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Long Grey Mare
Written by peter green.
Ive got a long grey mare, she wont let me ride
I got a long grey mare, she wont let me ride
She makes me brush her in the morning
And put her to bed every night
Long grey mare, why cant we be just like before
Long grey mare, why cant we be just like before
We used to ride so hard
Until we just couldnt ride no more
Break:
Look at me grey mare, dont I feed you everyday
Look at me grey mare, dont I feed you everyday
But when I dig you with my spurs
You turn around the other way
song performed by by Fleetwood Mac
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Jindgi Ne Lehro
jindgi ni lehro ma bhinajavu 6 mare Pan..
jindgi ni kef ma rachavu tu mare pan...
pan swarth ane samay na aa hisabo na sarvala ma j gunchavayo 6u Aaje..
jya khovayo hato tya sodhu 6u mujane..
pan Aa bhrstachar na dambhi kef ma ranagi gayo 6u...
bus svaas pan har pal meet mandi ne bethi 6 mot ni..
bus
jindgi na Aakhari palo ne to moaj ma rami dau...
bus jara Aam to karto jaav mara pran to beeja na name karto jaav...
jindgi ni lehro ma bhinajavu 6 mare Pan..
jindgi ni kef ma rachavu tu mare pan...
jindagi...
poem by Sandeep Jahaal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dat Ol' Mare O' Mine
Want to trade me, do you, mistah? Oh, well, now, I reckon not,
W'y you could n't buy my Sukey fu' a thousan' on de spot.
Dat ol' mare o' mine?
Yes, huh coat ah long an' shaggy, an' she ain't no shakes to see;
Dat's a ring-bone, yes, you right, suh, an' she got a on'ry knee,
But dey ain't no use in talkin', she de only hoss fu' me,
Dat ol' mare o' mine.
Co'se, I knows dat Suke 's contra'y, an' she moughty ap' to vex;
But you got to mek erlowance fu' de nature of huh sex;
Dat ol' mare o' mine.
Ef you pull her on de lef han'; she plum 'termined to go right,
A cannon could n't skeer huh, but she boun' to tek a fright
At a piece o' common paper, or anyt'ing whut's white,
Dat ol' mare o' mine.
Wen my eyes commence to fail me, dough, I trus'es to huh sight,
An' she 'll tote me safe an' hones' on de ve'y da'kes' night,
Dat ol' mare o' mine.
Ef I whup huh, she jes' switch huh tail, an' settle to a walk,
Ef I whup huh mo', she shek huh haid, an' lak ez not, she balk.
But huh sense ain't no ways lackin', she do evah t'ing but talk,
Dat ol' mare o' mine.
But she gentle ez a lady w'en she know huh beau kin see.
An' she sholy got mo' gumption any day den you or me,
Dat ol' mare o' mine.
She's a leetle slow a-goin,' an' she moughty ha'd to sta't,
But we 's gittin' ol' togathah, an' she 's closah to my hea't,
An' I does n't reckon, mistah, dat she 'd sca'cely keer to pa't;
Dat ol' mare o' mine.
W'y I knows de time dat cidah 's kin' o' muddled up my haid,
Ef it had n't been fu' Sukey hyeah, I reckon I 'd been daid;
Dat ol' mare o' mine.
But she got me in de middle o' de road an' tuk me home,
An' she would n't let me wandah, ner she would n't let me roam,
Dat's de kin' o' hoss to tie to w'en you 's seed de cidah's foam,
Dat ol' mare o' mine.
You kin talk erbout yo' heaven, you kin talk erbout yo' hell,
Dey is people, dey is hosses, den dey's cattle, den dey's--well--
Dat ol' mare o' mine;
She de beatenes' t'ing dat evah struck de medders o' de town,
An' aldough huh haid ain't fittin' fu' to waih no golden crown,
D' ain't a blessed way fu' Petah fu' to tu'n my Sukey down,
Dat ol' mare o' mine.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wedlock rides in the saddle and repentance on the crupper.
Dyes Cast
Each night
As he drops his head
To the deep dream
Of the dark bed,
A shape beckons him
Wellaway
From the starlight
And the dim day.
A mare
Black as a spade, calls
From the dark hill
As the wind falls,
The reeds mutter
The night is black
As he leaps blind
To the mare’s back.
Then like the roar
Of an ill wind
Or a black flame
From the devil’s kiln,
The mare speeds
To the night’s work
By the old mill
And the dark Kirk.
Shapes flutter
And leap alight
Before they sputter
And, out of sight
Disport and mutter
Of black arts
To see the mare
And the rider pass.
Hour on hour
He clings to scenes
Of dark images,
Wild dreams
And chance friends
From the dead past
In the grim haunts
Of dyes cast.
His face burns
And tears stream
In the long night
Of the dark dream,
He clings grim
To the mare’s back
For his soul’s sake
And a long lack.
The day brinks
At night’s mist;
‘There may be nothing
More than this, ’
The mare fades
From his wide eyes –
But the thoughts bide,
And the old lies.
‘There may be nothing
More than this! ’
And his mind seeks
The mare, the mist;
‘There may be nought
But the dead past,
And the dark haunts
Of dyes cast.’
27 December 1978
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Behold! The Night Mare
Ive faced the fathoms in your deep
Withstood the suitors quiet siege
Pulled down the heavens just to please you
Appease you
The wind blows and I know
I cant go on, digging roses from you grave
To linger on, beyond the beyond
Where the willows weep
And whirlpools sleep, youll find me
The coarse tide reflects sky
And the night mare rides on, and the night mare rides on
With a december black psalm
And the night mare rides on
What I fear is lost here
The wind blows and I know
All you have to do is run away
And steal yourself from me
Become a mystery to gaze into
Youre so cruel in all you do
But still I believe, I believe in you
So may you come with your own knives
Youll never take me alive
With all the force of what is true
Is there nothing I can do?
I cant go on, digging roses from you grave
To linger on, beyond the beyond
Where the willows weep
And whirlpools sleep, youll find me
And the night mare rides on, and the night mare rides on
With a december black psalm
And the night mare rides on
Ive faced the fathoms in your deep
Withstood the suitors quiet siege
Pulled down the heavens just to please you
To hold the flower I cant keep
song performed by by Smashing Pumpkins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The power of female
A farm horse is drawn to a farm mare.
A race horse too will be
Averse not to a farm mare.
Such is the power of the female.
03.03.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On A Winter Afternoon
A gray mare standing beside
The snow covered wooden fence.
The fence along a country road
Icy and well traveled.
Cars and trucks passing by;
Few noticing the gray mare
Breathing hot fog
From her nostrils.
The gray mare noticing all
Passing by, the wind in her hair,
Ruffling her mane. Patiently,
Standing by the snow covered
Wooden gate.
Awaiting her masters return
From work to bring her safely
Across the country road
To her home, the red barn,
And a meal of winter hay.
poem by Joe Wocoski
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Afer Ventus
Mare nubrium. umbriel.
Mare imbrium. ariel.
Et itur ad astra.
Et itur ad astra.
Mare undarum. io. vela.
Mirabile dictu. mirabilia.
Mirabile visu. mirabilia.
Et itur ad astra.
Et itur ad astra.
Sempervirent. rosetum.
Afer ventus. zephryus.
Volturnus. africus.
Et itur ad astra.
Et itur ad astra.
Etesiarum. eurus.
Running verse:
Suus cuique mos. suum quique.
Meus mihi, suus cuique carus.
Memento, terrigena.
Memento, vita brevis.
Meus mihi, suus cuique carus.
, , ,
song performed by by Enya
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Luna
Dipingimi, distorto come un angelo anormale che cade
Offendimi, se odiare un crimine il prezzo uguale e fa male
E vedo te, io e te, niente conta in fondo
Illumina, annulla le paure oh luna nulla uguale
Sar cos, onesto come se tu fossi il mare, il mare
E vedo te, io e te, niente conta e crolla, crolla
E vedo te, io e te, niente conta in fondo. Iuffa.
song performed by by Verdena
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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White Horse
The White Mare
the incoming tide made an island out of
the sand bank where I sat, king for a day,
made a crown of coarse grass
but since I only ruled over a few crabs, who
bit my finger when I shook their claws, I
renounced my crown and swam ashore.
Sanitation workers, in blue overalls and
logo, heckled me since I was not like them
and they made fun of my crown.
On an incoming wave a white mare came,
bareback I mounted and gently the horse
trotted amongst the awestruck workers
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Weston-Super-Mare
The sun is always shining
In Weston-Super-Mare;
At least it always has been
Whenever we've been there.
The beach is nice and sandy,
It's long and clean and wide;
The trouble is it's full cars...
Unless there is a tide.
We haven't been there too much
Because it's quite a drive,
We first must go to Taunton,
Then on to the M five.
It takes about an hour,
Depending on our speed;
Then when we're there and parked up
We usually have a feed.
The place is full of sea-gulls
Just as you would expect;
There's nothing that they won't eat,
There's nothing they'll reject.
They dive and swoop like gannets,
(Another big sea-bird)
And once they ate my sandwiches,
The ones with lemon-curd.
The sun is always shining
In Weston-Super-Mare;
The reason is quite simple:
It's summer when we're there!
Written Aug 1994
poem by John Carter Brown
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The ride to bumpville
Play that my knee was a calico mare
Saddled and bridled for Bumpville;
Leap to the back of this steed, if you dare,
And gallop away to Bumpville!
I hope you'll be sure to sit fast in your seat,
For this calico mare is prodigiously fleet,
And many adventures you're likely to meet
As you journey along to Bumpville.
This calico mare both gallops and trots
While whisking you off to Bumpville;
She paces, she shies, and she stumbles, in spots,
In the tortuous road to Bumpville;
And sometimes this strangely mercurial steed
Will suddenly stop and refuse to proceed,
Which, all will admit, is vexatious indeed,
When one is en route to Bumpville!
She's scared of the cars when the engine goes "Toot!"
Down by the crossing at Bumpville;
You'd better look out for that treacherous brute
Bearing you off to Bumpville!
With a snort she rears up on her hindermost heels,
And executes jigs and Virginia reels -
Words fail to explain how embarrassed one feels
Dancing so wildly to Bumpville!
It's bumpytybump and it's jiggytyjog,
Journeying on to Bumpville
It's over the hilltop and down through the bog
You ride on your way to Bumpville;
It's rattletybang over boulder and stump,
There are rivers to ford, there are fences to jump,
And the corduroy road it goes bumpytybump,
Mile after mile to bumpville!
Perhaps you'll observe it's no easy thing
Making the journey to Bumpville,
So I think, on the whole, it were prudent to bring
An end to this ride to Bumpville;
For, though she has uttered no protest or plaint,
The calico mare must be blowing and faint -
What's more to the point, I'm blowed if I ain't!
So play we have got to Bumpville!
poem by Eugene Field
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The Nightmare
The job
Waking up when you’re fired
Leaving office when you’re tired
Reaching home when you’re wired
The shadows of the day mired
The horror
That concludes a day’s strains
And the anxiety
That follows the soul’s trail
In the darkness full of pain
The game
Caught up in the middle
With nowhere to go but the centre
With nothing to do but playing on
For a reward that is peanuts
The highway
Taking the paths of worries
Feeding on a meal of anxieties
Buried in a grave of pity…
WAKE UP, WAKE UP from the night mare!
The sunrise
And it is no longer dark
Rain fall
And the land is no longer dry
WAKE UP, WAKE UP from the night mare!
poem by Timothy muggaga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Winnie
When I went by the meadow gate
The chestnut mare would trot to meet me,
And as her coming I would wait,
She'd whinney high as if to greet me.
And I would kiss her silky nose,
And stroke her neck until it glistened,
And speak soft words: I don't suppose
She understand - but how she listened!
Then in the war-net I was caught,
Returning three black winters older;
And when the little mare I sought
The farmer told me he had sold her.
And so time passed - when in the street
One day I heard a plaintive whinney
That roused a recollection sweet,
So then I turned and there was Winnie.
I vow she knew me, mooning there.
She raised her nose for me to fondle,
And though I'd lost an arm I'll swear
She kissed the empty sleeve a-dangle.
But oh it cut me to the heart,
Though I was awful glad to meet her,
For lo! she dragged a tinker's cart
And stumbled weakly as he beat her.
Just skin and bone, a sorry hack!
Say, fellow, you may think it funny:
I made a deal and bought her back,
Though it took all my bonus money.
And she'll be in the meadow there,
As long as I have dough for spending . . .
Gee! I'll take care of that old mare -
"Sweetheart! you'll have a happy ending."
poem by Robert William Service
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How The Favourite Beat Us
"Aye," said the boozer, "I tell you it's true, sir,
I once was a punter with plenty of pelf,
But gone is my glory, I'll tell you the story
How I stiffened my horse and got stiffened myself.
"'Twas a mare called the Cracker, I came down to back her,
But found she was favourite all of a rush,
The folk just did pour on to lay six to four on,
And several bookies were killed in the crush.
"It seems old Tomato was stiff, though a starter;
They reckoned him fit for the Caulfield to keep.
The Bloke and the Donah were scratched by their owner,
He only was offered three-fourths of the sweep.
"We knew Salamander was slow as a gander,
The mare could have beat him the length of the straight,
And old Manumission was out of condition,
And most of the others were running off weight.
"No doubt someone 'blew it', for everyone knew it,
The bets were all gone, and I muttered in spite,
'If I can't get a copper, by Jingo, I'll stop her,
Let the public fall in, it will serve the brutes right.'
"I said to the jockey, 'Now, listen, my cocky,
You watch as you're cantering down by the stand,
I'll wait where that toff is and give you the office,
You're only to win if I lift up my hand.'
"I then tried to back her -- 'What price is the Cracker?'
'Our books are all full, sir,' each bookie did swear;
My mind, then, I made up, my fortune I played up
I bet every shilling against my own mare.
"I strolled to the gateway, the mare, in the straight way
Was shifting and dancing, and pawing the ground,
The boy saw me enter and wheeled for his canter,
When a darned great mosquito came buzzing around.
"They breed 'em at Hexham, it's risky to vex 'em,
They suck a man dry at a sitting, no doubt,
But just as the mare passed, he fluttered my hair past,
I lifted my hand, and I flattened him out.
"I was stunned when they started, the mare simply darted
Away to the front when the flag was let fall,
For none there could match her, and none tried to catch her --
She finished a furlong in front of them all.
"You bet that I went for the boy, whom I sent for
The moment he weighed and came out of the stand --
"Who paid you to win it? Come, own up this minute."
"Lord love yer," said he, "why, you lifted your hand."
`'Twas true, by St Peter, that cursed 'muskeeter'
Had broke me so broke that I hadn't a brown,
And you'll find the best course is when dealing with horses
To win when you're able, and keep your hands down."
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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The Man to Follow
Apart from the crowd with its banter and mirth,
Sitting loose on his mare with an eye to the whins,
He has looked to his curb, he has tightened his girth,
He has marked out a place where the big double thins.
Here's a good one to follow,
To follow, to follow-
A good one to follow when business begins.
'Mid the murmur of meeting, the laugh and the joke,
'Mid the trampling of horses, the cheer and the rate,
He has caught the low whimper when Challenger spoke
And has seen the raised hat of the man by the gate.
He's the right one to follow,
To follow, to follow,
The right one to follow and trust with your fate.
When they tumble from covert, each hound giving tongue,
When they carry it, confident, over the plough,
When the hurrying Field down the headland is strung,
Here's the man for your money! You follow him now!
He's the right one to follow,
To follow, to follow,
So bundle and after him! Never mind how!
Ere the gay coffee-housers are into their stride
He is over the hedge with a trifle to spare
And down in his saddle and ready to ride,
For whoever may miss it he means to be there!
This right one to follow,
To follow, to follow,
This lean lashing lad on the bonny blood mare.
If you're riding a horse that can gallop and jump,
That can creep through a cat-hole or spread at a ditch,
If you don't mind a thorn-scratch, a bruise, or a bump,
A drain or a double and Devil care which,
Here's the right one to follow,
To follow, to follow-
The man that's a wizard, the mare that's a witch!
poem by William Henry Ogilvie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Stewball
(yellin / rinzler / herald)
Old stewball was a racehorse
And I wished he were mine
He never drank water
He always drank wine
His bridle was silver
And his mane it was gold
But worth of his saddle
Has never been told
The fairgrounds was crowded
And old stewball was there
But the betting was heavy
On the bay and the mare
Oh, way up yonder
Ahead of them all
Came prancing and dancing
My noble stewball
If I bet on the grey mare
And I bet on the bay
And if Id bet on old stewball
Id be a free man today
Oh, the hoot owl she hollers
And the turtle dove moans
Im a poor boy in trouble
Im a long way from home
Old stewball was a racehorse
And I wished he was mine
He never drank water
He always drank wine
song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Get Wet Because Im Dry
It’s cold and dark everywhere
The clouds kissed the mountains near
The hungry rivers are shouting and swelling
Help! The grassland is drowning
The dampen bird ceased to fly
An old horse prayed to calm the sky
In the other end, there’s the disgusted mare
The frog’s endless cry she claimed to beauty is bare
The angry thunder in heavens begun to roar
But the lighting is quick and warned to moor
To the overly drunk trees in the forest
Hold tight the dampen bird to your chest!
The night falls but of no distinction
The day’s sun is as dark as the midnight moon
But in the gloom, a circle of light appeared
It’s from a hungry feline’s eyes dazzled red
Hours, days, nights, weeks, birds, frogs, horse passed
Oh dear, the torment has ultimately stopped
The dampen birds found hope and start to hop
The old horse hugs the mare and slashes the loop
Sadly, no singing frog welcomed the new day
Because the hungry cat ended his song instantly
And the mare slept well all that night
The next morning is a goodbye to the bird’s faraway flight.
poem by Ayi Escalona
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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