I’m riding your horse, no giddyap allowed,
simply plunge into the deepest unknown.
Your voice sets the pace, it whispers
into the ears of my ride, sometimes they twitch
sometimes they find water, sometimes
the waterfalls absorb all thought. I lean
over neck, sample horse blood like a vampire,
like a computer’s command mode
taking over my brain, allowing my heart
to beat in tune, my feet to turn to hooves
and kick up or canter, moving with the rhythm
and flow, feeling the sweat of the sun
overhead and the damp of shady pines
and raking the grasses until they rustle over skin.
This is how I know you: the whisper on the wind
the stroke along my frame, the bed stead
in which I dream, the places of unimagined
like a lure, a bait, overtaking me, leading
me down a road I’ve never found
until you lent the movement of ride forever.
Copyright © Sheri Fresonke Harper | Year Posted 2013
Appaloosa Horses ( Poem )
Bloodlines have influenced breeds
For beauty and performance needs
Native American horses on t.v.
Used decades in western movies
Identified mottled skin note
Colorful leopard spotted coat
Emphasis in the muscling thick
Strong physical characteristics
Defined vertical striped hooves
White sclera eyes have looks improve
Establish an easy cantering
Well behaved, high head holding
Ride with a floaty, pacing trot
Light, airy movements that can stop
Become a judge and see yourself
On my playlist all by itself
By: Doris Anne Beaulieu
Copyright © Doris Beaulieu | Year Posted 2014
A rocking horse is a child's toy, usually shaped like a horse and mounted on rockers similar to a rocking chair. Predecessors of the rocking horse may be seen in the rocking cradle, the tilting seats used during the Middle Ages for jousting practice as well as the wheeled hobby horse. The toy in its current form did not appear before the 17th century, though some conflicting sources note medieval manuscripts including references to carved rocking horses, presumably of the toy kind.
Copyright © februari02 ceria | Year Posted 2016
I do not know?
Upon the page forever bound, the wagering of life will be found,
Where those words are gathered in paper and ink and bring a cowboys life to the brink
Of wit and charm with a cowboys creed, what’s on his back is all he’ll need,
For those turns in life that unfold, like a horse that he couldn’t hold.
His wild eyes would test his fate, with quick sharp hooves his teeth bared with hate.
Or a more subtle gander into life so told where he could walk on land, not branded or sold.
Find a friend not easily made, standing alone when he has strayed
To a place where he shouldn’t be,
And with in his eyes all he’ll see
Of life and early death,
Beside a friend until his final breath.
The pages are bursting with emotion and wit, the knowledge of where he got most of it.
Feeling the breath of a horse rode down. Hearing the spurs as they strike the ground.
Smelling the leather and sweat of a hard days ride.
Knowing they have done more than just tried.
Horns that gore a pony that he was on, artistically maneuvered in words and drawn,
To make you feel the at painful fall,
The reality of a mad cows bawl
All etched into words and forever bound to a book of silence,
If not read now sound will fill the mind and souls with imaginations of prairies and knolls,
And mountains where cattle hide with no brand burnt upon their hide
You are drawn into a life where men were free, and shaped by the land like they ought to be.
Lives that were whittled and chiseled into long hard days,
The force of mother nature and the changing of ways
Bring alive the west, we now read and hear. The wisdom behind the handmade gear.
Cowboys North and South, bring knowledge and hence are a powerful part of evidence, that the Grit of Smokey, Flint and Sand where brought to life by a Lone Cowboys hand.
From cover to cover you are woven into the past and live with the cowboys the author has cast,
Turning each page so you could read on
Knowing the emotions and feelings along
With the horses and cowboys names.
Brought to life by one man,
Copyright © A. Kathy Moss | Year Posted 2005
I do not know?
my horse my horse how art thee why abate my kingdom to beseech thy fruits of your
labor , he collied autumn beteems their childing eyes proclaim for art thou i must apace
neeze ere i jump through he loop onto the margent
Copyright © lexy pal | Year Posted 2010
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
Copyright © Judy Emery | Year Posted 2017