Horse Poems

The Horse by John Anthony Davies I saw a child who could not walk, sit on a horse, laugh and talk. Then ride it through a field of daisies And yet he could not walk unaided. I saw a child, no legs below, sit on a horse and make it go through woods of green and places he had never been to sit and stare, except for a chair. I saw a child who could only crawl, mount a horse and sit up tall; then put it through a degree of paces and laugh a the wonder in our faces. I saw a child born into strife, take up and hold the reins of life. And that same child, was heard to say, thank God for showing me the way.....

Voudon - Mounting the Horse by Julie Shiel   She dances magic to the pounding of the drums as they beat in pulsing rhythm with her African heart.   The blood of sacrifice runs over her darkly sheened skin soaked in sweat, and shining beauty in the flickering of fire, as her body sways in snaking time with her vodoun trance. She screams with the ecstasy of worlds exploding, overlapping, as Damballah communes through divine possession,  and speaks the sacred language of the Serpent.   She becomes the loa, mounted by the holy God of waters, as she hisses his wisdom  to the rainbow devout, and spins circles  of purity with  gossamer prophesy.

The American Quarter Horse He's half a ton of poised and controlled energy, held on an easy rein and a hair trigger. He's a workin' man who can earn his keep on the ranch all week? and be a handsome dandy at the track on Sunday afternoon. He's proud when he stands; looks lazy when he walks? but when he runs he can whip the tears from the corners of your eyes and plaster your hat brim against the crown. He's big in the haunches, supple in the withers, stout in the neck and wide across the chest? to hold his great heart. He's cow smart and brave, though sometimes a clown, and to the man with sky in his eye and mud on his boots, the American Quarter Horse is a faithful hand? and a friend.

FREIGHT TRAIN by Hilma (Volcano) Volk Freight Train was a coal black hoss, Big and smart and bold. On this ranch he was the boss. Had every trick down cold. Weren't no fence could keep him in, Could open any gate. With Houdini he was kin. 'Bout that was no debate. He had a sense of humor though, Least so it seemed to me. He'd sneak out at night  And enjoy himself a spree. He might steal a jacket from the shed And leave it in a tree, Or scare the jeebers out of Fred When he went outside to pee. There'd be strange noises out the door Too dark to tell what's there. What to do, we weren't sure. Was it Freight Train or a bear? Freight Train liked to sneak around In Midnight camouflage' Leave our laundry on the ground And hoof prints on the Dodge. Sometimes I'd go out in the morn To fetch and put him back.        Been out all night (I'd have sworn) That Freight Train steed of black. But he'd be grazing with the rest, As sweetly as can be. 'Cept we both knew he'd got the best Of my old Fred and me.

My horse's name is Jessie. When he is in his stall it can get messy. I think he is a really sweet horse. I never have to ride with much force. He runs around, And puts holes in the ground. He can go really fast, This way he will never get last. I have owned him for more than a year. He has never shed a tear. He loves to go on a trail, And help me get the mail.  When he is bad I call him Bessie. This is the end of my poem about my horse Jessie.

My horse By Mally, Amanda    MY HORSE My horse is white. She is small in height. She runs with pride When she goes to hide. Her mane and tail fly As she runs nearby. She watches over the others Just like her grandmothers. She   stands very calm As I put out my palm. She eats the grain Or she would have no gain. Sometimes she prances As people do dances. As I watch them, They seem to gleam. She stands like a rose, Standing in a pose. She whinnies in a soft way To see if I will find the hay. She is a beautiful horse As she runs the jumping course. For I am proud of her; She is my Arabian.

Don't Cry For The Horses Don't cry for the horses that life has set free. A million white horses forever to be. Don't cry for the horses now in God's hand. As they dance and they prance in a heavenly band. They were ours as a gift, but never to keep. As they close their eyes forever to sleep. Their spirits unbound. On silver wings they fly. A million white horses against the blue sky. Look up into heaven, you'll see them above. The horses we lost, the horses we loved. Manes and tails flowing, they gallop through time. They were never yours, they were never mine. Don't cry for the horses. They'll be back someday. When our time is gone, they will show us the way. Do you hear that soft nicker? Close to your ear?                 Don't cry for the horses. Love the ones that are here.                                                  ~Author Unknown~

My Heart Is a Wild Horse poem by Anitra L. Freeman My heart is a wild horse. If I rein her too hard she fades beneath me gives me none of her strength.            If I let her run free I am lost in dark lands.            I approach her slowly. She takes my scent. I curry her with sweet grasses, and I lean against her.            One day we race across the plain straight up the mountain and leap into the sun.

The Curly~ A Heavenly Gift When the spirit of the horse was created, The Maker set aside one horse spirit to be different from all the other horses. This one was told, You will have the body of the horse but I will clothe you with the coat of the lamb, to match your gentle willing spirit. And as the lamb seeks his Shepard, you shall seek out man as  a loving loyal companion to him. You will not posses the fear of things as other horses, but I give you  heart of the lion so you will be brave & steadfast. I give you hooves of granite, bone of tempered steel and the strength of oxen. But to mask these qualities of strength, you will carry your gentle loving heart in  a coat of curls. In the heat of summer you may loose your beautiful mane & tail and some will find you ugly and try to kill you. Yet you must seek the human out & those that see with their heart rather than only their eyes will recognize you for who you are & love you & celebrate the great gifts I have given you. The allergy afflicted will seek you out & rejoice in your special gift. Although the noblest of horses,   you will not be the mount of kings or queens, but the mount of the common people. You see, I send all my special ones as humble sheep to live on the earth.

When I am Old... I shall wear turquoise And a straw cowboy hat that doesn't match and doesn't suit me. And I shall spend my social security on white wine and carrots And sit in the alley way of my barn  And listen to my horses breathe. I will sneak out in the middle of a summer night And ride the dappled mare  Across the moonstruck meadow,  If my old bones will allow.  And when people come to call, I will smile and nod,  As I walk them past the gardens to the barn And show, instead, the flowers growing there. In stalls fresh-lined with straw I will learn to shovel and sweat and wear hay in my hair as if it were a jewel. And I will be an embarrassment to my only child Who will have not yet found the peace in being free  To love a horse as a friend, A friend who waits at midnight hour With muzzle and nicker and patient eyes For the kind of person I will be When I am old.                     Patty Barnhart

MY HORSE -By Telifa Sloane. Golden far and so shiny, at first I thought you were a little tiny, Huge brown eyes and a star so neat, Long creamy mane and delicate feet, Along smooth gallop and prancing walk, Oh lord I wish you could talk! A dream horses pace, And a gorgeous face, Oh you're the one for me, You fill my hear with joy and glee, And at the show you win for me, Plus you jump so many obstacles so carefully, Some people say you're only a toy But i'm proud of you my golden boy, You fill many heart with desire, With coat of gold and spirit of fire, You're not just a horse, Your my friend of course.

THE RIDING SCHOOL  By Denise Clark The smell of hay and the stable hound, The clatter of hooves on the tarmac ground. The creak of leather supple in the loft, The neigh of contentment, The whining of fright, The variety of weight, cob, heavy or light, The color of horses, Chestnut , white, black, or bay, The turning out of ponies after along hard day, The munching of food, barely, bran, hay and oats, The pricking ears and the shinning coats, The sucking of water from the trough so cool, All these things you find in a RIDING SCHOOL.

HORSE Thou art truly A Creature Without equal, For thou Fliest without wings And conquers Without sword -By The Kovan

My horse is brown his teeth are white, he has a long tail, he's quite a sight. He eats grass all day, he lets out a neigh to say he's okay. I curry him down to make him bright, he lets out a toot and I die of fright!

MY PONY -by Elizabeth Urwin Delicate ears pricked Intently Listening Smooth black coat Shinning Glistening Long black tail High and Flowing Small round hooves that look like new That's my pony standing in the dew