little black horse, I've seen you around
little black horse, destined to terrorize the town
little black horse, you've seemed to have caught a mare
little black horse, with your long shiny hair
little black horse, why drag that mare around
death so coupled to you that she's destined to drown
fate cruel to her, to make her love
her soul tarnished and beaten, no longer white, and as pure as a dove
little black horse, do you not care at all?
crest fallen and withering, she still heeds your call
little black horse, she will die at your hand
yet her presence to you, just a mere grain of sand
Copyright © lia allice | Year Posted 2012
Bleached bones of a fallen beast,
Casting a shadow that points
To the east,
A cowboy rides out
With a noose round his neck,
Travelling north on a
The noose is a reminder
That his life is not his,
Not that he needs it
To tell him the truth,
He's atoning for sins
Committed by him
And the noose is just there
For some proof.
His horse pointing northwards,
His spurs jab its flanks,
It jumps on a journey
It knows not to where,
He has been advised
If he gets where he must
That he must handle all things
With great care.
Long weeks follow days,
He ne'er stops for food,
He feels neither hunger,
Nor thirst or fatigue,
His Horse is the same,
Feeling neither hunger or pain,
Though they travel on league
He stops on the brow
Of a mountainous peak,
To gain the bearings
He felt he had lost.
His eyes sweep the plains
He travels in vain,
Without ever revealing
His life had been shortened
For the most part by death,
He had suffered
For what he had done,
His actions alone
Had been the sole cause
Of the loss of his wife
And his son.
And so for his torment
He had been given a task,
That he knew he must
There was no respite
And no task to be done
And his journey would be
And so he rides on
O'er the endless red plain,
Destined as ever to
Be all alone,
And maybe one day
His skull will be seen
By another as abandoned
Copyright © Simon Henderson | Year Posted 2012
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
If good luck is what you're counting on
A stick horse will always be your steed.
Choose God and a job to rely on instead
Not Casino's or lottery to fill your need.
You can tell yourself that someone
Always wins and it just might be you.
But gamblers play the suckers game
Though your thinking might be true.
People feed quarters into slot machines
And at the tables they tirelessly play.
But most go home with pockets empty
Thinking tomorrow might be the day.
But just as sure as payday comes
They're Casino bound and in high gear.
Not seeing themselves for what they are
Dumb sheep, waiting for a shear.
Copyright © Tom Wright | Year Posted 2008
The cowboy he rode on out of the hills
Slumped over his good horse Fred.
Covered in dust, the least of his ills,
Both he and the horse half-dead.
He took a long drink to clear his head,
And felt a shutter, then a long wait,
In the motion of poor Fred’s gate.
He looked back and saw no more foe
No sight of old Mad Dog Giles,
Who’d chased him hard, both high and low
For forty frantic and breathless miles,
Across endless, hardened, desert tile.
Giles had chased, determined to slay
The cowboy who loved a girl in his pay.
Over mountain slopes of broken stone,
Through a canyon of red-hued rock,
Through alkali sinks, scattered with bones,
The Mad Dog his prey had stalked.
The cowboy, his foe, could not out-fox.
But the good horse Fred was the best of steads,
And ran till the other dropped of fatigue.
The cowboy he climbed out of the saddle,
Glad to finally move his own feet.
Fred gave a whinny, the cowboy looked down
At a swollen and bulging knee,
It was broken, he could clearly see.
A flash of rage burned in his soul,
To see the chase’s heavy toll.
The cowboy fumed, ranted, and raged
He’d raised good Fred from birth!
This stallion had taken him ‘cross the range,
Through tall mountains and deserts adverse,
And now he was doomed to the Earth…
His only true friend, would soon be gone
Thanks to a mad man’s temper and imagined wrongs.
He saw no use prolonging the end,
He whispered words and stroked Fred’s face.
The gun quivered in shaky hands,
But the barrel, it found the place.
He squeezed, and Fred met his fate.
The cowboy fell down to his knees,
And roared out loud in agony.
When he rose again his stare was cold,
He made no effort to fool himself.
For the love of a horse, both strong and bold,
He’d sent that damn bastard to hell!
And through time the tales would tell:
That a broken cowboy, driven by wrath
Had made the Mad Dog breath his last…
Copyright © David Welch | Year Posted 2017
Screamin’ Bill Wilcox was quite a man,
Carved from a block of stone
With a face of leather, deeply tanned
And a voice you could hear in Rome.
A cow hand he was, best with a rop
Could ride both bull or stead,
Quick with a joke, quick with a laugh
Quicker still dealing with thieves.
One cold night on old Montana’s plain
The heard milled, restless, unsettled
Then ray when they heard a lone wolf’s howl,
A test to a puncher’s mettle.
Screaming Bill road out ahead hollering
His voice booming and proud
The cattle swerved in a moment’s spell
And Screamin’ Bill went down.
We found nothing much left of Bill
Just his trampled, yellow hat
We buried him with it, twas only right
Then rode, a herd to catch.
Month went by and the job rolled on,
Long hours for little pay,
And we rode out to green Idaho
A new herd to drive away.
One gray evening the clouds moved in
Lightning crashed across the land,
The cattle spooked, into a grand stampede
With thundering hooves they ran.
And I alone out in the great range
Was answering nature’s call,
Turned and saw a crush of steers
A writhing and churning wall…
Just then a men he cut across
Hollering out ‘This a-way!’
The cattle turned and charged at him,
But he whooped as if at play!
The next day found the heard amidst
A stretch of fertile grass,
Feeding quietly, quite content
No thought of the near past.
I road along to find the man
Who’d saved my life last night,
I found only a yellow hat,
Glinting in the sunlight.
The others they did cross themselves,
But on my face a smile played,
Because I knew right then, for all of time
Screamin’ Bill would ride the plains
Copyright © David Welch | Year Posted 2017
Hey, hunker down in the bone orchard, chick,
Hear the wind blowing hard and the magazine click,
Feel the reins soaking wet with the blood of the dead
And the eyes gleaming fire and the hooves dripping red.
I could count on my fingers, if they were still there,
All the times I connected to wires stripped bare
And believed in the fable of biblical ways,
Of a riderless horse through the holocaust days.
Steam from the nostrils and froth on the spine,
Frost in the morning and death on the line,
Gallop and thunder in weather turned bad,
Mercy inverted and sense driven mad.
So my little pony became Ghengis Khan,
Putting flame to the homestead and burning the barn,
Black titanium dragons, hydraulic and sleek,
Only horsing around, pissing over the weak.
Copyright © Tony Bush | Year Posted 2005
To Whomever Has Loved a Horse
Knows of that of which I speak.
To feel an equine’s glorious power
Quiver and tremble beneath one’s limbs
The emotion brought within
Can cause even the most stoic noble man
To begin to tear up and to begin to weep.
To see one’s own reflection
In the pools of their almond shaped eyes
They are the master
Of the human depth of understanding
Always given up in their intelligent vision.
One cannot help but grasp their love
Hold on to their mane and fly
Fast along the earth
As if for a moment, Icarus
Flying high above the earth
On golden wings…
Not afraid to die.
If only Icarus had known
He could fly on an earthly steed
He could have saved his soul
And flown on a glorious horse…
It would have saved his soul indeed…
Instead of failing on false wings.
(November 26, 2010 Wausau, Wisconsin)
(c) Copyright 2010 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved
Copyright © christine a kysely | Year Posted 2010
It is a wondrous thing how fleet-
was he on those heavy steel shod feet.
With what a beautiful flowing grace
he oft would gallop and race,
then stay, then run again, and stay,
and call to me to chase and play.
He was agile more than wild hinds,
and ran as if on four winds.
He had a meadow all his own,
but now with weeds so overgrown,
that one certainly must guess
it to be a patch of wilderness.
And all the spring-time of the year
he used to love to frolic there-
among the clover leaves that spread,
but they now too are gone to bed.
And these churlish days that give aid
to dull loneliness have made,
this place an object of neglect,
walled about in disrespect
with false portals of light-
that bring more sadness than delight-
contributing their hurtful share
to the season of my despair.
But this too shall pass somehow-
and this place again allow-
a day that will spring gladness,
from the very gall of sadness.
Copyright © Curtis Forsythe | Year Posted 2017
I do not know?
Only images flash through the eye of my mind
Of the horse I knew when I was only nine
Through my haunting, never-ending doubt,
The tears of love and loss flow out.
Still stands time,
As silent as a mime.
How could I possibly make it through?
I absolutely have no clue.
She groaned as she flailed and thrashed,
Into the walls of the barn she crashed
I ran into the house and up to my room
The whole place was like a tomb
From the other room noise did I hear
The sounds just, seemed so near
Down the stairs and to the window I ran
Next to the horse I only saw a man,
In my Daddy's large hands rested a gun
The whole thing was almost done
From deep within the horse came a nicker,
Her life was only a flicker.
What was to happen next the horse knew
In the scene I saw was just those two
A shot rang out
As my mind quickly takes its route
Through the memories of old
Her tender soft head I wanted to hold
I cried and cried
As I stared at her red blood that had dried
The whole thing was so unclear,
But the end of her great struggle was here.
Copyright © Erica Ledoux | Year Posted 2005