Daisy trips and falls apart
The mysterious rider brings her back
And now wonders how she ll find
The way back home cause is its off the line
And runs away leaving the rider alone
He comes back for her
On the dark dawn
She refuses to go back to his lost life
The angered rider loses control
Cause daisy was the one whom he loved from soul
And for one last time he asks her to go
To the dark den with him for eternal light
For daisy nods no cause she loves her home
Fuming with fury he wins along
Cause daisy said she will stand her ground
The rider calls in his horse to take leave
Distressed yet still in love he climbs his horse
Galloping his horse he starts to race
While snatching daisy from her most beloved home
Cautious and anxious she struggles through the ride
Then comes the deepest valley with the bridge
Daisy unknown of the little bit of it
Tussling and grappling the little doll piece
Falls of the bridge before he could grab her
Bawling for help when taws’ to late for her
And once again
Daisy trips and falls apart
But the mysterious rider on black mare couldn’t save her fall
For he is down with the heart ache of his lost love
And as said so........
He wanders on the edge of the bridge you see
In search of his lost love or her screams
not knowing its too late for all her pleas
'Cos the daisy was the one whom he loved from h soul.
And daisy said no cause she loved her home
And so goes the story of one lost soul who took control with her innocent prose
Copyright © lakshmi alekhya | Year Posted 2011
little black horse, I've seen you around
little black horse, destined to terrorize the town
little black horse, you've seemed to have caught a mare
little black horse, with your long shiny hair
little black horse, why drag that mare around
death so coupled to you that she's destined to drown
fate cruel to her, to make her love
her soul tarnished and beaten, no longer white, and as pure as a dove
little black horse, do you not care at all?
crest fallen and withering, she still heeds your call
little black horse, she will die at your hand
yet her presence to you, just a mere grain of sand
Copyright © lia allice | Year Posted 2012
The good budgery fella with a bottle of rum,
Pretty good bird is the budgery-gar one,
Arthur eyeshades came a walking by,
One eye one ear one rissole,
Looking for the budgery fella, why?
A little nip was good as gold,
Where are you budgery fella,
Ole Yarraman the horse he was,
And Milinbri was cattle,
If the boss see me a spearing one?
cos, good meat yer brain might addle?
so duck ya head sidestep away,
go into a Magpie smother,
flail ya arms like a loonatic hey,
don’t go and tell yer mother,
Budgeri fella was right here,
On his horse he rode away,
Sucking on a bottle of rum, ya hear,
The pigrooter threw him hey?
Copyright © DON JOHNSON | Year Posted 2013
There were Indians just over the Brazos
With a buffalo herd in between
They weren’t trying to stay hidden
They wanted to be seen
The chief of these Comanche
Buffalo Hump by name
They say no one's looked him in the eyes
Was ever quite the same
The COL said go parlay
Invite the chief to sup
I want to look him in the eye
And determine just what’s up
With our white sheet fluttering in the wind
Like the scalps on the big Chief’s lance
We started out across the plain
Taking quite a chance
Our crooked-tooth Pawnee scout
Led the way through the herd
Through the smell of a thousand animals
And the sound that would drown each word
I felt and smelled their hot breath
As I rode my pony near
I turned my pony into the throng
A pathway none too clear
Inching through the buffalo
Blinded by the dust
I held on fast to the reins
Just riding my pony's trust
Once through the thundering buffalo
I glanced up to the rise
The Indians still were waiting there
Much to my surprise
The Pawnee scout then turned to us
Said if they should attack
First take out the big chief
Then that little one in the back
I can understand the big chief
But why the little guy
He said he’s like a badger
He’ll fight until he dies
He said that one's a horse thief
The best you'll ever find
He'll snatch a horse from under you
As if you had gone blind
The big chief started towards us
Shut up the Pawnee said
You young boys keep your damn traps shut
I’ll do the talking instead
The Comanche’s body shone with grease
Had a necklace made of claws
He had a stench about him
That made you gag and pause
My eyes met the chief’s eyes
My hand rested on my gun
He had a look could kill a soul
But I was too scared to run
The Pawnee and Comanche
Spoke in some foreign tongue
I vowed to learn their language
While I was still young
Then all at once the chief turned
And rode on up the hill
Our Pawnee scout turned back for camp
But I just sat there still
For he had pointed at me
With that scalp encrusted lance
And said he’d have MY scalp one day
If he ever got the chance
For last week on the Brazos
Someone had killed his son
And looking me right in the eye
He knew I was the one
1st place finish in contest
For PD’s contest dare. Chapter 11 of Dead Man's Walk by Larry McMurtry. It has been years since I read a western but am finding this one interesting.
Copyright © mike dailey | Year Posted 2012
Aquila and Moondust
Sat together in soft firelight
No words spoken
Everything had been said
Through their hearts
The love awoken
The moon rose high in the night sky
Moondust felt the movement of moons and stars
She saw Aquila
Here and high above
What she felt in her heart
She knew why
All of it….
Aquila took an arrow
Launched it to the sky
Feathers of gold and brown
He tracked its’ course
Through stars and light
Where it fell
It drew forth a horse
A rustling of leaves
brought by a soft hoof fall
Through shadows and wind gust
In, strode a horse
For the precious Moondust
Such a horse of soft eyes
came to Moondust
If you could see
in its’ face, so wise
The firelight of love
Of things, broken
Now , whole
What it meant
The completed soul
Moondust touched his face
Looked to Aquila
Never had an arrow flew
Through stars and light
To bring forth a horse
The horse quietly stood
Together they felt
In a Heartstone wood
Of things once broken
No words were spoken
The horse drew close
She whispered his name
known only to them
Such a horse of soft eyes
Took away her tears
of previous lost years
Made her strong again
Copyright © Matthew Brackley | Year Posted 2009
Where the river runs into the Chesapeake Bay.
The currents run strong and they say "Beware".
Many a man has ignored it and sunk to his doom.
On white capped waters beneath a crystal blue sky
where a thousand men live by the tide,
one boy drifts and awaits the return of the moon.
In a tiny row boat with a four horse Merc.
He braves the bay to where the Rockfish lurk.
Gonna catch him a big one and prove to his Dad he's a man.
When the waters went still and the wind began.
He was too young to know the mess he was in.
He never turned back when the bay started yelling it's name.
The boat pitched forward and rocked to the back.
Waves so high that the sky went black
but the boy stayed steady and never showed any fear.
A white Bucktail on ten pound test,
he dropped the line off the side and grabbed a life vest.
He held on tight to his rod as the storm drew near.
Thunder clapped and the sky lit up.
The boy got excited when his rod gave a tug.
He never noticed the water that was filling his boat.
He started reeling with all of his might
when the angry old bay joined in on the fight.
Against a boy no longer, a fight against a full grown man.
When the storm passed by and the sky turned blue.
A boat on the beach with a small red shoe
and the biggest Rockfish ever landed in the Chesapeake Bay.
In a tiny row boat with a four horse Merc.
A boy braved the bay to where the Rockfish lurk
and lived to tell his story over and over again.
Copyright © Mark Croson The Applethoughtrotten | Year Posted 2010
Just watching the Magnificent Seven again,
Seen it many times of course,
Yul Brynner and Steve Mc Queen,
Two horsemen a sitting their horses,
When horse and man move as one,
You know, these are men that can ride,
Old drovers could tell in a heartbeat,
Yes it’s a matter of pride,
For when you have lived in the saddle,
And you feel the beat of his heart,
Your horse does carry you gladly,
gets a grip, like your only sweetheart ,
but my friend and I are now parted,
no longer his whinny or sigh,
but I still have his saddle,
just a horseman, a waiting to die.
Don Johnson 18-sep-11
Contest Name WHAT TURNS YOU ON?
Copyright © DON JOHNSON | Year Posted 2011
Destroyer ~ Poet
Contest Name 5TH POEM ON THE SOUP..
POISON! 1st first.
I was coming up from Tamworth, riding on a tired horse.
Past Barraba we wandered north, on a slow and dusty course.
Near Barraba I drew short rein, and paused to watch a sight.
A boy was thrown off again, a black horse
who'd buck and fight.
It's there I made an offer grim, to the
farmer and his son.
Swop you horses and I'll ride him,
with this bludger I'll have fun.
I mounted and he bucked away,
I spurred and drove him on.
I was the winner on the day,
cantered off and I was gone.
He was a black and evil thing,
he wouldn't give me half a chance.
He'd bite and kick like lightning, surely
buck and root and prance.
Saturday morning in Moree,
saw aunt Mona at the pub.
She said "get a paper for me",
said "I'll get it for you love."
Dirty Shirt Molloy got a paper
for me, for I couldn't leave the horse.
Black Poison rooted like a flea,
reefed his head up, used some force.
An Irish cop he grabbed the reins,
and held them in his hand.
Arrested us we had no brains,
he'd jail us both quite grand.
My spurs they gouged him proper,
the black lurched down the street.
He bucked and kicked the copper,
clean bowled him off his feet.
We galloped for the border
through a sea of clinging mud.
Coppers chased us in flivver,
to a river choked by flood.
So I dived him in the Gwyder,
off a steep sharp falling bank.
Then we surfaced horse and rider,
wet as shags from nose to flank.
Ride round the coppers came the order,
and bypass all the towns.
Swam the river at the border,
dodged the police, we'd lost those clowns.
A true story of my father's visit to Tamworth Australia in 1936...
Copyright © DON JOHNSON | Year Posted 2010
So I look back for 60 years to my old bay horse star...
Hard mouthed, a galloper just the thing,
at 5 what speed and power....
My chestnut pony stallion was a pig rooter with the best,...
Got dumped when I relaxed a bit, to ride him was my test....
Bronco Don loved a spirited horse he said ...
He taught me riding some...
Don't let em bloody drop their head ,...
hang on, with the horse be one!...
You feed a horse some chaff and oats ...
Its spirit lifts with power...
City folk say don't be a goat ...
Coil springs the pigroot hour....
Dons droving horses always got a feed...
Of chaff and oats for strength ...
Horses ridden every day would need...
quart of oats, strong horses meant....
Try it if you ride very well.....Don Johnson..
So you would saddle this springy horse and take it for a lead at the canter,
it would buck with the saddle and get the hoops out of it for the days work.
Then you would tighten the girth strap and mount a lively horse.
Never underestimate a lively horse.....Don Johnson :)
Copyright © DON JOHNSON | Year Posted 2011
Back in 1880 you will find, Joe White he was about.
The brumby runner master mind. Of this I'll leave no doubt.
He took from Mugan station, 600 brumbies yes my friend.
Had the best riders of the nation, on which he could depend.
From Mungindi to Sydney town, drove brumbies didn't fail.
They'd stop em block em right around, horse broke em for the sale.
The horse who broke and left the mob, got grabbed by the tail and threw.
A sideline or a hobble's job, made of green hide it'd do.
Wet greenhide sideline when applied, front to back the legs were held.
He couldn't canter if he tried, to stay he was compelled.
Joe saw the difference in every track,to read from them he knew.
He was as good as any black, he'd track ants across the dew.
Two Dancy boys they wandered lost, were gone a day or two.
At black tracker's, oh these kid's did scoff, Joe found them pay his due.
These small dark boys they had some fun,yes hid their tracks with care.
Joe saw the tracks of only one, or the other ones were there.
One boy would carry piggy back, then came the others turn.
A way to hide one fellows track, gave the tracker some concern?
Joe followed cantered in their wake, knew their tracks in any bunch.
To find them was a piece of cake, so he took em home for lunch.
Joe's brother Dick was branded bad, now an outlaw on the run.
A publican robbed him, made him mad, Dick smashed his grog, the bum.
The traps they came but couldn't find, Dick's cave the hideout site,
Couldn't follow the White's, who didn't mind, scrub galloping day or night.
So Dick White he then set off, with brothers Joe and Charlie too.
They rode due west three states they'd cross, till Broome came into view.
Dick's wife and kids by ship did pass,then on to Broome by overland.
Joe left Dick there safe at last,rode east through desert sand.
Joe and Charlie back they came,through the land that worked the horse.
They'd throw scrubbers, brumbies they were game,horse breakers yes of course.
They'd throw a brumby on his side,quickly lugged his head by force.
Would saddle up and mount and ride, and coax him home a horse.
Joe entered the open campdraft mate,with a wee small handicap.
Left his bridle and girth straps on the gate, won the Mungindi cup old chap.
Joe's brumby runners one was Dan, at Glenrowan hadn't died.
Alex Wilkie chased as off they ran, and Moffat he could ride.
The legend lives of Joe this man, true master of the horse.
The drovers talked of him and Dan,and Hippy yes of course.
Copyright © DON JOHNSON | Year Posted 2012
The infantry open up for the cavalry
At full horse power speed they attack
Too late to use artilleries now
But it made some horses tumble, about a fifty
Six hundred horse ran to the infantry
Infantry too late for squares ran to the cavalry
They fired there muskets, brought down some sixty horses
It was the time of the cavalry lances where release
Unlike arrows it killed two at a time. The cavalry ran
On the infantry. Head out of necks, arms out of scapulas, and legs out of hips.
The whole army retreats, they send their whole cavalry
Cavalry meets cavalry. One thousand lances released on a four hundred
Horrible! Men were carried from horses to horses, lances
Horse were raise up high, neighs turn to roars, lances
Now nine hundred and fifty to sixty, the opposite retreat.
The colonel seeing the sixty running ordered a chase. Fool!
The opposite's Brigadiers laughs, he ordered his brigade
To get ready. After their sixty drove in
The infantry made squares. At their captain's orders.
Salvo's were head, two thousand shots on a nine hundred and fifty.
Sympathetic bullets entered heads and hearts horses tumbled
They caused confusion, de-horse horsemen ran back.
It was only a ninety that penetrated killing a forty
Twenty horsemen retreated with wounds
There was silence, scout men where sent to count losses
Copyright © Hakeem Sotayo Aro | Year Posted 2006
My love, my amorous, my dreams in the Journey by
whirlpool of many color buds, la la la la, lay in the
forest of many vines as horse of many colors dance
in dark sky so high, by the wild flowers my rest la la
la lay, the wild spotted white calf, of many horse in
valley of buds in vines all kind for price of a party
by the many moons of different color all kind of
eyes as buds in the temperature under ground
in water all buds now vines and angels dance
like eagle, and fly by the mountains tops sweet
potatoes and potatoes vine now they pay for
the brithday party la la la la lay by the beds and
rest for 4th of July the party you all have paid for
la la la la we we la we la la ya ya la ya, for we
will not farvest all the crop save under ground
for a year for la la la ya we we the party, the
party for I am he is the first and first and first la la la
we we we ya ya we we la la la he is I am he is you may sell or
and keep the money poetry soup to pay for your
service to me, thank you Diane Henning
Copyright © diane henning | Year Posted 2007
Wild angel's, in the heart of America, Wild angel, you
make the world sing, Black beauty you ride HI, party
party hardy, party hardy, Wild horse, in the sky, on
the 4th of july, Wild America you make the World
sing of the creator on his brithday, party, party on
down, party, party wild angels party, party hardy,
Wild things, wild black beauty, on 4th of july, on the
4th of july,, Whild things you make the world sing
party, on the party, party hardy get down way down
get funkey, get funkey get down way down lets dance
let dance it isn't the last dance let's get on down.
Wild America, lets dance Black horse Red horse
white horse with wings blue birds in the sky HI
lets party hardy make the world sing happy brithday
you make America sing get on down. please I
don't want any money do what you can
Copyright © diane henning | Year Posted 2007
A strong gale cuts its path across the snow laden mountain tops,
light and tough the timor, thoroughbred mix, leads his mob at a trot.
A day spend grazing the valley below they now ascend the range above,
his brumbys follow out of awe and fear not with any love.
Echoing through the gullies is the thunderous clap of a stock whip,
in pursuit of the mob the mountain horseman cut a mean pace at a clip.
Coming up on the brumbys, surrounded them their lariat ropes are let loose,
the stallion is caught for the first time in his life his neck feels the noose.
In 1897 born to tough stock, I think Steve was his name,
His family raised cattle by Corryong of Snowy River fame.
Riding before he could walk, in the saddle he would ply his trade.
Catching brumbys on Kosciuszko's slopes for a little money to be made.
He made the high plains and steep valleys his primary domain,
believed that this was his home, in the hills he would ever remain.
Word reached his ears of the great war in Europe from a close friend.
with fear of threat to king and country, to enlist his mind would bend.
The noble thoroughbred steed, king of his country was finally tamed.
Saddled and bridled, freedom lost, and now he was named.
Garnished with weapons of war to a new mob he was placed,
rigorously put through his training in readiness for battle to be faced.
Somehow he sensed the young man on his back was of similar ilk,
rode low in the saddle, moved with ease, yes they drank the same milk.
A bond was formed, a friendship even, between man and his stallion,
Although both small they rode tall as though kings of the battalion.
Unloading in Palestine the hot sandy desert now their new home,
a far cry from the lofty peaks and steep valleys they both would roam.
This tough little man and horse to new environs would quickly aclime,
strutting across the dunes, a fine stance cut and looking sublime.
The bugle calls out a mighty charge on Beersheba they began to lay,
horse flaring his nostrils , galloping wildly, into battle making their way.
Flying over the trenches the young man with his bayonette swinging true,
horse compensating expertly as the enemy lines are burst through.
In the heat of the battle cannon fire starts to rupture the ears,
the young man and his horse are finally realising their fears.
A solitary rifle round pulls young Steve from the saddle of his panting steed,
the horse pulls up fast, spinning around, recognising the riders need.
A mortar fatally reaching its mark, puts the poor brumby to the ground,
man and horse mortally wounded, dying without making much of a sound.
In the hot sandy desert final memories flood through their whole being,
and long lonely valleys with snow covered peaks, the last thing they were seeing.
Copyright © craig sharman | Year Posted 2016
As he came to the crossing the river was swollen out of its banks,
He wouldn’t be on the run right now if he hadn’t met ole Henry Franks.
All he wanted was a few supplies then he had planned on being on his way,
But standing in front of the door stood this bully of a man and he was wanting to play.
Well he wasn’t looking for trouble but he wasn’t going to back down from a fight,
He had ridden too far and he knew this hazing weren’t right.
He asked ole Henry nicely to let him enter the store,
But Henry just laughed and said you ain’t going in through this here door.
Well he tried to squeeze past ole Henry but he just got slung to the ground,
Henry put a boot to his side then on his head he started to pound.
The stranger made it to his feet and enough was enough,
He hit Henry hard and found out real quick ole Henry was tough.
Well they fought for near on an hour when ole Henry grabbed at his chest,
He fell to the ground and the stranger thought maybe he just had to rest.
But his thinking was wrong, ole Henry was dead,
The crowd started hollering he’s murdered ole Henry and started firing off lead.
So on his horse he rode just as fast as he could,
Just one nightmare after another, and it sure weren’t looking too good.
As the mob started closing in he spurred his horse into the raging river,
Quickly washed out of the saddle he grabbed hold of the horses tail in hopes he would deliver.
As he made it to the other side he felt a bullet crease his side,
He made it to cover and knew he could keep them pinned and they would be foolish if they
As night started falling he knew that he was going to be alright.
He just wished he hadn’t met ole Henry and gotten into that fight.
I guess there is no moral to this tale,
Except for the fact that stranger was mighty glad horses had a tail.
Copyright © Ronald Bingham | Year Posted 2008