You grow by drives
The bull got horns to fight with.
The horse has no horns for that.
The horse learnt running to escape by.
Skill grows in adopted ways,
As demanded by sex and safety.
It is a myth the God fevours
For each growth and each loss.
Gravels turn to pebbles by force
28.05.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It’s the second day that I visit
It’s the second day that I visit
on the farm near Reivelo,
just past Vryburg.
They farm with cattle, goats,
a few sheep, muscovy ducks, turkeys
and chicken.
The scrambler bumps up and down
right through the field
and go past rocks and bushes,
while we drive along the rough field
and the hot wind
cut across my face
and there are places
where it cannot go.
It’s time to transform
young bulls to oxen,
to brand cattle
and to cut their horns
and I get a black stallion
to ride into the field.
My cousin rides in front
with a brown Arabian mare
and there are bushes
and flat slabs of rock
and small hillocks that we past
to try and round up young cattle
to the corral.
It’s nice to be a cattle herder
for a time
and to use legs and heels
and reigns,
to round up cattle in the field.
Every thing goes well until
I chase a young black bull
just to the entrance of the fold,
where it stops stubbornly
and doesn’t want to move
a feet further.
I jump out of the saddle,
fasten the reigns
to a small branch
and rush to the obstinate bull.
It stands and snorting
and stamp its feet
and when it sees me,
it rushes confused
at the horse.
That faithful horse stands firm
while the bulls horns swishes
onto the reigns
and the horse
stops that bull in its tracts,
that a piece of the bridle
breaks right off.
Then I am at the bull
and pull the reigns
out of its horns
and it walks meek
into the corral,
while in astonishment
I stand and look at that animal.
With a knee-strap
and pliers in the nose
we draw the bull to the ground
and when we shear it,
it moans like a heifer
and there’s a burning smell
that goes up from the branding iron
and I see the horns
dropp at my feet
and it’s another beast
when it stand on its feet.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Picasso's Skull Caps Occupied Horses Falling
events blasts centre stages frog marches
occupied horses falling in countless agonies
run through spear javelin bayonet thrusts
large gaping torn wounds realities cruelties
horse's sides life bleeds potent swift years
devoured bull dictators devour ripe bellies
view human skull death brews demon changes
overlays victim horse's body escape crushed kneels
gore fleet horse freedom underneath deceptions
bull's horns gore tossed rent sacrifices flesh forms blood rivers
break escape equestrian front facing legs sanctuary sought shelters
seeks knee blood ground knee in groin leg's knee wobble forms
skull caps counting coup taken head's nose concussion bleeds
horn appears within horse's breast to savage despair steal souls
bull's tail forms images flame worship incendiary burning bombs
poem by Terence George Craddock
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The horns of the sister are horns of gold; the horns of the wife are true horns.
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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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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Wishing I Was a Horse
I wish I could be a horse
running through endless plain
No trails and no set course
Feeling naught but wind in my mane
From the sunrise in the east
To the sunset in the west
I will run as a noble beast
While heart pounding in my chest
No man or force will ever tame me
No saddle or bridle shall I wear
As a horse I will remain free
Because as a man I feel despair
So I sit and dream about this freedom
of running through the sun and the rain
of being noble yet bound to no kingdom
As a horse with a spirit not slain
poem by Glaedr the poet
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Halos & Horns
Halos and horns, sinners and saints,
Hearts that are torn between what's wrong and ain't
Just because it feels right does not make it so
So we struggle through life in horns and halos
Tempted and tried with each step we take
We stumble and slide and make our mistakes,
Ask God to forgive us for all of our sins,
Then we take off our horns and wear halos again
Halos and horns, sinners and saints,
Hearts that are torn between what's wrong and ain't
Just because it feels right does not make it so
So we struggle through life in horns and halos
Halos and horns, sinners and saints,
We're praised or we're scorned, we either run or we faint
Oh, but life is a challenge from the day that we're born
Just tryin' to balance halos and horns
It's heaven or hell, halos or horns
Halos and horns, sinners and saints,
Hearts that are torn between what's wrong and ain't
But just because it feels right; well, that don't make it so
So we struggle through life in horns or halos
It's either horns or halos
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One Horse Is No Different From Another
You can lead a horse to the water.
But you can not force that horse to drink.
'I've heard that before.
But that particular horse being forced,
Is already accustomed to the water.
And lives on a reservoir.
When the feeding done on oats and grains,
As well as organically grown carrots...
When it wishes,
Is common.
Why did you select that horse,
When there are a multitude of them...
Dieing from thirst and have not eaten? '
Well...
I really didn't think anyone would notice.
To me,
One horse is no different from another.
'And maybe that is why,
You find yourself in such a predicament.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Man Named Kim
I knew a man named Kim.
Who owned a horse named Jim.
And it won!
It ran wire to wire.
Man! Was that horse on fire.
I'll never forget that day.
When Kim took his horse out,
for a work out.
And the jockey fell right off the horse.
What a spill!
But nothing like the day,
when Jim won the purse.
Of course the horse's name was Jim.
And he was definitely owned by a man named Kim.
Kim has seen better days, and Kim has seen worse.
But nothing like the day,
when Jim won the purse.
And life goes on..
Horse Story Poem By Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 2001,2009..
ALL rights reserved..
poem by Kim Robin Edwards
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Out of Date Procedure!
Creativity and inventiveness look rare virtues;
In the name of procedure they are crushed
And novelty and innovation seem seldom ever!
Many wish to be in job till retirement sans change;
That way they can comfortably settle and go on
Like oil mongering bull or horse running round pot!
Oil mongering bull functioning in circular motion,
Horse running in round poet no way to go out ever
Are like a frog living in well not seeing outside world!
Mainly due to such men progress and development
No institution or nation can dream about ever at all
Making men of creativity dull and insipid in society!
Changes and reforms on procedure only open gate
To a world of plenty and progress anywhere sure!
poem by Ramesh T A
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Bull For Me
I think, Sirs, and most inimitable Ladies
I think I prefer to look at a bull
The sketch of a bull, the head of a bull perhaps
even if but a study by an artist
rather than some fancy prophet in glorious paint
or in grand chapel or some miracle recounted
in paint and colors and with consummate skill
or even God descending
ah, all these do not take my fancy
they smack too much of the Elevated;
there’s too much
of the grandstanding in these
Grand Divine Themes
but the face of a bull, ah give me a sketch
of the face of a bull
just the bull, all marks of nature in it
and just itself
no symbolism, no conceit, no artifice
no High sounding theology, no Revelation
but just animal nature in its nudity
being a bull
just animal, its eyes and mouth and horns
just all coming together to form one creature
a portrait of a bull anytime for me
Sirs and most inimitable Ladies
none of the Holy Ones and the Great Prophets
and the Mighty and the Divine
and the Grand-Looking:
no bull for me, please;
just the plain head of a bull, as it is
poem by Raj Arumugam
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The old grows mad.
Old man is in rage,
For, over ages,
His store of knowledge
And the acquired skill
Lie in waste,
With no takers in sight.
More mentally,
Than physically,
He fast grows sick.
31.05.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In a far off summer
These are the fields, bushes and trees
where a boy cried heartbroken
in a far off summer,
when the bull
swiped his darling filly
with its horns
while she was drinking
at the trough
and that horse fell twitching
on her back
with her guts ripped out
and she had to be shot
and his older brother
brought the.303 rifle
with only one bullet
and was determined
to take the shot,
but the filly moved her head
and the bullet when up her nose
and there was blood everywhere
while she neighed in pain
and he ran as fast as he could
while weeping
to get some more bullets
and without a word
took the rifle from his older brother
put a bullet in the slot and cocked it
brought the firearm to his shoulder
and took a deep breath
before squeezing the trigger.
His favourite horse was slain
and the pain was great
and almost unbearable for him
and his brother tried to comfort
but there wasn’t anything
that he could do or say
to take that pain away.
poem by Gert Strydom
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About a horse
from the village older boys
chased and caught a horse
an old horse and tied it to a tree
put oil on its hooves and lit it
away went that old horse
busting through fences and gates
trying to escape the fire
but the fire went with it
poem by Marton Dezso
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They are Westerners
Have you seen else where a denim man with gaucho in hand,
Handling a huge horse with just a star in the shoe,
Boot that commands the land, hand that hints a man is coming,
Eyes that is deep as the Appalachian Mountains.
Whenever I look at them
With their eyes floating like rivers to all sides,
Guns the only thing to protect them from wild,
And their wind talker horse who guide them to the safety.
Those rolled tobacco in their mouth and few dollars to pay for all,
The puff when it rolls and the sea of alcohol it gets enforce,
Those shabby jackets, lands in a seat and the shirt collars which kisses the heat,
Dusts are coming from their body which shows how much work they are meant for.
They do not know what the fear is,
They even do not know what begging is,
They know only to work and earn,
Field their land with stables and graze all the horses and buffaloes.
They are stronger than a Spanish bull,
So they enjoy commanding horse and bull,
Their style is the venture for,
These are the man to whom every one looks up and say westerners.
poem by Sambidhan Acharya
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Horse is All
If I can dream of a horse.
I can fight for a horse.
I can hope for a horse.
So...........................
If a dream is a wish that will come true.
Love is a battle worth fighting.
and hope can get you there..
then horse is all I can say
poem by Brooke Kaz
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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