A phantom horse came galloping
beneath a silver moon
across a field of recent war
where corpses’ bones lay strewn.
With thunder in his hoof beats,
again and then again,
he raced along a river which,
like blood, ran through that plain.
Though frightful he appeared to be
on land that reeked demise,
a sole intent gleamed strongly
in his sad and ghostly eyes.
Then finally, as dawn began
to paint the broad stretch red,
the unrelenting stallion stopped
and seemed to bow his head.
He briefly knelt, then stood upright
and bore away, with speed,
the spirit of the knight for whom
he’d been a trusty steed!
For the Not Just Any Old Quatrain Poetry Contest
of Kelly Deschler
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2014
When doves on evenings, calm and still, call out a hollow tone,
They rouse a medley, old as time, so few have ever known.
The whispered lines of its refrains resound of yesterday,
In ancient tales and bygone trails that man cannot portray.
I’ve rode and worked along a trail throughout my many years.
I’ve heard the tales the sages tell of raging Longhorn steers,
Of soldiers marching single file or mounted days on end,
Of Indians, conquistadors and Rangers tracking men.
Mackenzie Trail is not well known for time obscures its fame,
But high regard is placed on it by those who know its name.
Its story’s scribed in black and white, its remnants etched in stone,
Its way was marked by sweat and blood, by grave and bleaching bone.
The broad frontier that it traversed had yet to be surveyed
And danger seemed to lie in wait at every turn and grade.
From Fort Clark Springs to forts on north, it led Mackenzie’s men
To risk their lives out on the trail, then brought them home again.
A mound lies near Mackenzie Lake, where horse thieves met despair,
For Rangers tracked their hurried trail and hung them then and there.
And near a barn not far away, in Live Oaks’ blissful shade,
The remnants of a camp still lie where soldiers often laid.
I’ve rode the trail and damned the rock that cost my horse a shoe.
I’ve crossed its draws that filled with rain and made my lips turn blue.
Its rugged paths have tested me and all who’ve come this way,
Yet, it remains my trail through time, my bond with yesterday.
Mackenzie Trail will long survive, a monument to will,
That I recall when I ride near on evenings, calm and still;
When doves exclaim in harmony, their lonely, hollow tone
And rouse the medley, old as time, so few have ever known.
Copyright © Jim Fish | Year Posted 2009
Three blind men, as in the elephant fable,
examined a horse in a roadside stable.
The owner said to the blind men then,
“Guess what it is and ten dollars win.”
The first exclaimed while stroking its mane,
“This animal, from a lion came.”
Another felt its dry, course hair,
“I think it surely must be a bear.”
The third, more thorough than the rest,
put the animal through a careful test.
“Its head is large for its body size,
and finely appointed with big round eyes.
“With ears alert and shoulders deep;
its neck is long with a graceful sweep.
Its muscular legs and fetlocks large,
are poised and ready for instant charge.
“He, I believe, was desert bred,
with sturdy feet to hot sand tread.
From hardy stock he will long survive
on scant water and stay alive.
“Arabian horse!” was the blind man’s phrase.
And, at such accuracy, the owner was dazed.
“How could you have possibly known?
Could you tell by feeling alone?”
To which replied the blind man then,
with ten dollars safely in hand,
“Thank you Sir, but I could not lose,
since you told it all on the Morning News.”
Copyright © James Tate | Year Posted 2011
There is a woman who has a passion
Not for a man and not for a fashion
Her passion is for a horse, a horse with a horn.
Commonly known as a mystical unicorn.
This mythical beast from days of yore
Did it walk on this hallowed land before?
The Bible mentions this unicorn
But the science says it’s a beast with one horn.
It’s placed where the horn is on a rhinoceros
So what is that trying to tell the lot of us?
Those unicorns did not roam about
I know that’s hard love, please don’t shout
The mythical beast of charm and of love
Is just a rhinoceros to you and me, my dove?
The Bible talks of it with other beasts
Not mythical ones, that now have all ceased.
What it means is a beast with just one horn
But not the mythical mystical unicorn
But for you PD I will start to seek
For a horse with a horn that would be labelled a freak.
I will scour the lands up hill and down dale
I will lift every stone and turn every hay bale
If this horse with a horn is what you desire
I will spend my time searching-until I expire.
For you with a passion for a horse with a horn
I’ll search for ever to find your mystical unicorn
But if I expire before my quest is done
I’ll get an apprentice, and he can find one.
© 10/09/2012 ~GG~
Copyright © Mandy Tams The Golden Girl | Year Posted 2012
Our exquisite Queen of passion
Rides on a dazzling white horse
Within her hand she wields a pen
Describing adventures of course
She takes us to many places
So our own psyches we can explore
To the thoughts of former lovers
Or through imaginary doors
Within her realm she is fearless
A true warrior of the mind
Some say the passion whisperer
She can give color to the blind
The fountain of her thoughts endless
With her we travel back in time
To former days of gallantry
As we engage in every line
Mesmerized by her artistry
As we follow her where she goes
Eileen's sexy has no limits
Ooh la la licious as it flows
Dedicated to Eileen, our queen of passion.
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2015
Majestic he stands
Head held high and proud
Until I draw near tack in hand
His mussel to my chest he bows
Our eyes fixed
With deepest affection
Respect from me
From him acceptance
His nostrils flair
He inhales my scent
A bond beyond fences
A mutual consent
About horse and rider
How can I explain
This communion of splendor
With reverent candor
Can any man compare
Who would be considered grander
Horse or rider if you dare
Nobility without pride
Beauty without vanity
Majesty without disciple
Power without violence
Do you still wonder why I'm longing for the ride
When he challenges the wind for speed
Brushed by heaven with every stride
Intimacy mounted here on "Spirit's Pride"
My steed and I in harmony
Exhilaration captivates my senses
Pounding hooves, his earthen scent
Taut muscles ripple in sweat profusely drenched
He heeds the slightest touch of rein
His saddle is my alter of prayer
When he on oceans sands a trot
My soul is healed all disrepair
In bed I lay awake tonight my mind a heavy load
His blaze is blazoned in my memory burned
Of black night mane and chestnut coat
A quatrain tribute to his name he's earned
Still you may not understand
This yearning so many take in stride
Of horse and rider pure joy provider
And oh such longing for the ride
Copyright © Sarai Romani | Year Posted 2013
The course was very narrow,
the trail, straight and long -
I moseyed on that perfect path
where I could do no wrong.
I kicked my big, white stallion,
up rocky slopes one day -
and when I made this clearing,
I knew I'd found the way.
And while I sat there on my faith,
atop the highest hill -
and as I peered on valley low,
I judged folks all until -
I found great fault in everyone
no matter, great or small -
so I could sit up highest on
my saddle, straight and tall.
I prayed; "Oh, those pathetic souls
are hardly good for thee -
for never are they good enough,
unless they're just like me.
Just look at their bad habits,
just look at all their stuff,
and why don't they attend my church?
They are not good enough!
They sin in many different ways,
they fall in numbers too.
They just don't understand that they -
are not like me and You."
Now after seeing others
had wandered way off course -
t'was then that I was bucked right off
my high and mighty horse.
©2010 louis gander / www.ganderpoems.org
Copyright © louis gander | Year Posted 2016
Several times we took the kids
To vacation on Grandpa’s farm
Many a time they’d be walking around
With kittens they found in the barn
Grandpa arranged for a pony to ride
Or to pull them around in a shay
Riding a horse was just so much fun
They took turns and did it each day
I watched my youngest, as she took a ride
The horse bucked and she hit the ground
Just mad as can be, she got back on
Kicked the horse, then road all around
When the cousins came to Grandpa’s farm
The barn was a great place to play
They always seemed to have such fun
Just playing around in the hey
My kids took three ducks back home
Those Muscovy’s really did grow
We had to let them loose at a pond
So big that they just had to go
Just this last year, these kids of mine
Who now have kids of their own
Returned once more to Grandpa’ farm
It’s different when you’re all grown
Now they get to see their own kids play
Doing the same things they used to do
Nothing has changed, for kids it’s the same
Your kids love the farm just like you
Copyright © Charles Sides | Year Posted 2011
Old CAP'N CRUNCH was hanging out one day
With the bunch at SPECIAL K Ranch
When FROOT LOOPS from the city rode by
With their pay CHEX in their pants
Greeted them each with warm CHEERIOS
Asked them if they'd ever SHREDDED WHEAT
They were full of PEP and said no not yet
His shock was TOTAL and COMPLETE
So he thought he'd show these SUGAR PUFFS
Just how cow pokes get their KIX
He mounted his faithful horse APPLE JACKS
And performed a bunch of neat TRIX
He turned on the JETS and performed like a vet
Wearing LUCKY CHARMS on his belt
Landed on his MUFFET when his horse reared up
Crushed his NUTS 'N HONEY they swell't
©Jack Ellison 2012
Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2012
As I plod along the boggy fields
Master on my back
The heavy armour on my chest
The mud upon my flanks
The smell of blood in the smokey air
Of man and beast entwined
The thrust of decay beneath my hooves
Tension in the skies
As cold April winds
Lash into my eyes
I keep myself in check
To heed the masters voice to me
And his command upon my neck
His spurs, they push into my flanks
As the enemy approaches
I twist and turn, rise and fall
As metal upon metal clashes
Fast I must hold, stumble not
As the master fights the battle
Heart beating hard, mouth dry as earth
Blood coursing down my chattles
Treading hard upon the ground
Regardless of the dead
Then the day is won,the bugle sounds
"Homeward men its over"
Wearily I trot beneath the sun
To green fields of grass and clover.
Copyright © carol henderson | Year Posted 2011
Estephania was the Spanish horse,
with a chestnut coat and mane
and a lighter long tail...and she ate
alfalfa for strong teeth and bones.
She was domesticated, losing her liberty
and neighing she showed keen ability:
to spot dangers on a perilous path...
Estefania even stopped for a stranded cat.
In summertime she fed mostly on grass,
but bees stung her many times to protest,
and struggling to get them off her tail...
she hit a shrilling raven in the head.
And feeling sorry for the dying bird wincing,
Estefania licked his semi-open eyes...giving
him a little comfort as he folded his wings;
and whinnying she wept a river of tears.
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2010
The sun was rising in the east
behind some hitching posts -
and weathered boards, on buildings old,
had nothing left to boast.
But I wore fancy cowboy duds,
I was a handsome sight.
A crowd of people gathered 'round
to watch this old gun fight.
The street was dead and empty
except for sin and I.
I somehow ended up out here.
I'm really not sure why.
A bullet? Very perilous
if we've no self-control -
and sin is much more dangerous,
because it kills the soul.
Now noon met with humidity.
The sun was dry and hot.
Some beads of sweat rolled down my face -
my stomach, in a knot.
But no, I wasn't nervous -
though duel had begun.
I counted out ten paces -
then turned and drew my gun.
But sin is faster, furious -
much quicker than the eye.
Oh please! Dear Lord and Saviour -
I do not want to die!
And then... in just an instant,
I dropped down to my knees.
I fell as peace passed over me
and felt the gentle breeze.
But something stood in front of me.
Its shadow crossed my face.
I then saw Jesus on that cross.
He took my very place.
Ashamed, I dropped my pistol.
My pride was killed that day -
as I pulled off my fancy boots
and flung my hat away.
Now humbled on the dusty street
with crowded eyes on me -
my every pride had vanished as
I learned humility.
In faithfulness, I stood again,
though I was at a loss...
Oh, how could Jesus love me so
from that old rugged cross?
The sun was setting in the west
behind some hitching posts.
And weathered boards, on buildings old,
had nothing left to boast.
©2012 louis gander / www.ganderpoems.org
Copyright © louis gander | Year Posted 2016
I'm starting to even wonder why I'm actually there
Am I there for a certain purpose I'm caught so unaware
I'm feeling like the Trojan Horse, a passage to somewhere else
Once there I'm cast aside, ageing and left on the shelf
I'm starting to even wonder now that I'm actually here
When do you say your goodbyes, and fill my eyes with tears
What will you do when you look back, laughing in my face
Me just a Trojan Horse, as I welcomed you with grace
Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2011
MIRROR MIRROR ON THE FALL
Wonder do I how bright ignites the light
And an eagerness to stay a falling leaf kind of free
Free to find out what may be in sight
As she holds hands with beauty and empathy
Wonder do I how bright her eyes
And what wouldst I see to look inside
The lady dons no cloak nor disguise
For she has but happiness and the clock to bide
All I know is silence sometimes has an unheard voice
A lady who languishes, perhaps, only in my mind unspoken
However that may be a particularly intelligent choice
Because that way there can’t be any vows ever broken
Wonder do I to see what her mirror reveals
And where would her spirit say we are going
I may never really know what and how she feels
But sometimes it’s better my not knowing
© 2011.….Phreepoetree~free cee!~
Copyright © jeffry cohan | Year Posted 2011
She rides hollow into her night
marked by terror, marked by fright
void expression, empty smile
her crown, a mask, to beguile
She moves fettered into her day
contemptuous chip, her shoulder play
a hint of mulberry on the dew
weathered brow, She only knew
She dies slowly into her life
distorted, malignant strife
perception colors her rotting corpse
a crystal grey shattered horse
Copyright © Susan Mangiante | Year Posted 2005