The horse's best allowance is his master's eye.
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Unassailable Fidelity!
The horse never slept
Nor it lay on ground
His mind was battling
With the songs of swords
The challenges of the riders
The splash of blood
The pool of blood
The horse kicked
The horse of the enemy
Eager to cut the throat
Of his master on him
The horse trampled on
The dead on the battlefield
To take his master to safety
When the hissing sound of sword
Lashed at him like a storm.
The horse learnt the rule
The rule of sword
The rule of battlefield
The justice of killing
And the destiny of killed!
His master on him swing
With the sword socked with blood
Of the enemy cavalry
And enemy animal carriers
And moved fast to fix
The mast and flag
At the fort his master seized.
As the thunder and lightening
Deafened and blinded
The horse lost a leg
And the master had the wound
Gushing blood with all force
The horse leapt as a wind
And crossed the river
And fell on the river bed
And his master took his head
To put on his lap
To see the flash of life
Taking wings through eyes!
The horse had the satiety
Of saving his master
And serving him to keep alive!
poem by Vadakkumpurath Ramesan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lonesome Poke Town
As the train was approaching a small town out West
The passenger looked out of the window and saw the most
beautiful horse in the world
The train was not scheduled to stop there
But, Jack, the passenger pulled the stop cord
Jack went into the train station He asked the station master about the
horse
He asked the station master about the horse
It so happened that he owned the horse
Jack asked if he could buy the horse
The station master said, 'Yes'
Jack paid the master $25.00
And the most beautiful horse was his now
And he named him 'Irish'
August 14,2006, Clarence A. Graham, Jr.
poem by Jr. Clarence A. Graham
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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Sonnet: Piggy-back Ride
Yes, children enjoy a piggy-back ride!
The father as horse and mother beside;
The thrilled little ones just simply enjoy,
And mock at the horse while laughing with joy.
Giddap! Giddap! They goad the horse faster;
Today, they are the jockey and the master!
And then the horse must dance well to their tune,
Slowly, gracefully and speed up too, soon.
Sometimes, the horse is just compelled to neigh!
Shaking its head for the entire day;
No doubt, the act gets troublesome indeed;
Until taken to the ‘stable’ to feed.
At times, children can the wildest horse tame!
But, condescension’s, the key to the game.
poem by John Celes
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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
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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
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The Genius Of Being A Dumb Animal (like a horse for instance)
The precocious interrupted patterns
of his thick tongued speech
are a direct result of the broken dialects
he had been learned at home.(the master not the horse)
His loving mother and laboring father,
both of whom were legal immigrants,
had walked out of eastern Europe,
and yet only briefly had stepped outside
of their existentialist dreams,
when they conceived the likes of him.
'Son, we want you to hurt like we do.'
they both would radically repeat
to their impressionable boy.....over and over,
as they washed behind his balls and ears.
And so it was that at a very young age
these austere expressions would become
very systematic in his writings.
Poetry became his enemy and his best friend.
Throwing himself into books full
of someone else's distorted
thoughts and equations,
he promised himself that one day soon
he would save the world. (from itself)
Even if it resisted such help, he thought
he would never see it his parent's way.
In a time when most boys
still played with all their marbles
he kept his glass eyes in a tin,
which also doubled as his head.
Thereby,
an early indicator
of the duplicitous manner,
in which he intended to prove
to the myopic world
that he was smarter than one might think
Hence.....*this is where the horse comes in...*
The man bought a horse to help
him in the cluttered junk business
he had built from the ground up
The horse just as all else in the man's life
was always placed before the cart
and the cart was routinely overfilled,
while still bridled to the hard working horse.
The horse, after all was said and done
remained completely convinced
despite his Master's verbose claims,
that there was no possible reason,
or need to reinvent a better wheel
for his overloaded cart
as was suggested by the horse
when the horse had on one day developed
a noticeable shortness in his gate
Alas.....poor......horse
All the genius which the horse displayed
in both compensating for his limp despite the load.....
still completing his daily grind without complaint
would prove to count for nothing
when he broke his leg tripping over his master
in the stampede to get the 'Hell out of Dodge'____
and his master's utopia......
poem by Ted Sheridan
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Lord of the Flies
Oh Master my Master
Oh where have you been
I wallowed in filth and
I drowned in sin
Oh Master my Master
It's my rotten luck
To swim in the decay
And swallow the muck
Oh Master my Master
I stand in the fires
Surrounded by murderers
Thieves, cheaters, and liars
Oh Master my Master
the earth has turned red
Fluid with blood
Of the recently dead
Oh Master my Master
What's wrong with the world
The blackness unfolds
Like a flag that's unfurled
Oh Master my Master
You ignore my cries
And now I'm quite sure
You're the Lord of the Flies
poem by Anonymous Ghurl
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Whipping
Race is the name of the game
Along with my horse I enlisted my name
I whipped my horse giving him pain
I had a plan for both of us to win.
He did not know
So fast why he had to go!
Race is the name of the game
My Master enlisted my name
He whips me giving me pain
As if He has a plan to make me win.
What's if somebody gives another name of the game?
It will not change; the game will be the same
We are all the players of the game
What, when, how and why if they claim
If even one starts giving me and my Master a blame
Still we have to suffer and intake the pain
My Master knows better what game we have to win!
poem by Abdul Wahab
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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
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Daily Allowance
Give me the daily allowance on this love and,
Let me treat myself for twelve moons on a beauty regimen;
Because i waited for three days before i met you.
A silent prayer of love,
And each man is with his weapon of love in the hand;
But my daily allowance is needed on this issue because,
I am the girl behind the mirror hanging on the wall.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Pegasus
If I am a Pegasus, the winged horse in Greek mythology.
Definitely I would have changed my stable, jockey and reins
As I want to be free myself.
I am sure that my Master would have released me
And I find a short cut for my loved ones.
I promise him to be returned with my lost identity.
Then I could have request from my Master to be a Stallion as usual
And give back the wings according to my phenomenon.
Master, please do not count my teeth as I am a workhorse without the working papers.
(To my poet friend Max.Reif)
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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It's a Dream
I think
I am
A wild and free horse
Out in the meadows
In the wilderness
I think I am free
At will
To wander wherever I so choose
I think I am
My own master
But then my dream
Is over
And I wake up
To realize that I am a farm horse
Giving visitors the excitement of riding me
poem by Emily Krauss
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The Commercial Horse In The Crowded City...
the horse in Quiapo
listens to its footsteps
sets on another commercial
trip guided only by
the whipping of
its master,
the driver
who earns only what
is enough for
a day's survival
it is all about himself only
no one else
not for any horse
or this old horse
with stinking dung
on covered eyes it sees no
danger
the reality that the city is crowded
with ten wheeler trucks
and taxis and
jeepneys and luxury cars,
and people without purpose
at all
a native is bloody lying dead
hit by a car without a plate number
another victim of hit and run
there are no stories of interest to tell
the policeman is smoking at the nearby
eatery, reading a komiks magazine
the horse, back to the servant hourse,
it is cool
it is not disturbed at all....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Book Of Contemplation - For Woman
FOR woman due allowance make!
Form'd of a crooked rib was she,--
By Heaven she could not straightened be.
Attempt to bend her, and she'll break;
If left alone, more crooked grows madam;
What well could be worse, my good friend, Adam?--
For woman due allowance make;
'Twere grievous, if thy rib should break!
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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Lovely To His Eyes (Hybridanelle)
A farmer walks up to his horse and it is spring again
in the distance there’s ploughing red Massy Ferguson tractor
and he bridles the horse and there is pain
His son is out there tracking the field
seems young, vital and strong
and it’s as if he has now got to yield
and the earth is soft underfoot after the rain.
and he’s still the administrator.
A farmer walks up to his horse and it is spring again
and he still has some power to wield
and his eyes measure the ploughed field, the smell of fresh earth,
seems young, vital and strong
and he wonders how many years still remain
but the ache reminds him of the words of the doctor
and he bridles the horse and there is pain
that surrounds him, almost like a token of new birth
and the ardent Arabic horse knows its master well
and his eyes measure the ploughed field, the smell of fresh earth
and stretched out lies the farm that he has to maintain
and on the house’s thatched roof gleams the lightening conductor.
A farmer walks up to his horse and it is spring again
and he horse acts with love, as if under his spell
and life is really great under the sun, wind and sky
and the ardent Arabic horse knows its master well
and from riding horses he have got to abstain,
but he keeps his face pleasant like that of an actor
and he bridles the horse and there is pain
everything is familiar like any other day, where he is saddled high
and he feels full of spirit
and life is really great under the sun, wind and sky
the farm stretches out lovely to his eyes without a stain
and he rides to the chicken coop and the incubator.
A farmer walks up to his horse and it is spring again
and he bridles the horse and there is pain
and probably soon his only child will inherit.
His son is out there tracking the field
and he feels full of spirit
and it’s as if he has now got to yield.
poem by Gert Strydom
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What Do You Really Expect?
what do you really expect
from the horse that you have
seen accidentally on the
wilderness? it is black and
wild and has no name to call
as master, and it runs as
fast as the wind, and lives
on top of cliffs and grazes
only on secret places where
the grasses are thick and
so green,
it knows the secrets of the
earth and knows where to
find water and food in abundance,
you expect to catch it
and caress it with your hands?
it is impossible! this black horse
is one of the horses of Zeus
and takes orders only from him.
tomorrow the black horse shall
be gone forever, and you
mortal one shall not forget
the griefs on the casualties
of the war in Troy.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cavallina Storna
The grey horse follows its familiar road home,
it pulls a wagon with a man at the reigns.
Its hooves kick up dust. This is Sicily.
It's Summer and it hasn't rained in months.
The man at the reigns is dead.
The horse waits patiently for her master's whip.
She won't speed up without it.
At the barbershop in town
hair floated cutting through beams of light
and irritating his breath.
He thought he was to die right there,
but they waited till he was on the road.
The horse's eyes are covered to keep her calm.
She can only see ahead where she can make out
the house, and the children waiving
from the branches of the orange tree.
poem by Matthew Christopher
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The White Horse...
on that early dawn
they arrived. I will not tell you
exactly how many were they.
they brought the wild horse again
this time it is white and coy
they did not speak to me
my attention was focused on the
beautiful horse
i did not show that i liked it
i did not talk too
then they brought the horse inside
the house
and then the windows and doors
were closed
and then the white horse started to
dance
and i liked it more
it was then that i realized
what are they really
and why are they here bringing me
a beautiful white horse
will they take my antique chairs
made of rosewood?
will i bargain my house
for a horse?
just for a horse
and they whose names i do not really know
shall laugh
after they had finally taken the whole of what i have
just for a white horse whose talent is just
to dance?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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