The horses of hope gallop, but the asses of experience go slowly.
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Children With Soap Bubbles
Like smoke the bubbles whirl up
in the wind’s frolicking game
hopping like horses that gallop
and other children have got to look out
or their eyes are going to burn.
Like smoke the bubbles whirl up
against the arms and heads of others
before they heave into the air,
hopping like horses that gallop
with children blowing over a soapy soup
soap-bubble after soap-bubble burst,
like smoke the bubbles whirl up
like balls kicked off by the wind
when mothers scold their dirty children,
hopping like horses that gallop
and later an adult looks after them
to set rules for the game,
like smoke the bubbles whirl up
hopping like horses that gallop.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Galloping Days
Galloping, galloping, galloping horses
Weave thro' our dreaming in burgeoning Spring;
There's sun in our hearts and there's sun on the courses,
And paeans of hope Winter's threnody forces
Over the hill-tops; for joy is a-wing.
Joy is a-wing, and the galloping rhythm
Mingles, alack, with a ruefuller rune,
For winners may rug but the losers run with 'em,
On the galloping, galloping tune.
Galloping, galloping, galloping gladly
Round the white railing and on to the turn,
While keeping in time to it, urgently madly,
Pulses are racing, ecstatic'ly, sadly;
Eyes to the thundering eagerly yearn,
Voice, upraising, are praising, are pleading,
Mid rackets gay jackets flash by and are gone.
Then the field in the sunlight, retreating, receding,
Goes galloping, galloping, galloping on.
Galloping, galloping, galloping; streaming
Now in green distances, seeming to crawl,
Like miniatures moving, like manikins seeming,
While o'er hedge and hollow a bland sun is beaming
Casting a benison over it all.
They run to the 'Distance.' The horses! The horses!
They gallop! They gallop! They turn for the 'Straight!'
They gallop, the hoses! Who nurses remorse is
A runagate cringer to galloping Fate.
Galloping, galloping, galloping ever,
Tho' cheering is over, they gallop amain;
Tho' fact and fond fancy reluctantly sever,
The round of that ultimate, straining endeavor
Still buffets and bludgeons and beats on the brain.
They gallop - Wake up, man! What profits regaining?
Luck lurks in the offing. On, on with the dance.
Aw, tear up your ticket! The sun is still shining.
The next race is starting. Who foots it with Chance?
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Windy Nights
Whenever the moon and stars are set,
Whenever the wind is high,
All night long in the dark and wet,
A man goes riding by.
Late in the night when the fires are out,
Why does he gallop and gallop about?
Whenever the trees are crying aloud,
And ships are tossed at sea,
By, on the highway, low and loud,
By at the gallop goes he.
By at the gallop he goes, and then
By he comes back at the gallop again.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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Why is it there are so many more horses' asses than there are horses?
quote by G. Gordon Liddy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Galloping Horses
Oh, this is the week when no rhymster may rhyme
On the joy of the bush or the ills of the time,
Nor pour out his soul in delectable rhythm
Of women and wine and the lure they have with 'em,
Nor pen philosophic if foolish discourses,
Because of the fury of galloping horses.
Galloping, galloping thro' the refrain -
The lure and the lilt of it beat on the brain.
Strive as you may for Arcadian Themes,
The silks and the saddles will weave thro' your dreams.
Surging, and urging the visions aside
For a lyrical lay of equestrian pride,
For the roar of the race and the call of the courses,
And galloping, galloping, galloping horses.
This is the week for the apotheosis
Of Horse in his glory, from tail to proboscis.
That curious quadrupled, proud and aloof,
That holds all the land under thrall of his hoof.
All creeds and conditions, all factions and forces,
All, all must give way to the galloping horses.
Galloping, galloping - sinner and saint
March to the metre, releasing restraint.
If it isn't the Cup it's the Oaks or the Steeple
That wraps in its magic the minds of the people.
Whether they seek it for profit or pleasure,
They all, willy-nilly, must dance to the measure.
The mood of the moment in all men endorses
The glamorous game and the galloping horses
Galloping horses - jockeys and courses
They gallop, we gallop with galloping horses.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Clown's Reply
JOHN TROTT was desired by two witty peers
To tell them the reason why asses had ears?
'An't please you,' quoth John, 'I'm not given to letters,
Nor dare I pretend to know more than my betters;
Howe'er, from this time I shall ne'er see your graces,
As I hope to be saved! without thinking on asses.'
poem by Oliver Goldsmith
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Nightmares
Asian nightmares come from the heavens,
Under the flowers is a soil to grow,
Where nightmares exist,
The folly of horses and different steeds,
In the right path they tread.
Africa has no dream of its own
But that of horses riding, openly dying
When they gallop, stealing the grass and sand
With their enormous hooves.
Nightmares are against the teaching of the public.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Heaven Tonight
Here comes a sign in the form of a girl
Shes the finest, sweetest thing in the world
Oh, take you to heaven tonight
I feel the horses coming galloping
In the summers end
Take you to heaven tonight
Oh, because I love you
For what you are
Ill gallop to you
Tonight, tonight I will ride
Ill give it to you
Well go to heaven tonight
Tonight
I dont know why ?
Oh baby, I was heading for heaven tonight
Ill go to heaven tonight
I feel the horses coming galloping
Ill never grow old, Ill go to heaven tonight
Because I love you
For what you are
Ill gallop to you
Tonight, tonight I will ride
Ill bow down to you
Well go to heaven tonight
Tonight
I cant believe that I could be happy
Summer will come again, I could be happy
Oh, stop your crying, you could be happy
Go to heaven when you make me happy
Here comes a kiss that I never had
Nothing feels like this, headed to heaven tonight
I love you
Here comes a storm in the form of a girl
Shes the finest, sweetest thing in the world
Oh, Ill go to heaven tonight
For what you are
Ill gallop to you
Tonight, tonight I will ride
Ill bow down to you
Well go to heaven tonight
Tonight
song performed by by Hole
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stallions Hope
I believe that horses can heal,
I believe that their hearts feel all that we feel,
I believe that the joy from riding is real,
I believe that horses really can heal.
I see children riding and smiling with joy,
I see happy healthy girls and boys,
I see hope for life and wonder renewed,
I see love for the children coming to you.
I see dreams for the kids, who once were lost,
I see helping hands, no matter the cost,
I see friends for kids, who once were tossed,
I see children laughing and no longer lost.
I do believe that horses can heal,
I believe that horses make recovery real,
I believe being sober is a much better deal,
I really believe that horses can heal.
And I know that this land, its buildings and stones,
Insures that our children are never alone,
Insures that our horses and children are one,
Insures that their lives will finally be won.
Yes I do believe that horses can heal.
That recovery hope and dreams are real,
That God and love can make a child whole,
That all of this is the Stallions Hope role.
poem by Sandra Osborne
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A Song Of Spring
The Spring comes slowly up this way,
Slowly, slowly,
Under a snood of hodden grey.
The black and white for her array,
Slowly, slowly,
The Spring comes slowly up this way.
Where is her green that was so gay?
Slowly, slowly,
The Spring comes slowly up this way.
Unto a world too sick for May,
Slowly, slowly,
The Spring comes slowly up this way.
Where are the lads that used to play?
Slowly, slowly,
The Spring comes slowly up this way.
She has no heart for holiday,
Slowly, slowly,
The Spring comes slowly up this way.
The trees are out in Heaven they say.
Slowly, slowly,
The Spring comes slowly up our way.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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Future Imperfect
Beneath a gray and weeping sky
I watched a horse drawn hearse go by
A sight we very rarely see
It seems to have more dignity
Than any slowly driven limousine
Two horses black as ebony
A well matched pair walk sedately
Almost as if the horses know
The must put on a finer show
Than any slowly driven limousine
The hearse itself is gleaming black
With etched glass windows in the back
Through which it’s possible to see
The coffin more respectfully
Than any slowly driven limousine
The cortege as it passes by
Is guaranteed to catch the eye
It is a sight that seemingly
Most people would prefer to see
Than any slowly driven limousine
Though fashions change there is a cost
The sense of dignity is lost
Although I’m sure they do their best
Nothing attracts less interest
Than any slowly driven limousine
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Embodied Transmutation
Air breathed embodied transmutes
oxidizes grey clay
wild horses gallop across mind soul.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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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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Asses
'I KNOW where I'd get
An ass that would do,
If I had the money
A pound or two.'
Said a ragged man
To my uncle one day;
He got the money
And went on his way.
And after that time
In market or fair
I'd look at the asses
That might be there.
And wonder what kind
Of an ass would do
For a ragged man
With a pound or two.
O the black and roan horses the street would fill,
Their manes and tails streaming, and they standing still,
And their owners, the men of estate, would be there,
Refusing gold guineas for a colt or a mare.
And one, maybe, riding up and down like a squire
So that buyers from Dublin might see and admire
The hunter or racer come to be sold
And be willing and ready to pay out their gold.
With men slouching beside them and buyers not near
It's no wonder the asses held down head and ear.
They had been sold or in by-ways bought
For a few half-crowns tied up in a knot,
And no one so poor as to buy one might come
To that fair that had horses so well prized at home!
And then it fell out
That at Arva or Scrabbey,
At some down-county fair,
Or Mohill or Abbey,
On two asses I happened
Without duress or dole
They were there in the market,
A dam and her foal.
And the owner, a woman,
Did not slouch or stand,
But in her cart sitting
Was as grand as the grand;
Like a queen out of Connacht
From her toe to her tip,
Like proud Crania Uaile
On the deck of her ship.
And her hair 'twas a mane:
The blackberries growing
Out of the hedge-rows
Have the sheen it was showing,
There kind was with kind
Like the flowers in the grasses
If the owner was fine,
As fine were her asses.
White, white was the mother
As a dusty white road;
Black on back and on shoulders
The cross-marking showed.
She was tall she could carry
A youth stout of limb,
Or bear down from her mountain
The bride decked for him!
Such was the mother
The foal's hide was brown,
All fleecy and curly,
And soft like bog-down;
And it nuzzled its mother,
Its head to her knee,
And blue were its eyes
Like the pools of the sea!
Then I thought all the silver
My uncle could draw
Might not pay for the creatures
That that day I saw;
And I thought that old Damer,
Who had troughs made of gold,
Could not pay for the asses,
The young and the old.
And I think of them still
When I see on the roads
Asses unyoked,
And asses with loads;
One running and trotting,
With harness loose,
And a man striking and hitting
Where his stick has use;
And one with a hide
Like a patched-on sack
And two creels of turf
Upon its back;
And one in the market,
Meek and brown,
Its head to the cart-shafts
That are down;
Eating its forage
A wisp of hay;
In the dust of the highway
Munching away;
Unmarked in the market
As might be a mouse
Behind a low stool
In a quiet house
Then I think of the pair
Horses might not surpass
The dam and her foal,
The white ass and brown ass.
poem by Padraic Colum
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The Merry Go Round
The horses forever
gallop
Never slowing down.
shards keep falling
by the way side
pieces always lie in
want.
I'm tired of riding
this pony
stop this merry-go-
round.
let me off.
poem by Heather Burns
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The Merry/Go-Round
The horses
forever
gallop,
never
slowing
down.
Shards keep
falling
by the
way-side,
pieces
always lie
in want.
I'm tired
of riding
this pony,
stop this
merry-go-
round.
Let me off.
poem by Heather Burns
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