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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Horseshoe
Maya, the lovelorn lass in the stable who spends the whole life
with a hobble horse as a hobby until she became a hoary woman.
One day the stallion said goodbye to her.
But still she hears its sorrowful neigh.
The cruel life hoaxed up to her death bed.
Now she rest in peace behind the stable in the horse's grave.
The Blacksmith's beautiful daughter who carries a horseshoe at all.
The teacher questioned her in the Sunday school.
'Where do you come from Maya? '
'I am staying behind the horsewoman's graveyard' She replied.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Lesson From The Horse Race
There's no such thing as gallant loser and there's no glory in defeat
And coming first is all that matter and victory is always sweet
For the winning horse and jockey there's a mighty hip hooray
And the jockey he is smiling victory has made his day.
The stable lad leads in his winner he has never known such joy
And the owner pats his race horse as if to say well done me boy
And there's applause for the winning trainer from the large onlooking crowd
And the horse is centre of attention and those who backed him clapping loud.
Near by stands the beaten favourite held there by his stable lad
And with no trace of the horse's owner and the trainer looking sad
In a thrilling photo finish beaten into second place
But he get little recognition for running such a splendid race.
Human life is like the horse race at winning post you've got to lead
Losers are quickly forgotten and to be loved you must succeed
You must strive hard for your glory and if you fail in your vital test
You too will be quick forgotten as winners are remembered best
And there's a lesson from the horse race and it read plain for all to see
If you live for admiration go for outright victory
And you will be the main attraction and all the applause will be for you
And like the poor defeated race horse there will be none for number two.
poem by Francis Duggan
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An able horse will never come back to feed in the same stable.
Who takes my watercolour painting to the Amateur's Art Exhibition?
O the poor hairless brush secretly informs me
That the Horse wants to run away.
I beg you to stay until the Exhibition finishes
And I promise you to make a better stable
If I win the first prize!
Let stay together for sometimes
And I am sure that you have a bright future.
Still if your intension is to run away?
Then I am sorry as I cannot stop
And I give you wings!
[To the poets Pranab K Chakraborty and Yoonoos Peerbocus.]
*Arrange whatever pieces come your way.
-Woolf
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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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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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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Robert The Horse
Robert the horse you are a very old horse
You owner feeds you every day
Carrots and apples
You love carrots and apples
Rober the horse
It is too cold to go out
And if you go out you might even die
Robert the hore
It is better for you to stay in your stable
That is in the basement of a house
poem by Aldo Kraas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You're better off betting on a horse than betting on a man. A horse may not be able to hold you tight, but he doesn't wanna wander from the stable at night.
quote by Betty Grable
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Constipated hostler and the homebred woman
Sometimes he sleeps in the stable
And wakes up to gadflies' hubbub.
Scarcely a woman waits for him
At the Pub to secure his wallet.
He neighs like a horse after two gulps of cheap liquor
And she plucks the gray hair from his beehive like beard.
After sometimes both of them groan
And the Platonic love continues till the rickety stable closed.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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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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Sonnet: On Research
Don’t teach a Horse to feed on Horse-Radish;
And don’t teach it to munch on Turnips too;
Don’t show a Cat to catch mice and eat fish;
For these things, they so naturally will do.
Don’t force a Horse to drink river-water,
Don’t flog a tired Horse, without an end;
No matter what they feed, Pigs grow fatter,
You don’t have to tell the Willow to bend.
Just give the chances; most men will perform;
Encourage them to come out in their best;
Create right conditions and keep them warm;
Give them some incentives, honour and rest.
Research is done by Scientists if you spend;
There are no short-cuts; Don’t hasten their end.
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Parable
I read how Quixote in his random ride
Came to a crossing once, and lest he lose
The purity of chance, would not decide
Whither to fare, but wished his horse to choose.
For glory lay wherever turned the fable.
His head was light with pride, his horse's shoes
Were heavy, and he headed for the stable.
poem by Richard Wilbur
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fed 3 Horses
The narrator spoke
'She fed her 3 horses that morning'
Hippophagy...
a tragedy
============
While it is probable that the author meant that she
fed 3 horses in the stable,
horse slaughter occurs at Texas slaughterhouses
and the horse pieces are sent to France and other
hippophagous countries
poem by O. Anna Niemus
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The Butterfly Weed
Oh lady bug, you've done a good deed.
Setting your table on the butterfly weed,
You're the custodian of all you survey,
On butterfly weed, till the end of the day.
Oh beautiful monarch, where do you feed,
I see you too love the butterfly weed.
You and the ladybug would be poor indeed,
If it was'nt for the butterfly weed.
Oh hummingbird whose throat seems to bleed,
What do you here on the butterfly weed?
All hummingbirds, good advice heed,
We love the orange butterfly weed.
God's smallest creatures, go by one creed,
To congregate on the butterfly weed.
Let the south wind blow, and spread your seed,
So that there will be millions of the butterfly weed.
5/31/03 Alton Texas
poem by Juan Olivarez
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Herbert
Whilst cleaning out a stable
A was about to light me light
When a voice behind my shoulder
Said “It’s rather cold tonight”
“How do you do”, he said “I’m, Herbert”
then he give his foot a stamp
“I expect this has quite shaken you”
He was right! …A nearly dropped me lamp.
For a start he’d no right talking
A mean he were a Bloody Horse!
And secondly he had real a posh voice
E’ made me sound proper coarse.
“Well” a said “am gobsmacked”
am am not sure what to do
a talking horse named Herbert
A you sure that, that was you?
“Of course not, don’t be silly
But I’ll tell you what you missed
You see that pig behind you
Then he whispered “Ventriloquist”
Well a give the Pig a reet good stare
But he never blinked an eye.
“Herbert art thou takin piss”
and the horse he said “I try”
So it is you that’s bloody talking
But isn’t that’s against the rules?
the Horse just looked straight at me
and you could see him thinking “fool! ”
Now that’s a matter of opinion
As to who’s allowed to talk
I mean you humans just have two legs
But you still allowed to walk.
OK OK I said, a take your point
I suppose it’s really up to you
But for all them years not one horse spoke
Now suddenly “how do you bloody do”
A’ said hang on just a minute Herbert
How come you picked today?
Oh it was by way of an experiment
Just to see what you would say.
On reflection though a little rash
Perhaps not the thing to do
Mankind is just not ready yet
If I am to judge by you
Well you’ve blown you cover big style
Of that there’s little doubt
A talking horse called Herbert
just wait ‘til this gets out
So you met a talking horse did you?
Now who’ll believe the truth
I mean once this conversations over
Think carefully, where’s you proof
The Horse he looked around him
The he eyed the pig as well.
“He’s your only real eye witness
And who’s the Pig about to tell”
poem by Bill Mitton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I brush my old horse's teeth
' Why you look so sad these days? '
I asked her, my obedient friendly horse 'Moon'.
She said very calmly; 'The race is close by Boss.'
' What can I do for you my dear? '
I brush her teeth then at least she can smile whether she lose or not?
She jumps the hurdle that I am sure and I locked the rickety stable.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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His horse's head is too big, it cannot get out of the stable.
The man who is born in a stable is not a horse.
The More You Pay
The auctioneer said, I'm not through yet,
Here's a horse the likes of which you've never seen,
And the straw hats in the sun, with a face beneath each one,
Shown doubtful and the auctioneer got mean.
Do you think that you can find a horse like this every day?
I don't think there's any better on this earth,
And the more you pay, the more it's worth.
Then out she came, a snow-white mare,
Prancin' and a dancin' in the silver sun,
They watched her from behind, as she did her bump and grind,
Walkin' naked, sad and graceful for their fun.
Oh how I wished I could afford that lady painted white,
A queen with high nobility of birth,
But the more you pay, the more it's worth.
My pockets hung with empty blues,
Silent heels were standin' on my growin' pains,
My bid was not too bad, two bits was all I had,
And the stable boy just handed me the reins.
Well the gallery went wild, and the auctioneer half smiled,
What we don't sell we shoot or give away,
'Cause the more you pay, the more it's worth.
And where was the boy, who rode on her back,
With his arms holding tight round her neck?
How tightly he clung,
When they both were young,
And fate had not let this poor girl be so
Disgraced.
song performed by by Don McLean
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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