Merv Hold Poet Rhyme

At the Track

An institution for the average man and also for the Toff
The gun blasts, the gates fly open. They’re off. 
Eight magnificent Steeds already to win the race.
Trampling all before them, galloping at full pace. 

Jeremiah takes the lead, closely followed by Your Grace.
Simply Simon at his heels, True Tess is gaining a place.
Here comes My Hero, a grand, black stallion gaining on the pack.
Flight Steward, Flame and Conroy are positioned at the back.

Stampeding round the bend, bulleting on the outside
True Tess the small grey filly, taking the lead with pride.  
Manes flying in the wind here comes Conroy flying round the pack.
Now in second place, the odds thought him to be a hack.

Clumps of turf take flight from the pounding of the hooves.
Horses surging forward at an almighty pace, none wanting to lose.
Jockeys standing upright, leaning forward smashing their whips.
Jeremiah responds to the whip with an almighty lunge and trips.

The horse recovers, but all others pass him by, at least he wasn’t hurt.
Joyful screams from the punters as each horse puts on a spurt.
Simply Simon trapped against the rails pushes his way between a gap.
Racing with the pack, hurtling against the wind the jockey loses his cap.

Its anyone’s race as the galloping group head into the straight
There’s a oneness between each horse and its Jockey mate.
Wails from the crowd are heard, some had bet just on spec.
The crowd are on their feet as two horses are neck and neck.

The thunder of their hooves sending sparks My hero crosses the line.
A whisker in front of Tess. A photo finish sends tingles down my spine.
My ticket says Tess To Win, the track is silent for results of the race
The Marshall makes the announcement. Its my Hero in 1st place.

Sponsor	Brian Strand
Contest Name	A BRIAN STRAND PREMIERE no 1219 --  23 May2023

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Joe Maverick May 23, 2023 at 12:21 PM A photo refective of realitys place, in our life That races..' do we win by default or the graces? By merit? Or by dint of the sword, if by the latter Much is iur reward, (the spiritual sword ) unsheathed it will not rest..Forged unbreakable In toil of Love, it will cut the coils of the snake; Its head, my heel its fate.' In this we fet'e one King.! all heavens His praises sing.! Merv Hold May 24, 2023 at 4:20 AM Yeah. Not sure how to answer that one mate. But thanks. If I can remember to, I will write one about the doggies or the trots, that will really get you going.