A Horse-Drawn Carriage Ride
Oh what fun it is to see
A carriage drawn by a horse
Still after all these years
You can find them still, of course
For in special towns you can find
A horse drawn carriage to travel in
In New Orleans for instance, folks
So very beautiful with lots of trim
But can you imagine just how
Exciting they were in their day
Perhaps a roof and maybe not
Like riding atop a trailer with hay
So many wonderful styles there were
You can see in museums and such
Fancy some of them really are
With an old-fashioned classic touch
So if you get a chance to see or ride
On a horse drawn carriage some time
Jump at the chance ‘cause you know
It’s the most exciting day you’ll find!
poem by Marilyn Lott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Horse and Rider
The prairie blows the grasses
And whips the horse’s mane.
They travel, horse and rider,
Through the sea of amber grain
Hills roll by, and clouds pass
But steady are the horse’s hooves
Upon the wind blown grass
As they travel, horse and rider
There is no trail that they follow
No path that can be seen
There they travel, horse and rider
Upon the endless blowing green
poem by Horse Poet
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Those were the Days
The horse drawn hearse impresses me
Drawn by a pair of well matched blacks.
Moves slowly onward sedately.
With an attendant at the back.
The coachman in dark livery.
A black crepe bow adorns his hat
Controls his horses easily
There can be little doubt of that.
It is a sight we rarely see.
In the busy world of today.
A horse drawn hearse traditionally.
Was seen to be the only way.
To embark on your last journey
To the local cemetery.
Tuesday,17 April 2012.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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No More No More
Blood stains the ivorys
Of my daddys babygrand
I aint seen no daylight
Since we started this band
No more, no more
No more, no more
Store bought clothes
Fallin appart at the seams
Tea leaf readin gypsies
Fortune tellin my dreams
No more, no more
No more, no more
Holiday inns, lock the door with a chain
You love it than you hate it
But to me theyre all the same
No more, no more
No more, no more
Baby Im a dreamer
Found my horse and carriage
Stalemate jailbate
Ladies cant refuse
You love em then you leave em
With your sold out reviews
No more, no more
No more, no more
Sweet talkin barroom, ladies disease
Slippin with her lips
Slidin down your knees
No more, no more
No more, no more
Me and my life a screamer
Bound to a wife and marriage
Baby, Im a dreamer
Found my horse and carriage
Ladies hold the aces
And their lovers call it passion
The men call it pleasure
But to me its old fashioned
Times they are a-changin
Nothin ever stands still
If I dont stop a-changin
Ill be writtin out my will
Its the same old story
Never get a second chance
For a dance to the top of the hill
Baby Im a dreamer
Found my horse and carriage
song performed by by Aerosmith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Horse and Rider
The prairie blows the grasses
And whips the horse’s mane.
They travel, horse and rider,
Through the sea of amber grain
Hills roll by, and clouds pass
But steady are the horse’s hooves
Upon the wind blown grass
As they travel, horse and rider
There is no trail that they follow
No path that can be seen
There they travel, horse and rider
Upon the endless blowing green
Driven & Drawn
I find myself drawn to you
A full bloodied romance
My heart is your property
Waiting to be claimed
My soul your companion
Wanting to be welcomed
My life yours to share
Should you wish for it
I find myself drawn completely
Intoxicated by your beauty
Addicted to thoughts of you
I am yours and yours alone
I long to lay beside you
To brush back your hair
A kiss like no other could be
Just to be with you
To spend time in your presence
What more could I ask
I am drawn to the most beautiful
The most special girl
You are all I could ever dream
poem by Matthew Holloway
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Sunny Afternoon
by my window
i look upon the dusty road
one sunny afternoon
a horse driven carriage
stops
the horse is black
and the driver wears a black hood
it is getting dark
and all the children stop playing
their mothers are calling
them all home....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Gay marriage with a
Horse and carriage, and why not
Lord, so let it be
haiku by Ken e Hall
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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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fond And Happy Memories
In the middle of February they always came to Annagloor
And parked their horse drawn vans by the by road the travelling Irish poor
They came for the March horse fair in Millstreet Town horses they bought and sold
And a beautiful Pinto to them was a horse worth more than gold.
The coldest part of the Winter is in mid February
And a cold wind blew across the sky in temperatures low as minus 3
Their horses they did not tether on the by road they ranged free
And though that was close to fity years ago those memories remain with me.
And though many Seasons have come and gone since then the memories remain evergreen
Around their camp fire they drunk their illicit booze the stuff known as poteen
And the accordionist played the old tunes and with him they sang along
And they were bound through their cultural links to music dance and song.
Their ancestors were the dispossessed that Cromwells's army had put on the road
That led them to the wandering life of the 'no fixed abode'
Their mothers gave them life in their horse drawn vans and in their horse drawn vans they died
And from birth till death they roamed around the Irish countryside
Outcasts in their own country and homeless and downtrod
But through their music dance and song linked to a greater God
And though they too had their human frailties so too don't we one and all
And fond and happy memories of them I can recall.
Their children and grand children don't live in a horse drawn van
For the late fifties brought great changes to the lives of the wandering clan
Yet by the by road at Annagloor around their camp fire in the moonlight
I still can hear them singing on a cold and frosty night.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Looking for my Horse
Just the other day I lost my horse
I lost my horse, I lost it somewhere
Not here for sure or I would find it
My horse is hungry my horse must drink
The flies are horse flies you know
They zoom about my head as if to say
You are sitting on your saddle, you dummy
Your saddle under you, beneath that … a horse
poem by Werner Klokow
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Oh Yes I Love My Horse
Oh yes I love my horse,
and my horse she doth love me.
Riding o'er the countryside,
beneath me my trusty steed.
We ride fast through sunny days,
for my little mare always enjoys to play.
She may buck and she may rear,
but never has anything been so dear;
As the horse I cherish,
and know oneday shall perish.
I enjoy each moment that we get,
always pulling gently on her bit.
For my horse is my kin,
not to be purchased by any bid.
For as a young girl I slept by her side,
willing to battle any that would cut our tie.
So for now we frolick merrily,
each day together a special rarity.
Until the day the good Lord calls her up,
and I must find solace in her son.
poem by Kayla Lonkard
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
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Sonnet: A Weird Workplace
The carriage looks so fabulous indeed:
And drawn by steeds and horses, superbly
On roads in tough terrain with rather greed;
They do it sub-consciously but ably!
The passengers are from far-off places,
And some are picked from road-side on the way;
A few wear masks of poverty on faces;
Only a few are truly made to pay.
The drivers change too frequently at times;
Some do not know the horses, roads at all;
They sleep both day and night in changing climes;
They do not care if horses stop or fall.
The carriage has to be repaired often;
The hearts of drivers will never soften!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 12-28-2008
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Memories Of The Irish Travellers
The travellers parked their horse drawn vans at the Shannaknock cross when I was a young boy
And recalling such good memories is a thing I still enjoy
And though their colorful Romany caravans are no longer to be seen
Good memories last a life time and we recall what has been.
I loved their colorful pinto horses with white patches through the brown
On March the first they bought and sold them at the horse fair in Millstreet Town
In the early sixties the increase on automobile traffic brought an end to the horse drawn van
And jeeps and motor vans became the transport of the born to wander clan.
At the cross road around their camp fire on a starry Winter's night
They played their tunes and sung their songs under the pale moonlight
And something lost forever that won't be found again
And only the fond memories of the past now does remain
Of Ireland in the fifties and the early sixties long before I reached my prime
When the travellers travelled in their horse drawn vans that is going back in time
They added so much colour to the green old countryside
As the byroads of the County they travelled far and wide.
poem by Francis Duggan
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I used to..
I used to think there were princesses.
But now I know the truth.
I always thought your Prince comes on a horse
But I never would see one
If I could I would erase every fariytale
I would not let them lie
I never knew that a horse wouldn't come
But I might find someone
I can't find him on a horse
But I can look for one and hope
I won't listen to fariytales
But I might hope about it
I used to believe there were princesses
But now I know reality
poem by Rebecca Leonard
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Cinderellas Ride
Cinderellas ride
Oh Jack O'Lantern burning bright
A carriage you will be this very night
To seek you out and lay a trail
To find her love, she will not fail.
This carriage she will doubtless find,
Made by a fairy with spell to bind.
Four mice were changed to pull the thing.
She tried to teach them, but they couldn't sing.
To the castle, the carriage then will fly
Up the staircase she'll be by and by.
In a room at the top where the ball is held
Together they danced and he excelled
Danced and danced as much as they could
Ignoring all while on the hardwood
She knew of her fate should she stay too late
What godmothers create end when out on a date
She had to leave quick, said she was sick
Then ran from the prince ending this frolic
In her speed to depart, she left a small part
A little glass slipper and a piece of her heart
The prince tried and tried, but no foot could be tied
Into the glass slipper he held at his side
Until the day he went a bit astray
And placed on the foot of this lovely chambermaid
It was a fit to be tied so then at his side
Came the lovely Cinderella as they went outside
There next to his carriage was a little disparage
A Jack O Lantern and four mice ready to trudge
poem by James Casey
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Red Is The Blood
You are one who is born to lead
A very fine person indeed
And great things we hear of you and read
Though red is the blood we all bleed.
Your name is sir and your wife's name is dame
And you are not strangers to fame
And despite the title in your name
Your blood it is red just the same
As those in the poor side of town
Poor strangers to wealth and renown
The blood that flow through their heart to their head
Than your blood is no less a red.
You are a World renowned athlete
And the best of all Nations you've beat
You stride out so graceful and tall
Though your blood it is red after all.
The royal one wears a diamond crown
As in a horse drawn carriage she is driven through the town
But to live food and water she need
And red is the blood that she bleed.
poem by Francis Duggan
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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