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A Horse Life
In a horse life.We can play with a burlap feed
bag, an empty milk jug, or chew on the barn stall
door.Just to kill some time, or to kill some every
day bordom.In a horse life.We get names like
Black Beauty, Flicka, Seabiscuit, or Secretariat.
In a horse life.We do tricks like bowing our heads
down, or placing our shoe upon a pedastool.Picking
up the cowboy hat.While tapping our feet rata-tat-tat.
In a horse life.We like a good block of salt.With lots
of minerals, to lick upon.A wholesome bale of hay.To
start off a brand new day.Or a bucket of grain.To keep
us all healthy, fat, and sane.And a fresh bucket of water,
to wash it all down.In a horse life.I could be losing a
horseshoe.While the rider is losing his mind.In a horse
life.We can be a workhorse, a race horse, or a trick pony.
Or maybe a showhorse, or possibly a circus horse.With
out all the phoney baloney.In a horse life.We can run all
day in the open sun, or run the race trak.While the betters
place their wagers.Of course, at the horse racing track
betters window.In a horse life..
A Horse Life Poem by Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 2011.All rights reserved.
poem by Kim Robin Edwards
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Solid Shadow
Through the black blood stained helmet,
He swung his agile horse in a charge
And that was where they met.
The horse of Solid Shadow.
Though his horse was small
He was untouched by the quickest
With his speed, there was no room to stall.
The horse of Solid Shadow.
He marveled at the tiny beast,
In a matter of seconds,
The shadow was released.
From frown to horror.
To their deaths men fell,
Hearing only the pound of hooves
Men bent down and knelt,
To no avail of the Solid Shadow.
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
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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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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The Furrow
An old horse to the furrow - an old man to the plough -
For the young horse and the young lad, they're needed yonder now -
The horse, so young and mettled he scarce had known the rein,
That shook his feathered fetlocks and tossed his streaming mane -
The lad that used to drive him, so strong and straight and tall,
That dressed him fine with ribbons and groomed him in the stall.
Ah, there as here, old Captain, we know, both I and you,
He'll drive a straight furrow as he always used to do!
The clods before the ploughshare fall heavily apart,
But never a clod among them so heavy as my heart -
To smell the clean earth breaking and the kind country smells,
And think o' the stink and reek there, and the bursting o' the shells.
An old horse to the furrow - an old man to the plough -
And the young horse and the young lad . . . how fare they yonder now?
poem by Cicely Fox Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Empty Hands
He rode in town on a white horse
With nothing in his hands
He came to gather his people
And take them to their promised land
When he came he knew there would be bloodshed
But still no violence made his plans
He came to fight in a battle
With no guns or money
But with his empty hands
With his empty hands
With his empty hands
With his empty hands
They said hey boy what you lookin'at
As they eyed his dreaded mane
He said my father has sent me
I've come back to reclaim
The children whose hearts
Were so whole and pure
Now it's you who'll die in pain
So they lynched the man
Who fooled the word
And all the children gathered
In his empty hands
In his empty hands
The children ..... empty hands
In his empty hands
With his empty hands
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
song performed by by Lenny Kravitz from Let Love Rule
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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April Dusk
April dusk
It is tragic to be a poet now
And not a lover
Paradised under the mutest bough.
I look through my window and see
The ghost of life flitting bat-winged.
O I am as old as a sage can even be,
O I am as lonely as the first fool kinged.
The horse in his stall turns away
From the hay-filled manger, dreaming of grass
Soft and cool in hollows. Does he neigh
Jealousy-words for John MacGuigan's ass
That never was civilised in stall or trace.
An unmusical ploughboy whistles down the lane
Not worried at all about the fate of Europe.
While I sit here feeling the subtle pain
Of one whose Tree of God has been uprooted.
poem by Patrick Kavanagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You don't miss the cow until the stall is empty.
Nosebag
A bag of fodder for a horse hung from the horse's head,
Allow it to eat at will.
Something like this is better if a man get nowadays?
Like the horse he too runs in the life-marathon for his daily bread.
In this ridiculous Drama,
Rich goes to the sky without rockets,
And the poor become poorest.
The bourgeoisie crawls on the expandable 'Globalization'.
And he dies on the road of starvation like a stray dog.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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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Shade Tree Horse
You know, I’m just a shade tree horse
I think they know it by now
When the sun is blistering hot
I won’t go in the field like a cow
I’ve tried to make my owner
Realize my station in life
I’ve sent a message to his kids as well
And even to my owner’s wife
I’m special and everyone knows it
If they don’t put me in my stall
When the weather’s so sweltering
There’s my shade tree after all
Then one day the weather will change
And winter will come, of course
But while the sun is a’blazin’
I’m always the shade tree horse!
poem by Marilyn Lott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Corn Medicine
'A well-bred horse! but he won't get fat,
Though I've done the best 1 can;
He keeps as poor as a blessed rat!'
Said the sorrowful stable-man.
'I've bled and I've blistered him-and to-day
I bought him a monster ball;
But, blow the horse! let me do what 1 may,
He won't get fat at all.
'I've given him medicines galore,
And linseed oil and bran,
And yet the brute looks awfully poor,'
Said the woebegone stable-man.
One glance the intelligent stranger threw
At the ribs of the hollow weed,
Then asked, with an innocent air, 'Did you
Forget to give him a feed?'
poem by Harry 'Breaker' Harbord Morant
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Ranchers Ride That Was Given
I fell like a horse that
has just been let in the stall for the night
as day turns to dusk
my limbs are week
eye lids are getting heavy
as I wipe the sweat from my eyes
my horse comes running up to me signaling
he wants me to come ride
I only have ten bails left
why not take a break
I jumped onto his back
instantly feeling the massive creatures
huge muscles
underneath my body
I grab his mane
off we go
floating in the wind
like a butterfly on a
beautiful July morning
racing up and down
hills
throw meadows
and streams
just letting him take me away
he slows down
I grab around his neck
for I know what he’s going to do
sure enough he stops
get’s on both knee’s
lets me down to the ground
as I lay there barley awake
he lay next to me
as if he was to guard me while I sleep
he’s only a horse
I’m only a person
his name is Bandit
mine is Becca
but he is my guardian angel
and I’m just the keeper
poem by Mrs. Cynosure
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Two Boys
I saw a boy with eager eye
Open a book upon a stall,
And read as he'd devour it all:
Which when the stall-man did espy,
Soon to the boy I heard him call,
'You, sir, you never buy a book,
Therefore in one you shall not look.'
The boy passed slowly on, and with a sigh
He wished he never had been taught to read,
Then of the old churl's books he should have had no need.
Of sufferings the poor have many,
Which never can the rich annoy.
I soon perceived another boy
Who looked as if he'd not had any
Food for that day at least, enjoy
The sight of cold meat in a tavern-larder.
This boy's case, thought I, is surely harder,
Thus hungry longing, thus without a penny,
Beholding choice of dainty dressed meat:
No wonder if he wish he ne'er had learned to eat.
poem by Charles Lamb
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wallabi Joe
The saddle was hung on the stockyard rail,
And the poor old horse stood whisking his tail,
For there never was seen such a regular screw
As Wallabi Joe, of Bunnagaroo;
Whilst the shearers all said, as they say, of course,
That Wallabi Joe's a fine lump of a horse;
But the stockmen said, as they laughed aside,
He'd barely do for a Sunday's ride.
O—oh! poor Wallabi Joe.
"I'm weary of galloping now," he cried,
"I wish I were killed for my hide, my hide;
For my eyes are dim, and my back is sore,
And I feel that my legs won't stand much more."
Now stockman Bill, who took care of his nag,
Put under the saddle a soojee bag,
And off he rode with a whip in his hand
To look for a mob of the R.J. brand.
Now stockman Bill camped out that night,
And he hobbled his horse in a sheltered bight;
Next day of old Joe he found not a track,
So he had to trudge home with his swag on his back.
He searched up and down every gully he knew,
But he found not a hair of his poor old screw,
And the stockmen all said as they laughed at his woe,
"Would you sell us the chance of old Wallabi Joe."
Now as years sped by, and as Bill grew old,
It came into his head to go poking for gold;
So away he went with a spade in his fist,
To hunt for a nugget among the schist.
One day as a gully he chanced to cross,
He came on the bones of his poor old horse;
The hobbles being jammed in a root below
Had occasioned the death of poor Wallabi Joe.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Little America
I cant see myself at thirty, I dont buy a lacquered thirty
Caught like flies, preserved for tomorrows jewelery, again
Lighted in the amber yard, a green shellback, green shellback
Preserved for tomorrows eyes, in tree beer tar-black brer sap,
The biggest wagon is the empty wagon is the noisiest,
The consul a horse, jefferson I think were lost
Who will tend the farm museums? who will dust todays belongings?
Who will sweep the floors, hedging near the givens?
Rally round your leaders its the mediator season
Diane is on the beach, do you realize the life shes led?
The biggest wagon is the empty wagon is the noisiest,
The consul a horse, oh man I think were lost
The biggest wagon is the empty wagon is the noisiest,
A matter of course, jefferson, jeffer
Lighted in the amber yard, a green shellback, green shellback
Sky-lied, sty-tied, nero pie-tied, in tree tar-black brer sap,
Reason has harnessed the tame, a lodging, not stockaders game
Another greenville, another magic mart, jeffer, grab your fiddle,
The biggest wagon is the empty wagon is the noisiest,
The consul a horse, jefferson I think were lost
The biggest wagon is the empty wagon is the noisiest,
The consul a horse, jefferson I think were lost
song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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