They were Meriwether Lewis and William Clark,
Her name was Sacagawea.
On an expedition they did embark
Finding the passage to the sea.
Down the Missouri they traveled,
Then slithered 'round the Snake River bend.
Rocky Mountain weather and sickness battled;
At the Columbia River they'd end.
©2013 Honestly JT
Naught to say I shan't disparage
A cherub in its stroller
Laugh at married horse-drawn carriage:
Denounce a Holy-Roller!
Point my fingers in their direction,
And have a hearty chuckle!
In Truth it is my own reflection-
One which leaves me puzzled...
No one should suffer ridicule,
By the words bled from my tongue...
But in the end, I am the Fool
Who should never make the fun!
Plunked down in chaos
from a gentler time,
blinkered from the traffic
he pulls the coach along.
Patient, in his harness bond
he tugs at hearts, with pathos-
as to his love of duty we respond.
Amidst the screech of sirens
and the blasting horns,
he stands and dreams
of meadows in a nosebag.
Such rhythmic clicking of
metal shoes on concrete,
full rolling of the carriage
wheels and he, confined,
down through the centuries
he thought he'd left behind.
A lone rider sits high in the saddle,
As the horizon's sunrise spreads across,
The open prairie.
Twin pearl handed pistols rest at his side,
As rusty spires clang against wooden planks,
At the deadwood saloon.
Legends cowboys whisper his name,
On the dry desert winds,
A giant of a man whom breathed
Life again into the legacy,
Of the old west.
His side swagger's walk trademark
On the larger than a life screen.
The duke truly represents the great
American hero on horse back.
Six shooters drawn at high noon's
John Wayne's the trail dusts equalizer,
He always remained on the right side,
Of tin stars law.
The tumble weeds rolls along a dirt path,
As tall cactus stand on an arried canvas,
Life here is harsh and mean,
Where only the strong survive.
Bold individuals with the inner
Strength against god's forbidden land.
Harden men whom lived by one simple,
Rule I will do what ever it takes
To stay alive.
He'll join the ghost riders,
Forever driving the lords herds
Across the grand divides vast
Prairie sky’s as the sunsets
In the old west.
Alone figure rides high in saddle,
Set against a legends back drop,
Hell bound for glory,
In a cloud of gun smokes fog,
Behold the duke emerges,
With his hat on straight
And gun at the ready.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
I do not know?
The War Horse what an amazing
animal, true beauty and bravery
It's not his fight yet
he does not take flight.
On the battle field his true
colours are revealed, this
magnificent beast is not about
Loyal and fearless, full gallop
towards the front line he strides.
The enemy not knowing what to
make of this valour and might.
Of all the horses I have known,
And I have known a few,
It's of Rebel, my daughter's first loved horse
That I'll be telling you.
Her girl friends on the nearby farms
Had horses theirs to ride.
That she could not have a horse too,
She just could not abide.
We lived in a little pioneer town.
Our home had a tiny yard.
To fulfill my small girl's wishes
Would truly be too hard.
One day I found her crying and
It broke my mother heart.
I told her we'd look for a horse.
At least we'd make a start.
Well, that was all I need to say.
There was no reneging now.
We'd have to ask her daddy
And I didn't quite know how.
Her fresh tears won him over
And he told her he would try
To find the perfect horse for her
if she would no more cry.
We had an old unused garage.
If was mostly filled with trash.
She and her dad hauled to the dump,
What they couldn't sell for cash.
In June she went into the fields
Picking strawberries to help pay
For the horse for which she'd been looking
And would be finding any day.
At last there was one advertised
At we thought, a decent price.
She called her horse savvy uncle
To ask for his advice.
My brother checked the horse for her
And said that it was sound.
Exactly waht she wanted to hear,
She plunked her money down.
She cared for her horse the best she knew
And before long had proven she
Knew more about a horses's care
Than either her dad or me.
Rebel was quite a tall horse.
She had to climb to get astraddle
And sit up on his bare back.
We could not afford a saddle.
Rebel was the perfect horse
For a loving ten year old.
He was docile, slow and gentle.
Only when loose did he get bold.
There were times when he would get away,
From where ever he'd been tied.
He'd whip around and run again,
Just when we reached his side.
She and her friends had lots of fun
In those happy carefree days.
Swimming across the Swinomish Slough
Is a memory that stays
Our daughter got her money's worth
From that big sturdy horse,
Until his age began to show
And Nature took it's course.
Our town has become more lucrative
It's residents a richer crowd.
A horse stabled in garage these days
Would never be allowed.
My daughter raises horses now,
With the purest of blood line
But our Rebel of unknown heritage
At her age of ten was fine.
For Horse contest took 7th place
Golden Glowing Biscuits
Eohippus at the dawn of history rides off the earth
His son the dawn horse rides out on the day
First through a lush field of heather up ahead
Guided by shifting westward winds
Then over the hills of clover running to the cliff
Down labyrinths of canyons crooked paths
Past the canna, columbine and hollyhock bursts of reds
There, just over long green grasses beyond the pastures
The animal takes a break
Relieves himself, releases golden biscuits to the earth
Which aid the fertile fields to grow and flourish