Alone figure stands,
On sunsets rock.
Summers hot breezes brush,
Against bare skins flesh.
Stalking the ageless path.
Behold histories Indian brave,
Man, and horse intertwined.
Symbiotic beings joined,
They are one.
The spirit rider gallops,
Across freedoms trail.
Cautiously, allying arrow unto bow,
Aiming swiftly his shot to kill.
Guardian’s raging bull charges,
Protectors sacrifice, blood mingles,
Amongst dust clouds aftermath,
His majesty lies slain.
Dark brown eyes close,
Glimpsing blue sky for the,
Heavens prairies, welcome destiny's,
The hunter kneels beside the giant's,
Giving thanks, singing chants rise,
Ascending heights greener,
Pastures unto a higher plain.
It echoes in valleys deep,
Touching the lands of his,
Tonight beneath flames tribal fires,
Rhythms beating drums, gives praise,
Many shall celebrate, feasting,
In memories tribute,
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2013
The trail was long and very dusty
great clouds churned up by hooves
of the vast herd being wrangled on
300 more miles of eating their dust
Bandana's tightly wrapped round faces
cries of "get up there" ringing out
bawling calves separated from mothers
hiss of hot branding irons scorching
A rumbling constantly moving mass
stretching back as far as eyes can see
horses reeling back and forth, pushing
always pushing them on, 200 miles to go
Storm is approaching as they settle down
tightly bunched up wranglers keeping watch
hard as nails falls the rain, lashing down
cattle milling round and round as flashes
Of lightning light up the sky causing
restless beasts to try to break and flee away
tumultuous thunder now joining in causing panic
"Keep them circling, don't let them break out"
Came the cries of the foreman as they tried to hold
chuck wagon knocked over as through camp they run
woe to anyone on foot or even a thrown rider
"keep them going south, They will stop at the river"
Gradually the storm quietens and dies down
first light shows how scattered they are
some needing to be shot where they lay mangled
the rest pushed through the river to the plains
Here they can be regrouped, lush grasses to eat
no urgency now 10 miles or so a day we push them
letting them gain some more weight, 50 miles to go
the foreman sends two men on to warn the yards
At last they see the rail tracks, only 15 miles away
"one last big push lads and we will have them there
tonight we will wet our whistles and eat like kings"
hot tubs to soak in, washing away dirt that is caked
We push them into the waiting pens as they bawl and churn
settled now with fresh hay and water the plaintive calls
of mothers looking for their calves, the wranglers push
them together keeping the bulls apart, they will ship first
Now work is done, 800 miles or so we have driven them
it is time to relax and let our hair down, find ladies
of the night with which to dally for awhile, some poker
played, several fights break out over who gets which one
As dawn breaks low rumbles from the pens as the cattle stir
the town but for a few still fast asleep, until the train
spitting steam and smoke arrives, and buyers now alight
many offers are made and rejected out of hand, these cows
Are already sold to keep our armies fed as they war against
the Maverick Indians, that are plundering the homesteads
30,000 at first of drove, now reduced to 27,000 or so
loaded up on the train our job is done we are homeward bound
contest Epic Only
Copyright © Shadow Hamilton | Year Posted 2013
The horse is a fascinating creature that serves us so well
Having had a life long relationship with horses
I am full of admiration for their endless toils.
They are fiery yet mainly gentle giants
and give hours of pleasure to their carers
I worked first as a working pupil
then in racing yards some flat but mainly jumping yards
going on to having my own stables
doing the show jumping circuit and some taming
I prefer the term taming to breaking in
it is all a matter of trust after all
why break a spirit? When with love
you get an unbreakable bond
Using this method I was able to school a horse
from wild to saddle in 2 to 3 weeks
then the real fun begins as you start
the real relationship of bringing it on
I had two people who taught me so much
when I was around 14 years old
we used to go in school holidays to the new forest
I told Maddie I wanted to become a show jumper
Now I was tiny about 4 foot 3 high
and she put me up on Yanta
he was 17 hands and a cat jumper
boy I had some spills over fences
Maddie's response was to take away my saddle
she said I needed to improve my seat and balance
well after many more spills it started working
and I became a burr on his back in total harmony
Later at 18 I started my training as a working pupil
training to be an instructor
now Heather was a tough cookie with quality horses
a formidable lady who took no excuses
She used to get us in the indoor school
taught us dressage and much more
some days she would remove both saddle and bridle
saying that a true rider steers with hands, knees and bodies
You riders try it some time once you can back up a horse
and do flying changes and shoulder ins and outs
without any tackle then you are a rider
at one with your horse in body and soul
One of my pleasures has always been night riding
the horse is a prey animal and prone to flight
they get up on their toes and spook at shadows
riding without a saddle means you can feel each muscle tense
getting a sense of when they are ready to whirl and flee
leaving the unwary rider on the ground eating dust.
These two ladies shaped my life with horses
giving me insight into them and their needs
a sense of wonder and awe at their trust
and their willingness to work with us
Be they an Arab or thoroughbred or plain Jane
each one teaches us so much as we interact
there is nothing more heart warming than
a horse nickering to you delighted you are there
shaking and tossing their heads stamping the ground
impatient for you to stroke and caress them
giving you comfort when you are down
and joy when you are up and excited
Now no longer able to ride due to a bad hip
I still share a close bond and delight
when I call to horses in a field
and they come at a charge to greet me
it is the simple things that give the most pleasure
Copyright © Shadow Hamilton | Year Posted 2014
A heavy horse looks like a rock
the horse stands completely still in the darkness
with open eyes
one starry night
the horse seems to count
all bright spots in the Big Dipper
and is wondering whether it would be very difficult
to pull the wagon one lap
around the globe.
Copyright © Haldor Paulsson | Year Posted 2011
To the unknown in outer space, sending a missile
on a wrong direction, problems should go on exile
converting broilers to layers
supported by so much prayers
hoping the mistake will turn out to be a sweet bile.
Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2016
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
Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2013
First let us take our friend the horse
a noble creature who serves us well
supplying us with a source of good compost
ferrying us here and there in fine style
pulling carts and carriages with aplume
carrying riders proudly on their backs
seldom a traffic jam and smell the pure air
enjoy the freedom to gallop with the wind
Now let us take the motor car
this guzzles fuel at an alarming rate
spewing out poisonous fumes that pollute
and if you should have a crash a tangled heap
of near useless metal is all that remains
and people torn and broken trapped inside
and the queue of traffic stretching back
maybe cars are fast but they come at a high price
In olden days the fields were much smaller
quilts against the landscape so pleasing to see
the hedgerows full of flowers giving shelter
to a host of birds, insects and small animals
the stately shires furloughing the fields
laying the lines true and straight
their leisurely pace giving dormouse time
to scuttle away and find some safety
The big modern threshers and ploughs
need far bigger spaces to work so large fields
gone the pretty quilt work, gone most hedgerows
rushing over vast areas harvesting the crops
behind them lay the dead and injured bodies
of all the little creatures unable to flee the blades
now the crows move in to feast alive or dead they eat
so yes more crops fast harvested but at a high price
In days gone by we dwelt in villages and small towns
where most if not all knew one another by name
you could safely leave your house unlocked
and your children played freely in the streets
neighbours helped one another in whatever way needed
and shared the little they themselves had gladly
street parties were times of great delight
but best of all you truly knew your friends
Sky scrappers looming towering up high
stinky lifts that break leaving one trapped
danger round every corner, its each one for themselves
rapists, burglars, murderers and plain gangsters
have a field day in the metropolis with easy pickings
here one keeps ones children safe and tucked away
concrete blocks of houses along concrete streets
everywhere you see strangers at what a high price
When one stops and really thinks about it all
are these advances really worth the price we pay
does it really matter with the vast food piles
if it takes a little longer to do the harvest
cars are all every well but wheres the romance?
the quivering flesh of an excited horse galloping
does far more for me than a petrol guzzling beast
I admit I prefer the less complicated times of yore
Copyright © Shadow Hamilton | Year Posted 2013
The night is dark, and in here it is darker still
I try to sleep, but in vain, for my heart beats so fast
Some can rest, and others are standing guard
Ready for the battle, ready for the light of day.
A man that I barely know; is sharpening his sword so slow
I hear and feel the slide of the stone, and I know that he knows that it is sharp
But he sharpened still, perhaps to hide his fear
Or perhaps to remind himself of his courage in battles past, and to come.
The wood at my back is warm and comforting
Pure and real, something to touch, and to bring luck.
I can even see the grain of the wood in my mind, the tree
That once stood tall, and sheltered, and warmed.
We have used deceit, we have given; to harm
Our enemies are pleased with this gift from the gods
This gift that stands wonderfully tall inside their gates.
So big, a giant, a sightless horse, a steed.
…Later, we feel the wood grow warmer,
As the light of day slides through the gaps in the side;
Saddling with the task of bluntening our swords
On our Trojan foe outside; as we mean to,
As we thirty follow Odysseus, to victory.
Copyright © Stuart Ackerman | Year Posted 2015
Oh, noble beast, you stand before me muscles quivering in fright
wanting nothing more than to flee. Unable to break or jump the
bars, you blow steam from flaring nostrils and paw the ground.
Once you ran free as the wind racing with it through canyons and
climbing high up the steep slopes you rear in pure joy at the top.
Little do you know you have captured a heart, the heart of a man
who desires to own you. That soon he will trap you and enslave you.
Soon you will be ripped from your herd forced to leave your mares
and foals unprotected. No longer free to roam the wild ranges.
Run down until your flanks heaved with exhaustion and the sweat
soaked your skin. Lassoed and dragged to this corral. Now you swing
your hip in warning for none to approach you. The man sits himself
down and quietly waits until curiosity finally wins and cautiously you
draw closer and snuffle his scent snorting as hastily you back away.
Several days pass now you take food from his hand and allow his touch.
Yet still you gaze far off to the valleys and I can see your longing to
be there free again. I take your side against my man pleading with him
that it would be wrong to enslave this fiery spirit of yours. His place is
not here see how he pines for freedom and his herd. Reluctantly her
man agreed and swung wide open the corral gate startled the horse
stared out then bucking he flew out to freedom yet shortly he returned
and put his head on the man's neck as if to say thanks.
He returned to his herd and fought off an intruder who had moved in.
Now you might think this the end of the tale but oh no it is not.
That winter was very harsh new foals found it hard to cope and often
perished. The stallion remembered the man and drove his favourite mare
to his place placing her in his care only just in time as she foaled that
night in the worst blizzard in living memory. The stallion returned to the rest
of his herd and brought them too down near the homestead and so a lasting
friendship was formed with both enjoying their freedom and yet also sharing
with each other.
Copyright © Shadow Hamilton | Year Posted 2016
There once was a horse of heavenly descent
Born of a gorgon, his father, a god
Only a hero would be destined to catch him
Bellerophon was the one that destiny chose
One day a golden bridle he was given
To catch this mysterious creature
For a few moments he was hero and master
But an angry Zeus ended his glory
This horse was like no other mortal beast
His wings thrust him into the sky
Elusive and mysterious he shall remain
He is now a dazzling constellation
Copyright © Ingrid Marroquin | Year Posted 2008
Roans, chestnuts, blacks and greys
Stand the line in perfect swathes
Tunic buttons and brasses glisten
Brave men sit and for orders listen
The finest horse out on parade
Six hundred men, the Light Brigade
Speedy chargers of sword and lance
This day of glory for taking chance
The bugle sounds, the walk it calls
And to their duty the honour falls
Six hundred men and trusting steed
Start the walk of the cannons greed
And into the valley they did enter
A perfect line of regal splendour
That chilling, eerie October day
With death these men would play
The buglers mouth dry, he spits
To make sure the note he hits
The kick of heels and to the trot
Hours of drill and had not forgot
Sabres drawn and lances drooped
Flags unfurled and colours trooped
Spit and polish, a sight they made
Men of steel, the noble Light Brigade
Cannon to the front, left and right
To man and horse a fearful sight
Beating hearts and steely nerves
With out a thought, bravely serves
And that final longing bugle call
Charge, God speed one and all
A day that stands long in history
Six hundred men and destiny
Hooves rattled, the pace quickened
Grape shot spat and many smitten
Raglan led as Nolan fell
With the truth his life did sell
Onwards, onwards, brave men rode
The longest mile they ever strode
Flesh ripped and limbs stripped
Shell and shot as fear gripped
Copyright © Daniel Cheeseman | Year Posted 2010
I do not know?
The white horse had just died a lonely death
His rider was crucified as if he were the coming of the 2nd
May the one who killed the innocent form of justice
Be the one to carry the weight of grim until pressed
The rider was sent on a mission to relieve the chosen one
The one was chosen and brought to the black hill to wait
He waited for you.....me.....us.....but we failed him
We have not committed ourselves to the savior of good
We have only one last chance to rid evil for before spilled blood
If this is the chosen ones ways to allow us to view
What we need to turn us away from the few
For our lack of committment and honour to the wise
Left the white horse and its rider in sure lifeless demise
The one who killed the beast and his proud man
Was the ones who will kill the future of this tiring land
It was not of evil that rid there energy
If was you.....me.....us.....that failed priest to hold her
Try to sleep with peace even though the burdon in on YOUR shoulders
Copyright © Penn Kname | Year Posted 2006
As the late shadows began to fall
Off to the tanks to check the ice again
Supper was at 6:00 o’clock and if lucky
He’d have the chance to warm up and rest for a spell.
The time did come which the children didn’t like
They had to move in with the teacher
At school for a week.
It took a county road grader to plow out the roads
In order for us to get the children back home.
This was March when the calving had started
Twenty-four hour days were the rule.
I did the night calving shift
To allow Billy sometime to rest.
Only on emergencies did I give him a call
Up in the morning he’d make the rounds
Checking on new calves or problems
If all was well into breakfast he’d come
Then plow us out and me back in.
If a problem would arrived he’d switch
The cat for his horse and off they’d go
To bring the cow into the shed
Where he’d perform the necessary chore
And safely tuck the calf in to his bed
His horse taken care of
It was off to the cat, plow the hay sled out
Then to the feeding he’d go and the routine
Would then begin in spite of the snow.
Like I said this was 19 and 72
On July the 4th, I don’t know why
But I walked back into the shelterbelt
Behind the house and much to my surprise
There was a snow drift that had not met it’s demise
The years before and the years after
Had their snows, blizzards and winds
But never before and never after
Did we have another year like
Nineteen hundred and seventy two.
Copyright © Marycile Beer | Year Posted 2007