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An ox and an ass don't yoke well to the same plough.
The Horses
The horses
Three horses graze on my land, one is a foal.
In the twilight and with gentle rain falling
they remind me of work horses of by gone
days when I steered the plough that made
furrows in dark, clean soil.
When I stroke their flanks the good aroma
of warm horse arises; dreams are endless.
In daylight they pretend to be boulders, but
even then they make the land serene.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Let us be heterogeneous
Breed the horse fit for race
And discard all unfit horses.
A good theory for its race.
To us? To pull the cart and plough the field
Must there be some dull horses too.
Let us be heterogeneous.
27.03.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Hatred In You
Dappled horses,
Bay horses,
Red horses,
Black horses,
White horses;
However, you boasted against us all with your mouth!
Because of the hatred in you.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Mustangs Are Born Free (Monchielle)
Let wild horses run free
In mountains let them be
Release them let them go
Stop killing these horses
They are so scared you know
Let wild horses run free
Don't divide mom from baby
Wild horses to be free
Let them run in mountain
Don't take freedom away
Let wild horses run free
Let's join voices help horses
Take them where they belong
They truly need our help
Selling these horses wrong
Let wild horses run free
Since small I love horses
I grew up watch them grow
Mustangs are beautiful
They're unique smart you know.
September 24,2009
poem by Dorian Petersen Potter
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The single mother
The word bastard has lost its stigma.
Having child without marriage is no more a sin
Single motherhood has come as a welcome sign.
The yoke of marriage is dispensed with.
The word chastity has lost its meaning.
Having affairs is not construed as shame.
No need of pre or extra marital.
The yoke of commitment is dispensed with.
The word husband has lost its standing.
No need of a man to head a family.
Sex without obligation is his blessing.
The yoke of monogamy is dispensed with.
The word father has lost its identity.
The pleasure of servility is gone.
To work for posterity is stripped.
The yoke of sweat is dispensed with.
The word mother has retained its strength.
Pleasure of her identity is established.
Possessiveness of woman is not threatened.
The yoke of bondage is dispensed with.
Man and woman are as free as cave men.
Variety in sex keeps their lust feeding.
Want of companionship will doom their end.
The yoke of orphanage will soon threaten.
01.09.2010
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Status of women
Among horses, some are bred to plough,
Some to pull, some to race and some to gallop.
Among men, some are bred to labour,
Some to serve, some to fight and some to guide.
Female sex in both is degraded to the fifth.
As breeding ground they are kept.
19.02.2002, Pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Plougher
Sunset and silence! A man: around him earth savage, earth broken;
Beside him two horses -- a plough!
Earth savage, earth broken, the brutes, the dawn man there in the sunset,
And the Plough that is twin to the Sword, that is founder of cities!
"Brute-tamer, plough-maker, earth-breaker! Can'st hear? There are ages
between us.
Is it praying you are as you stand there alone in the sunset?
"Surely our sky-born gods can be naught to you, earth child and earth
master?
Surely your thoughts are of Pan, or of Wotan, or Dana?
"Yet why give thoughts to the gods? Has Pan led your brutes where they
stumble?
Has Dana numbed pain of the child-bed, or Wotan put hands to your plough?
"What matter your foolish reply! O man, standing lone and bowed earthward,
Your task is a day near its close. Give thanks to the night-given God."
.. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Slowly the darkness falls, the broken lands blend with the savage;
The brute-tamer stands by the brutes, a head's breadth only above them.
A head's breadth? Ay, but therein is hell's depth, and the height up to
heaven,
And the thrones of the gods and their halls, their chariots, purples, and
splendors.
poem by Padraic Colum
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Remember Lot's Wife
One is taken and the other is left down,
One is spoken to and the other is written to,
But remember Lot's wife and learn!
For if your child ask you of fish,
Will you give him a snake? !
Then think twice before you leap.
Life is full of ups and downs but,
Be very strong always to carry on;
And like the fig tree planted in the vineyard,
be very focus on your dreams.
Red horses and black horses,
White horses and dappled horses,
And with the bay horses to write this muse;
Life is guided by the four spirits of the heavens but,
Yu've sown much and brought in a little.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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All The Kings Horses
All the kings horses and all the kings men
Couldnt put me back together again
My heart lies in pieces all over the ground
Whos gonna help me when youre not around
And I know inside me ,that nobody cares
Whatever happens to me
I live my life as a plea
All the kings horses and all the kings men
Couldnt put me back together again
I was in love when I sat on my wall
No one could hurt me , no one at all
And I know that somewhere my love walked away
She threw my love to the sky
Nothing to do but to cry
All the kings horses and all the kings men
Couldnt put me back together again
All the kings horses , all the kings horses
All the kings horses , all the kings horses
song performed by by Bee Gees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Heavy Horses
Heavy horses
By jethro tull
Iron-clad feather-feet pounding the dust
On octobers day, towards evening
Sweat embossed veins standing proud to the plough
Salt on a deep chest, seasoning
Last of the line at an honest days toil
Turning the deep sod under
Flint at the fetlock, chasing the bone
Flies at the nostrils plunder.
The suffolk, the clydesdale, the percheron vie
With the shire on his feathers floating
Hauling soft timber into the dusk
To bed on a warm straw coating.
Heavy horses, move the land under me
Behind the plough gliding --- slipping and sliding free
Now youre down to the few
And theres no work to do
The tractors on its way.
Let me find you a filly for your proud stallion seed
To keep the old line going.
And well stand you abreast at the back of the woods
Behind the young trees growing
To hide you from eyes that mock at your girth,
Youre eighteen hands at the shoulder
And one day when the oil barons have all dripped dry
And the nights are seen to draw colder
Theyll beg for your strength, your gentle power
Your noble grace and your bearing
And youll strain once again to the sound of the gulls
In the wake of the deep plough, sharing.
Standing like tanks on the brow of the hill
Up into the cold wind facing
In stiff battle harness, chained to the world
Against the low sun racing
Bring me a wheel of oaken wood
A rein of polished leather
A heavy horse and a tumbling sky
Brewing heavy weather.
Bring a song for the evening
Clean brass to flash the dawn
Across these acres glistening
Like dew on a carpet lawn
In these dark towns folk lie sleeping
As the heavy horses thunder by
To wake the dying city
With the living horsemans cry
At once the old hands quicken ---
Bring pick and wisp and curry comb ---
Thrill to the sound of all
The heavy horses coming home.
Iron-clad feather-feet pounding the dust
On octobers day, towards evening
Sweat embossed veins standing proud to the plough
Salt on a deep chest, seasoning
Bring me a wheel of oaken wood
A rein of polished leather
A heavy horse and a tumbling sky
Brewing heavy weather.
Heavy horses, move the land under me
Behind the plough gliding --- slipping and sliding free
Now youre down to the few
And theres no work to do
The tractors on its way.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wild Horses
Childhood living
It's easy to do
The things you wanted
I bought them for you
Graceless lady
You know who I am
You know I can't let you
Slide through my hand
Wild horses
Couldn't drag me away
Wild horses
Couldn't drag me away
I watched you suffer
A dull aching pain
Now you're decided
To treat me the same
No sweeping exits
Or offstage lines
Could make me feel bitter
Or treat you unkind
Wild horses
Couldn't drag me away
Wild wild horses
Couldn't drag me away
I have my freedom
But I dont have much time
So let's do some living
After we die
Wild horses
Couldn't drag me away
Wild, wild horses
Couldn't drag me away
Wild, wild horses
Couldn't drag me away
Wild horses
We want them someday
song performed by by Garbage
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Horses Of The Sea
The horses of the sea
Rear a foaming crest,
But the horses of the land
Serve us the best.
The horses of the land
Munch corn and clover,
While the foaming sea-horses
Toss and turn over.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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I raise quarter horses. Mine are mostly thoroughbred cross horses, a little bigger horses than some people like. I sell them or use them on the ranch. A lot of them go to the rodeo arena and some of them go to racetracks.
quote by Wilford Brimley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Jumping Horses Of The Carnival
Do you still remember
the jumping horses of the carnival
when we were yet small?
Do you remember sometime
in July of 1968?
The horses are made of tin
in different colors,
practically all other colors
which are impossible for real horses
Those horses did not jump on their own
You bet
and when you guess wins, you get
either a plastic glass or
a cheap teddy bear
Those horses move with the music
of the record player
and there was a Big Man
holding the microphone
Dictating who shall move next
till your number wins
That is the beginning of my criticism.
Now, i am going back there to obtain more data
Perhaps, i shall then be
Enlightened.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Cupid Turned Ploughman. - From Moschus
His lamp, his bow, and quiver laid aside,
A rustic wallet o'er his shoulders tied,
Sly Cupid, always on new mischief bent,
To the rich field and furrow'd tillage went;
Like any ploughman toil'd the little god,
His tune he whistled, and his wheat he sow'd;
Then sat and laugh'd, and to the skies above
Raising his eye, he thus insulted Jove:
Lay by your hail, your hurtful storms restrain,
And as I bid you let it shine or rain,
Else you again beneath my yoke shall bow,
Feel the sharp goad, and draw the servile plough;
What once Europa was Nannette is now.
poem by Matthew Prior
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A Gallop of Fire
When the north wind moans thro' the blind creek courses
And revels with harsh, hot sand,
I loose the horses, the wild red horses,
I loose the horses, the mad, red horses,
And terror is on the land.
With prophetic murmer the hills are humming,
The forest-kings bend and blow;
With hoofs of brass on the baked earth strumming,
O brave red horses, they hear us coming,
And the legions of death lean low.
O'er the wooded height, and the sandy hollow
Where the boles to the axe have rung,
Tho' they fly the foreman as flies the swallow,
The fierce red horses, my horses, follow
With flanks to the faint earth flung.
Or with frenzied hieroglyphs, fear embossing
Night's sable horizon bars,
Thro' tangled mazes of death-darts crossing,
I swing my leaders and watch them tossing
Their red manes against the stars.
But when South winds sob in the drowned creek courses
And whisper to hard wet sand,
I hold the horses, the spent red horses,
I hold the horses, the tired red horses,
And silence is on the land.
Yea, the South wind sobs among the drowned creek courses
For sorrows no man shall bind---
Ah, God! For the horses, the black plumed horses,
Dear God! For the horses, Death's own pale horses,
That raced in the tracks behind.
poem by Marie E J Pitt
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My father was a progressive farmer, and was always ready to lay aside an old plough if he could replace it with one better constructed for its work. All through life, I have ever been ready to buy a better plough.
quote by Andrew Taylor Still
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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