slowly and steadily
towards the furthest mountain.
An old man on an old horse.
The old man thought of the many times he'd been thrown;
the old horse, how many times he'd been ridden.
They weren't in no great rush.
The old man sat straight in the saddle, head held high.
The old horse kept his head high too,
letting his feet choose the way as they
searched the clouds looking for any old friends
they had passed on the way.
A soft gentle rain started to fall,
the horse stopped, the old man bent over
and stroked his friend's neck
poem by William Mendelson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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New, New Year's Resolutions
Time for New Year's resolutions.
This year I'll be real strong.
I'll try like never before
to keep them all year long.
Resolution number one:
I'll be more careful what I eat.
More of all that's good for me,
and not so much that's sweet.
Resolution number two.
I'm going to lose some weight.
My goal is to lose forty pounds.
I really will look great!
Resolution number three:
I'll get lots of exercise.
The doctor says I need to,
and my doctor's very wise
Resolution number four:
Let me make this last one clear:
I must realize that I'm human…
and try again next year.
poem by Ron Tranmer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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Cowboy of Troy
There once was a man from Troy,
Who claimed to be a cowboy.
He saddled up for a ride as his horse stood by.
Said his boss, 'What about your hoss? ',
Twas his reply- 'I told you, I'm a COW boy.
poem by Macy Dvirnak
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When I saw the movie, I said, I wish I had heard the music. I would have ridden the horse differently.
quote by Eli Wallach
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Elspeth's Ballad
The herring loves the merry moon-light,
The mackerel loves the wind,
But the oyster loves the dredging sang,
For they come of a gentle kind.
Now haud your tongue, baith wife and carle,
And listen great and sma',
And I will sing of Glenallan's Earl
That fought on the red Harlaw.
The cronach's cried on Bennachie,
And doun the Don and a',
And hieland and lawland may mournfu' be
For the sair field of Harlaw.--
They saddled a hundred milk-white steeds,
They hae bridled a hundred black,
With a chafron of steel on each horse's head,
And a good knight upon his back.
They hadna ridden a mile, a mile,
A mile, but barely ten,
When Donald came branking down the brae
Wi' twenty thousand men.
Their tartans they were waving wide,
Their glaives were glancing clear,
The pibrochs rung frae side to side,
Would deafen ye to hear.
The great Earl in his stirrups stood,
That Highland host to see:
'Now here a knight that's stout and good
May prove a jeopardie:
'What would'st thou do, my squire so gay,
That rides beside my reyne,-
Were ye Glenallan's Earl the day,
And I were Ronald Cheyne?
'To turn the rein were sin and shame,
To fight were wond'rous peril,-
What would ye do now, Roland Cheyne,
Were ye Glenallan's Earl?'-
'Were I Glenallan's Earl this tide,
And ye were Roland Cheyne,
The spear should be in my horse's side,
And the bridle upon his mane.
'If they hae twenty thousand blades,
And we twice ten times ten,
Yet they hae but their tartan plaids,
And we are mail-clad men.
'My horse shall ride through ranks sae rude,
As through the moorland fern,-
Then ne'er let the gentle Norman blude
Grow cauld for Highland kerne.'
He turn'd him right and round again,
Said, Scorn na at my mither;
Light loves I may get mony a ane,
But minni ne'er anither.
poem by Sir Walter Scott
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Looking For A Goose To Cook
When you find that you've been saddled for a ride...
Move your hoofs.
When you find that you've been saddled for a ride...
Someone's got you hooked!
When you find that you've been saddled for a ride...
Move your hoofs.
When you find that you've been saddled for a ride...
Someone's got you hooked!
I know,
When I'm hooked.
I can't,
Move my hoofs.
And I don't want to be,
Saddled down...
By a lover,
Looking for a goose to cook.
I know,
When I'm hooked.
I can't,
Move my hoofs.
And I don't want to be,
Saddled down...
By a lover,
Looking for a goose to cook.
When you find that you've been saddled for a ride...
Move your hoofs.
When you find that you've been saddled for a ride...
Someone's got you hooked!
I know,
When I'm hooked.
I can't,
Move my hoofs.
And I don't want to be,
Saddled down...
By a lover...
Looking for a goose to cook.
Many looking at a saddled goose to cook.
And I don't want to be a saddled goose to cook.
Many looking at a saddled goose to cook.
And I don't want to be a saddled goose to cook.
I know,
When I'm hooked.
I can't,
Move my hoofs.
And I don't want to be,
Saddled down...
By a lover,
Looking for a goose to cook.
Many looking at a saddled goose to cook.
And I don't want to be a saddled goose to cook.
Many looking at a saddled goose to cook.
And I don't want to be a saddled goose to cook.
Many,
Are looking for a goose to cook.
Many,
Are looking for a goose to cook.
And I don't want to be a saddled goose to cook.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Uncle
He was about to leave,
but found time to advise:
'Diplomacy will do you good, ' he said
'Don't be like people who hit below the belt.
Me, I only go as far as the belt itself.'
Patting his six-shooter
tucked in it.
He saddled to his horse....
err, his bike, somewhat
to go to city haunts.
He loves the scene
the sins.
Long detained in farmer's life
he wanted out, sometimes.
Or in.
Places like Follies 69.
Not a good place
where to get farm help though.
The last one
most recent
she run off with a stag.
That's right- a male deer
which she sold
auction style.
'My boy, ' said uncle.
'Choose a lass with hindsight
and foresight.
Her one eye looking at the past,
while the other sees the future.'
But not many cross-eyed ladies
in our county, I suppose.
And none
quite beautiful enough.
poem by Reyvrex Questor Reyes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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* * *
Papa on the horse
As I remember,
Papa rode on the horse
the White horse
He was so cruel
And he would not
Feed
The white horse
For days
One day
They went to the
Sea
The white horse
And papa
I wished the
White horse
Would swim
To the other island
And leave
Papa for good
He was so cruel
And he would beat
The white horse
For days
But the white horse
Stayed
she was not fed
For days
One day
The White Horse
Got mad
And bit
Papa to death.
I did not wish
The horse
Would eat
Papa whole.
I too would be
Cruel then.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Me & My Horse
riding together,
you and your horse.
as you run against the wind all you call hear is-
the wind wipping your ears,
the horse's hooves thundering beneath you,
the chains of your bit as the horse pulls against the reins,
and the faint sound of the horse behind you.
your horse stops,
the horse behind you catches up.
the race is over,
freedom will have to wait until next time.
poem by Horse Lover
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Horse For Dinner
A horse A horse
My kingdom for a horse,
A horse A horse
For the main course
Muscles of might
Pulled so tight,
A body of organs
All for a meal
Why a horse?
Why not a deer?
A horse does the work,
A deer will just peer
A horse is strong
a deer has no uses,
so there for a deer
suffers the abuses
Condemned is a deer
as from the day it's born,
until the day it dies
and its meaty flesh torn
So why a horse
if a deer has no uses?
because I am a man
Who too, has suffered too many abuses
poem by John McAdam
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bury The Subject
If this has been heard,
To serve a purpose...
Then
Repeating to beat a dead horse,
Just to witness your ego prance...
Will not regain the speed,
By which you would like to see it gallop.
To free it again with your indecision.
The breath of it has stopped!
The issue has been discussed.
Rigor mortis can not appear more final,
Than it does.
You may huff and puff,
As if yesterday will return to be corrected.
But it has been saddled.
Ridden and exhausted of purpose.
Now existing in oblivion.
Your need to play mortician...
Has been fulfilled and duly noted.
You have made a fantastic attempt!
Recollections have made it lifelike.
However, therefore and furthermore...
With an observation used as fact,
Decaying is no longer the issue.
Now bury the subject.
Or just disappear.
Those are the options.
Now make clear your choice!
A patience I remember,
Is slowly fading to reveal a craze invited!
You have voiced this over and over again.
It has been agreed.
Do you wish to hear 'DAMN-IT'
To solidify the moment?
It comes...
Faster than a speeding bullet.
More powerful than a locomotive!
'WILL YOU SHUT THE F-f-f-f...up! '
Children can spell 'recession' now.
We are living it.
There is no need to suggest its appearance.
This 'depression' you are leaving us with,
Could better be defined!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Verses On Night And Day
In the forest at night
my good old horse
has lost his way.
His head nods sleepily –
perhaps he dreams
of fields green by day.
The owls are hooting,
the night is cold,
the ground is hard,
but all night long
my good old horse
will stand his guard.
Daylight will come
to light the woods
at break of day,
and at that time
my horse will know
to find the way.
The night and darkness
are as nothing
to my old horse,
for he knows to wait
as time shall pass, and life
shall take its course.
poem by Rory Hudson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Papa on the horse As I remember
Papa rode on the horse
the White horse
He was so cruel
And he would not
Feed
The white horse
For days
One day
They went to the
Sea
The white horse
And papa
I wished the
White horse
Would swim
To the other island
And leave
Papa for good
He was so cruel
And he would beat
The white horse
For days
But the white horse
Stayed
she was not fed
For days
One day
The White Horse
Got mad
And bit
Papa to death.
I did not wish
The horse
Would eat
Papa whole.
I too would be
Cruel then
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cloud Chief Horses
I never had a horse at Cloud Chief
Even though horses were in season
My dad would say I ate like a horse
So to save food that was the reason
I guess it was either me or a horse
My dad had an horse in early days
Must of had more food in his time
Good reason to love his yesterdays
poem by John McCornack
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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No More Hollow Gallops
No more will my high horse be ridden.
No more hollow gallops taken on trails empty,
To vent unknown and misunderstood frustrations.
No more will I see the faces with lines dredged,
Upon foreheads scurrying along in tunneled visions!
I have never been that far apart,
From observations tugging at my heart!
I chose not to see them disconnected from me.
And from a high horse I dismounted...
I needed them to know I need them in my life!
Like I am hopefully needed in theirs.
I remember what it was that had me,
Stepping over cracks...
On sidewalks in need of repair to support
The sight of addicts.
Some on crack and others just cracking!
With excuses that lack forgiveness.
Many are still there wishing for good luck...
But getting fucked for the effort!
And enjoying playing the blame game,
As they systematically bend over from the waist...
To spread cheeks as expected.
I have not forgotten I too am branded.
If I can tell someone...
Anyone,
I have chosen not to remind myself...
Of that which I do not keep in practice.
Would it be believed?
Would those who wear hearts on their sleeves,
Be convinced?
Or should I get back on my high horse...
Jump the fence and leave?
Again!
Just to prove again,
I...like them
Have become addicted to routines.
And beating dead horses has not yet made
The ride any smoother.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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