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Horse Sad Poems | Sad Poems About Horse

These Horse Sad poems are examples of Sad poems about Horse. These are the best examples of Horse Sad poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Questionku |

Retirement of my beef

Horse who won in Yorkshire
Last year how come
To be a  beef in my menu  this year


Details | Rhyme |

In the Meadow

In the Meadow, I hear a POP!
Drip Drop , Drip Drop!
I can't seem to hear the Clip, Clop!
So off I run with a little Hip-Hop!


In the Meadow, I hear a POP!
Drip Drop, Drip Drop!
As I near, my Heartbeat gives a Stop!
My Stomach does the tightest Flip-Flop!

In the Meadow, I hear a POP!
Drip Drop, Drip Drop!
I howl on seeing the Butcher's Shop!
Onto the Meadow grass, I Slip-Slop!

To Witness the Unbearable Chop!
Blood of my Horse, Drip Drop!


Details | Haiku |

Into the sunset

Living lonely lives,
Cowboys are known for riding
Into the sunsets

8 May 2014


Details | Prose Poetry |

My Only Friend

In the iron grey days of the 1950's change changed everything, good or bad,
Tom, who was the local coal-man for this area, a hard man of steel but kind,
He tried to speak but no words would come, he just pointed, on to the road,
Following his gesture, outside was a new motor lorry for his rounds, no horse.

In broken and heart wrenching sobs, he said, they had taken away my old horse,
He's been sold to another firm and I will never see him again, he's gone away,
Tom loved that horse, his life was built around it, morning evenings, weekends,
In his own time Tom would trim and groom that horse, it was his closest friend.

They never said me that my dearest friend was going I had no time to say goodbye,
He's probably in a new place now waiting for me to come and take him back home,
I know that horse he is my only family, I bet he is really worried he will so sad
He probably thinks I have deserted him because I don't love him that's not true.

I bet he is in a stable, his big brown eyes moist looking around all the time,
Any door that opens he will think it is me, he will be excited then really hurt,
He will miss our long talks together in the evenings he used to nod his long face,
He will be in a panic, like me, waiting for his dad who will never see him again.

A strong man who carried tons of coal everyday he had no family only his horse,
Brought up in a state run home never lucky enough to be picked by any families,
His horse was his friend who new all of Toms deepest secrets, tears and sorrows,
Tom left his new lorry where it stood, with heart wrenching sobs he walked away.
I watched him go, there was nothing I could say there was a painful lump in my throat.


Details | Prose Poetry |

My Only Friend

In the iron grey days of the 1950's change changed everything, good or bad,
Tom, who was the local coal-man for this area, a hard man of steel but kind,
He tried to speak but no words would come, he just pointed, on to the road,
Following his gesture, outside was a new motor lorry for his rounds, no horse.

In broken and heart wrenching sobs, he said, they had taken away my old horse,
He's been sold to another firm and I will never see him again, he's gone away,
Tom loved that horse, his life was built around it, morning evenings, weekends,
In his own time Tom would trim and groom that horse, it was his closest friend.

They never said me that my dearest friend was going I had no time to say goodbye,
He's probably in a new place now waiting for me to come and take him back home,
I know that horse he is my only family, I bet he is really worried he will so sad
He probably thinks I have deserted him because I don't love him that's not true.

I bet he is in a stable, his big brown eyes moist looking around all the time,
Any door that opens he will think it is me, he will be excited then really hurt,
He will miss our long talks together in the evenings he used to nod his long face,
He will be in a panic, like me, waiting for his dad who will never see him again.

A strong man who carried tons of coal everyday he had no family only his horse,
Brought up in a state run home never lucky enough to be picked by any families,
His horse was his friend who new all of Toms deepest secrets, tears and sorrows,
Tom left his new lorry where it stood, with heart wrenching sobs he walked away.
I watched him go, there was nothing I could say there was a painful lump in my throat.


Details | I do not know? |

Glory

This is the story of a beautiful horse named Glory Freckled and spotted She stood but a twig Lost in a forest Of abandonment Tires and barbwire Surround her by day And at night she suffers The coyotes cries, not far away Left with no food Or water to drink She stands by a tree And hopes for relief Halter grown in And hooves overgrown Not a grain in that belly And left all alone Withering quick She stands by her tree And hopes a kind soul Will help her to see There is life still No matter how grim Things seem from beneath This horrid, old tree This halfhearted twig Awaits her relief As the days pass her by And she writhes with grief Her name is Glory All freckled with spots Like a giant Dalmatian Trapped in this spot At the end of her lead She was finally freed Not a day too soon She'll now find relief Halfhearted no longer And happy at last Whom once was a twig Knows Glory at last Halfhearted no longer And free from that mess Glory has found relief At Horse Creek Ranch* *Horse Creek Ranch is, to the best of my knowledge, a fictional name.


Details | Free verse |

A Slow Sad Song

My horse is old and gray
Seen many a better day
Swayed in the back
Steady and on track

I too old and gray
On my back life I weigh
Now I slump
Still prodding along
Singing a sad, sad song
Wondering did I ever belong

Did I leave a mark
Was my short ride worth much
Should I hide
Slowly, lowly as I ride
Concealing my face
In disgrace

At times I feel I did my best
At times I took on a sorry rest

Why am I still here
I feel alone
Cold and sad
Completely mad

Clip-pity-clop
Will my time ever stop

Clip-pity-clop
I now ride my course
With very little love
With very little force

Were to I wonder
As I ride
Me and horse can no longer glide
So out here alone we hide

Riding along this old trail
Pondering did all fail

I hope not
But I am not to judge

I used all I had
And now I am sad

Clip-pity-clop
Will I now close
Can I now stop

Down the dusty trail
No longer wagging tail
Did I win
Did I fail
I do not know
But the clipping will cease

Leaning back in the saddle
Fate I now straddle
Hat I pull back
For the last time

Pity-clop



Details | Ballad |

Waiting

For more than forty years he mustered horses to the yard,
Reminding all the younger blokes “You’ve ‘gotta’ stay on guard,
For even decent broken horses have a spirit that is high,
And the months of lengthy grazing, can make them saddle shy”.
 
His spoken word was ‘gospel’ to the ringers on the rail,  
As they watched the flighty gelding with it’s sinewed body flail, 
In a wretched test of strength between a man and bucking horse, 
With just a moment lapsing came a death demanding force.

The sickening thud of hoof against the now defenseless skull,
Placed a numbness through the ringers in a seeming timeless lull,
Some rushed toward their mentor, some to keep the horse at bay,
And every face looked grim as they carried him away.

Time can seem eternal when the basic aids are not of use,
A man is hardly breathing and his limbs are falling loose, 
When the doctor is still coming from an hour’s flight away, 
And the women of the station ask the station men to pray.   

Throughout the day the horses wait beneath the bloodwood shade,
And ringers eager in the morn have felt their interest fade,
Their thoughts are feeling for the man upon a homestead bed,
Not knowing if the man’s alive, or if the man is dead.

Their faces gray and gaunt have their vision quite impaired,
As they sought their own direction and in silence quietly stared,
With prayers of understanding (that ringers rarely speak), 
The silence and the waiting turned around their other cheek. 

The hours passed to falling dusk and still there is no word,
The whinnying of a waiting horse is all that can be heard,
And the tension in the quarters caused a snap toward a bloke,
When the eerie still was broken by… “Has anyone a smoke?”
 
Through homestead blinds by shadows, steady movement could be seen,
The ringers broke their silence wondering what the movements mean,
They walked across the yard and heard the footsteps on the floor,
And every mind was focused on the opening of the door.


Details | I do not know? |

Cliff

She stands, a horse with legs taut and proud
And her eyes are an opera, 
The clashing and rising of war voices
Marble eyes in rubber casing.
She is perfectly how
Hope stands in battle.
I bought a horse with a tail like a cliff, 
Blown, fine, proud, tall; 
Stalked.
And I would have bought you
But your hair was lavender.
And I would have bought you, twilight


Details | Cowboy |

Waddie Peacock's Last New Year

(The real Waddie Peacock, described only as “an old L.S. cowpuncher,” had the 
distinction of being the first person buried in Logan, New Mexico’s first cemetery 
in 1910.) 

It seems a man rides restless when he’s alone on the rim—
No one to rein him in a bit, no one to bury him.

So Waddie Peacock sat astride his horse reassessin’—
Dreamin’ past those frozen plains, tryin’ to count each blessin’.

He’d been an ol’ L.S. cowpuncher since hard scrabble youth,
But with the years and creakin’ bowlegs, he now sought the truth. 

He didn’t go out ridin’ much on that December trail—
He holed-up in an ol’ line shack till wit and nerve did fail.

But here he was on New Year’s Eve watchin’ those lone star skies,
Knowin’ that each man’s life is short, before he ups and dies.

Come fall he’ll head his hoss out to Logan, New Mexico—
Say goodbye to the L.S. boys and then he’ll have to go.

Some say there’s silver down Logan way - he’ll pack up his gun—
A brand new town and way of life – a brand new risin’ sun.

But now ol’ Waddie Peacock waits the start of this New Year.
He pats his faithful horse and knows with life there is no fear.

Somewhere a cowboy clangs a bell and shoots into the air—
The New Year comes like all the rest – ol’ Waddie just sits there.

Somehow he feels this year’s his last, and that he’ll be called home—
And Logan’s where he’ll soon now rest beneath the land and stone.


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