Were I A Horse
A balding man my hair is gray decades ago it was brown
Were I a horse I'm sure by now that I would have been put down
I feel so very stiff and old father time is catching up on me
And I for one don't fear life's end what is to be will be.
I was not any good at sports I cannot dance and sing
I'm just your average ordinary bloke not much good at anything
They say only the good die young and I still linger on
And better people by far than I deceased, forgotten and gone.
Were I a horse I'd have been put down that may seem crude to say
But that's what happens to most horses when they have had their day
Most horses save for the lucky few not allowed to grow old and die
I feel grateful to be still around more living I'll enjoy.
Were I a horse I'd have been put down for dog or cat food maybe
The knacker takes the worn out horse the Reaper will claim me
The years on me begin to tell my fastest pace is slow
And I was in the prime of life some thirty years ago.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Cloud Chief Horses
I never had a horse at Cloud Chief
Even though horses were in season
My dad would say I ate like a horse
So to save food that was the reason
I guess it was either me or a horse
My dad had an horse in early days
Must of had more food in his time
Good reason to love his yesterdays
poem by John McCornack
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Vote! | Copy!
He Is A Trier
He once was a man who owned greyhounds going back a few decades ago
But for them he was all the poorer the dogs that he owned were too slow
And now he has shares in a racehorse but for that he's not a wealthier man
The race horse though well bred is quite ordinary as they say one more also ran
With greyhounds and horses he has had it this horse he does swear is his last
Venture in the greyhound or horse racing business these things he will put to his past
Any spare cash he has he'll invest in stocks and bonds with a far greater chance of success
It is due to greyhounds and horses that he is in a financial mess
He has erred twice but never again greyhounds and horses are now in his past
The horse has never run a place the greyhounds just could not run fast
Dabbling in the stock market his newest business venture trading on stocks and shares he will try
Fortune favours the brave some will tell you this time luck him may not deny
But never more greyhounds or horses for his mistakes he has had to pay
But credit him he is a trier and good times for him may not be far away.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Old Black Tom
My dad sold black Tom our old work-horse when he had known a better day
But what happened to him after that I do not know for to say
Suppose he was slaughtered for dog meat few work-horses of old age do die
To say that all work-horses become children pets would be telling a lie
Any way old black Tom would never have been any good as a child's pet
A few nips he gave to me I never will forget
Old Tom he was surely not gentle or quiet
And given the opportunity he surely would bite
Five out of ten for him would seem a fair score
He was a good work-horse that and nothing more
Not the finest equine west of Millstreet Town
For Tom the old rogue horse no such a renown
He was sold to a horse dealer more than three decades ago
And what happened to him after I cannot say I do know.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Horse Play
Four gallant horses
galloped forth.
One was white, one was black,
one was red, one was brown.
One had four legs,
one had three,
one had two,
and the fourth had one leg.
The one-legged horse
said to the others :
the time for dance has come,
sweet friends,
let's dance on a single hoof !
All of them liked the idea,
and the dance began.
The four-legged horse fainted outright,
the three-legged horse slipped and fell,
the two-legged horse limped to a fall :
only the one-legged one
danced on and on.
poem by Ayyappa Paniker
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Vote! | Copy!
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
Vote! | Copy!
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
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Getting A Horse
So here I am
15 and over weight
not especially pretty
but not bad;
but invisible
and I hide in gym
and the looks I get
keep me in my place.
I try for friends
but the other outcasts
like me
don't seem to want to
draw attention;
can't talk to anyone,
teachers think I'm dull
I talk to my pillow
only my cat understands me
And, of course,
I don't have a boy friend.
She:
'Ok, let go through all of this.
What do you think comes first.
Why don't you pretend that you are your best friend
What would you tell you best friend to do? '
Daughter:
'I don't know.
I would tell her to think about what she can do
or what she really likes.'
'And that is? '
'Horses'
'Horses'.
'I didn't know you liked horses.'
'They are neat.'
'Ok tell your friend what to do about liking horses.
What does she want to do? '
'She wants a horse.'
'Wants a horse
To get a horse what does she needs to do.'
'Get some money.'
'Well how? '
'Maybe babysitting? '
'Sure tell your friend I have someone who needs babysitting
and she can do it to make money.'
'So I did, took a year,
but I got my horse.
some friends along the way
and a boyfriend.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Now A Memory Of The Past
The travellers parked their romany horse drawn vans at the Shannaknock Cross when when frosted fields were bare
But despite the cold and damp weather they did not seem to have a care
Their pinto horses with ropes tied to trees munched on bunches of hay
And old Clara Hill wore his hat of snow on a cold February day
The coldness of the Winter chill was in the frosty air
A week before the first of March and Millstreet Town Horse Fair
The by roads of Duhallow they had travelled up and down
On their way to the big horse fair that was held in Millstreet Town
Time does not wait for anyone and leaves us looking older and gray
But the good memories of our childhood years till death with us will stay
I loved them for their love of poetry, song and music and life they did enjoy
But the sixties brought great change to Duhallow where I lived as a boy
The late twentieth century to Ireland brought great changes and few things seem to last
And their romany vans and pinto horses now a memory of the past.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Ride My Horse
I feel the wind
I hear the birds
I ride my horse
As I sing words
I see the grass
I feel the leather
I ride my horse
Upon the heather
I taste the dust
I see the heat
I ride my horse
To his own beat
I feel the joy
I taste the fun
I ride my horse
Into the yellow sun
poem by Horse Poet
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Verses On Night And Day
In the forest at night
my good old horse
has lost his way.
His head nods sleepily –
perhaps he dreams
of fields green by day.
The owls are hooting,
the night is cold,
the ground is hard,
but all night long
my good old horse
will stand his guard.
Daylight will come
to light the woods
at break of day,
and at that time
my horse will know
to find the way.
The night and darkness
are as nothing
to my old horse,
for he knows to wait
as time shall pass, and life
shall take its course.
poem by Rory Hudson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Vote! | Copy!
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
Vote! | Copy!
A Horse Life
In a horse life.We can play with a burlap feed
bag, an empty milk jug, or chew on the barn stall
door.Just to kill some time, or to kill some every
day bordom.In a horse life.We get names like
Black Beauty, Flicka, Seabiscuit, or Secretariat.
In a horse life.We do tricks like bowing our heads
down, or placing our shoe upon a pedastool.Picking
up the cowboy hat.While tapping our feet rata-tat-tat.
In a horse life.We like a good block of salt.With lots
of minerals, to lick upon.A wholesome bale of hay.To
start off a brand new day.Or a bucket of grain.To keep
us all healthy, fat, and sane.And a fresh bucket of water,
to wash it all down.In a horse life.I could be losing a
horseshoe.While the rider is losing his mind.In a horse
life.We can be a workhorse, a race horse, or a trick pony.
Or maybe a showhorse, or possibly a circus horse.With
out all the phoney baloney.In a horse life.We can run all
day in the open sun, or run the race trak.While the betters
place their wagers.Of course, at the horse racing track
betters window.In a horse life..
A Horse Life Poem by Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 2011.All rights reserved.
poem by Kim Robin Edwards
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Horses And Trains
I love them both…., but the Equine more….,
Power to spare…., so different, so rare….,
Only one can breed…, the other can rust….,
But together they leave us all in the dust.
We can train a horse….,
But we can’t horse a train….,
And a horse can’t hide you from the rain…,
Seems this all sounds so insane….,
Still my heart and soul remains….,
With Horses And Trains.....,
Horses And Trains.
poem by Trade Martin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Jumping Horses
As you step into the arena,
Your heart rushes,
Horse following close behind,
Giving you steady nudges.
You mount yourself slowly into the English saddle
You move toward the jump.
Faster, faster.
Your feet ready in the stirrups
In jumping position,
As you grow closer to the jump
You are overcome by a weird sensation,
A sensation of happiness, nervousness, and excitement
As you post you feel the heart rate of the horse.
You are both one.
Faster, and faster still,
You feel as if you where flying,
Your horse raises its front legs,
You are flying!
Over the jump you feel relaxed,
You feel great.
You draw your horse to a slow gait,
Your heart racing.
Again and again you jump
15 minutes pass you loose time,
You slow down.
The horse’s heart is racing to the pace of yours,
You slow to a halt
Lower yourself from his back,
You pat him congratulate him,
And return the tack.
(Pause)
Jumping… Such a wonderful feeling,
Your heart rushing!
poem by Bethany Maxwell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Once Mighty Bay
Fifteen years ago he could run as fast as the wind
The champion group 1 gelding of the thoroughbred kind
At the big City race tracks big races he won
The big bay in his prime was the Nation's number one
Racehorse and highest stakes winner and the one to beat
In his racing life he never tasted defeat
But in his retirement his face looking gray
A shadow of the horse he once was is the ageing big bay
In his younger years he was the Nation's pride
And to watch him race people came from places far and wide
But it has been awhile now since he was in his prime
And he is losing out to the father of time
And like every dog every race-horse has it's day
He can scarce raise a trot now the once mighty bay.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Of Horses And Flies
A fly had ventured from his nest
and flew (of course) then came to rest
upon the tailbone of a horse.
And with considerable force
he pushed his stinger through the hide
which promptly ended up inside.
The horse, whose tolerance of pain
was governed by an oblong brain,
a horse, that much is widely known
is born without a funny bone
It follows that a horse may cry
when bitten by a nasty fly.
The fly, whose cousins own the dunny
inflicts his germs and thinks it funny
when bits of half-digested dung
infect the spot where he has stung.
Though in the case of any horse
it matters little since, of course
a horse makes, on command, vaccine
which brings resistance to the scene.
Thus horses won't, upon reflection,
pick up a Coliform infection,
which pleases me (you may ask why)
but tell me, why the horse would cry!
A horse will cry at times, of course
due to the fly's lack of remorse.
Which does intensify the pain
I hope I've made this subject plain.
Since stings make horses jump and wince
you'll never see a horse that grins.
You may consider this quite silly
but think about it, as a filly
a horse soon meets the dreaded fly
he suffers, as the years go by
and stores the thought inside his head
that flies would better off be dead.
And if, the Gods in the hereafter
outlawed all flies we'd hear the laughter
of horses just as now and then
a nicker sound comes from the pen.
This is a soft and pleasant sound
containing vowels that are round.
But if you hear them whinny-ing
you know they're thinking of the sting
and of the time when God will boil
all flies in holy Hyssop oil.
All mammals then will celebrate
the new and blessed stingless state
and will, in gratitude endorse
the king of critters, yes the horse.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!