In ghostly dreams the horse will come
And feed on my forbidden cereal
Meant for my recalcitrant healing
That filly came a-prancing stealing
O shrouded mare so misted white
Thou bleakest horse ,this blackest night
Untethered and untied
Noble creature -"NOT"- I cried
A pallid stare through tousled mane
Treads the core of my hidden pain
So obvious now for all to see
My fear complies to jellyfied fragility
Hope drifts lost in catatonic misery
As does my scream in muted agony
Nostrils flared in malarial trembling
Gasps aloud from injurious dreaming
Departing tail of comets flight
Leaves me so but for broken white
Copyright © Jannie Breedt | Year Posted 2017
My Molly May
I had a little pony
I called her Molly May
So often I would venture out
And feed her bales of hay.
So then she’d frolic
Kick her heels up high
Round and round she would run
Looking sweet as she passed by.
She’d run until she was worn out
Then to the stable she would go
I’d bed her down then for the night
My love for her each day would grow
She was my, cutest Molly may
This pony always made my day.
25 September 2014
Copyright © Vera Duggan | Year Posted 2014
O for the skills to calm a flighty horse.
Compact its trombone limbs with reins and legs.
Exact perfection without noticeable force,
all trouble and delight that beauty begs.
One horse, one rider, indivisible;
sky-born with earth-bound duty to endorse.
Control from legs and seat must be invisible,
obeying smooth transitions on the course.
Struck by awe, crowds watch, as in a trance
a pleasure trip controlled by aids precise.
Such liveliness contained in equine dance,
by what divine device - this Paradise?
Each discipline involved must scarce be seen.
Before our eyes must seem a floating dream.
Copyright © Suzanne Delaney | Year Posted 2013
The horse in my mind, gallops away,
His hooves, beat inside my skull,
Like the waves, that pound, upon our strong hull
I hold tight, but the vision won’t stay
I see him now, that mighty white stallion
Galloping freely, upon the wet shore
The sound of his hooves, makes me need him the more
An escape from this old pale galleon
And so at last, we row to the beach
I have travelled so far for this dream
Prancing majestically, his eagerness shows
yet still nervous, he stays out of reach
Slowly he paces toward me, snorting a cloud of steam
I know now my journey is over, as he gently nuzzles my nose
I have selected the theme of 'Horses'
Written by : Nick Bagnall
For contest by : Constance ~ A Rambling Poet ~
Contest Name : Horses or Snowflakes or Horses and Snowflakes
Awarded : Tenth Place
Copyright © Nick Bagnall | Year Posted 2010
Natasha will be going to Rio, most definitely,
Without a doubt, she won 2 golds in Belgium,
At the 2011 European Championships well tall,
In the freestyle grade II event and individual;
Then she set a Paralympic record no question,
When she rode in the 2012’s on horse Cabral,
To score 76.857%, and after that very elegantly,
Took another gold in the freestyle with vocality.
She was born in Hammersmith, busy London,
But when she was aged fourteen months only,
Got transverse myelitis, an inflammation spinal.
Baker was appointed MBE in 2013 for her gaul,
In equestrianism and for noting GOSH hospital.
Copyright © Rhoda Monihan | Year Posted 2016
Oldest athlete, turned 68, a healthy stalwart,
She was thought to have MS, but it's dystonia,
Atlanta 1996, and in the individual did her part,
To win the bronze, but also won gold acre,
In the team open, and in Sydney’s millennium,
Yet again won gold for the team open event;
In Athens she continued to be neat and premium,
Taking the gold again in the cogent team tent,
Then in Beijing’s fixture she won two solid golds,
For the test grade la and also in the team folds,
When her horse was Teddy Edwards groomed:
From age 16 she’s worked in a stable - consumed.
Anne won gold at Rio in the mixed team dressage,
And took silver in the individual freestyle corsage.
Copyright © Rhoda Monihan | Year Posted 2016
The winter of a lonely day
is starting to settle down its pest
where withered leaves are playing at my feet,
while I see a homeless man wraped in rags
trying to get some sleep on those withered leaves ,
where the grimy scraps are still in his bag.
Down the streets are the city lights
that shine so bright into the winters night,
where broken souls of long ago
plays on the minds of lost souls
where theire bodys lay cold in the snow
where old stories are being told
on the corner of the streets of ancient time
where loneliness played on the minds,
where and old cab horse stamp that old city street
where love use to be; the lamps become dime
to the dreamer who sleeps on the cold withered leaves
while I walked around in my own silence
where my own tears fall
while I tried to hide my broken heart
in that sad lonely park.
Poetic Judy Emery (c) 2017 (6.28.2017)
Copyright © Judy Emery | Year Posted 2017
In what a dazzling look she comes tonight
Cerulean sky laughing in her brook
Obsidian orbs in eyes to ignite
A crimson lust for every longing nook
In charcoal ash of roses on the floor
He stares how she makes them blossom again
In smoke of love birds go wild as they soar
As he strokes her smooth skin like porcelain
Her pearls and sable as they unfasten
A drink of absinthe he holds up to her
Ivory mist invites horses that stun
A surreal quenching of wild hunger
As the night train north and southward they meet
The tulips of snow blush in their heartbeat
October, 18, 2018
For the Poetry Contest: Midnight Romance Contest
Sponsored by: Dale Gregory Cozart
Copyright © Probir Gupta | Year Posted 2017