Best Gelding Poems
Sixteen years old and in a world of her own
Confined to life lived in a wheelchair
Ever since birth, doctors don’t know what went wrong
But, it was like no one was at home in there
One summer vacation with the other kids in tow
The family visited a Kentucky horse stable
They left her alone in a sunny grass meadow
While off riding with the children who were able
While sitting alone in a catatonic state
Staring out somewhere in space
A gelding that was grazing, Mr. Truly Amazing
Came up and licked her on the face
The family returned to a shocking surprise
Seeing the wheelchair left unoccupied
They looked all around, then couldn’t believe their eyes
When they saw her standing with a horse by her side
She was petting his nose, feeding him an apple
And seemed to be whispering something
They were frozen in their tracks not believing the fact
That their Jenny was no longer a nothing
The mother walked up, in a delicate manner
Not wanting to interrupt this miracle’s course
When Jenny turned to her and in a shallow voice
Whispered, “Look, Mommy, I have a horse”
Remember all the Wise Men on their knees upon your yacht?
With orphans on their backs they’d crawled (with others that they’d brought)
Through rubble on the highway sands and residues of Lot.
They came from severed cities selling postcards of your thoughts,
Though offered for a penny piece, not even worth a jot.
They mused
“How are you feeling? What it is you want, you’ve got.
The words you scrawl on calling cards: ‘I AM – the others NOT’
Shun wisdoms of the Seven Seas: ‘Salvation can’t be bought’ –
Your fathers tried before you and your fathers came to naught.
“You started out by gelding goats and then by casting lots
Of bodies to the battlefields, contorted, tight and taut,
Then wallowed in the wake of trails the dervish devil trots.
“With marching bands of fatherlands, and drums of Hottentots,
You lure your legions in harm’s way like giant juggernauts.
Like Tweedle Dum your minions come (the sober and the sots,
The troglodytes, barbarians, and mislead patriots,
The Vandals, Huns and Hannibals and seaport Cypriots,
The Japanese, the Congolese, Americans and Scots)
To vanquish bows and arrows, spears and catapulted shots
Of those who hide in bamboo huts their families, pale, distraught,
(Their withered wives with dried up breasts, their swollen babes in cots)
Who swoon, engulfed in poison darts and vats of acid hot,
Consumed by magic mushroom clouds, atomic megawatts.
“In churches of your deities, your Holy Huguenots,
Your Imams, Rabbis, Voodoo Dolls and Mitered Lancelots
Lit wicked kindled candled walls in temples (while we fought)
(Used pins and needles, magic spells on makeshift mock whatnots)
And mosques, cathedrals, synagogues have blessed each new onslaught
With prayers for pipers, puppets, pawns, your rigid armed robots.
Continued in Part 2…
FEEDING HORSES
She was four years old
Apples in bulging pockets from garden trees
Cold day in autumn
Stroll down to Paddy Sands’s horse pasture
Stop at five-bar gate and lift her up
Call or whistle - they come from a half-kilometre
Black, brown mares, one gelding
Jealous one tries to bite the others
Jostling for position at the gate
All those soft soft noses.....
They will permit stroking
If fed enough handfuls of grass
Grass tastes better from our hands
Than when cropped by them,
(Especially with tiny flowers of blue vetch).
Their big brown eyes close up
So peaceful and trusting
Tempting furry ears just out of reach for her
Turning cold now after half an hour
Spoil them with our apples before we go home
Show her how to hold back her thumb
So it doesn’t get bitten.
Walk home through Sands’s cropped hayfield
To tea and biscuits.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Written for Carol Brown's Contest "A Horse Story"
Two horses share the acre of pasture--
A proud Arabian, now a gelding,
Who sired seven stately champions, stands
Elegantly while I snap his picture.
The other one, a thirty-two-year-old
With a sagging back, stands waiting to die--
A three times national champion stud
With honors--ribbons and trophies galore
Moving slowly toward the feeding trough
No longer poses for photographers.
written June 14, 2021
What’s in a Name
The ranch has many horses
And all have earned a name.
Through color, deed and disposition,
Their moniker will proclaim
Their value to the cowboys
That gave each horse his name.
Pete bears the name of a long lost friend
No longer here to ride.
And offers two ears worthy
For a cowboy to confide.
Legs is taller than the rest
And boy can that steed run.
Lean forward in the saddle
And you could have some fun.
Cottonwood is dirty white
Like the fluffy seeds of the tree.
And a May colt, too!
He went to the mud with me!
Sunny is a bright sorrel gelding
Colored like the sun.
His choppy gait makes saddle sores.
Riding him is never fun!
Jim is black as midnight
Like a character of Mark Twain’s.
They sometimes call him something else
But the meaning is still the same.
S.A. is a red roan stud
With initials for a name.
To write it out would just be wrong.
You can guess his name.
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.
Mother rams with baby lambs
for greener grass are hunting.
Mama cows spy mama sows
with piglets softly grunting.
Creature ma’ams are joined by dams
whose baby colts start snorting!
Calves and colts and pigs like dolts
in meadows are cavorting.
March 10, 2021
for Eve Roper's Nursery Rhyme Poetry Contest
(I learned a new word doing this, which kids might enjoy learning:
dams are female horses!)
From Wikipedia:
The word (dam) can also be used for other female equine animals, particularly mules and zebras . . . A horse's female parent is known as its dam. An uncastrated adult male horse is called a stallion and a castrated male is a gelding.
The cowboy took her in his arms
and waltzed her round the floor.
He told her how much he loved her
how he couldn't love her more.
From the moment he first saw her
when he'd held her in his arms,
he'd vowed to keep her safe
from any kind of harm.
They talked about the days just past
when she had climbed up on his knee
about the time he hung her swing
up in an old pine tree.
The first horse that he had bought her
a paint gelding she called"Friend."
They had some fine adventures
and she could ride him like the wind.
Somehow, someplace his little cowgirl
had become a woman grown
and today was her grand wedding day
she was no longer his alone.
They waltzed around the room once
more a tear was in his eye,
"Oh, Daddy, don't you do that or you're
gonna make me cry!"
He whispered, "You're the darling of my heart,
I just wanted you to know."
As he held her close just one last time
it was hard to let her go.
He took her hand and he gave her
to the young cowboy by her side
who had stole away his baby girl
this lovely glowing bride.
But, he whispered as she turned away
"I love you, I hope you'll always know...
and then he turned and blew a kiss
and then he let her go.
~~~~~~~~~~~
In depth of dark eye
I see a soul in there
Stallion or gelding or
The gentlest of mare
They bend to our will
And give of their heart
They lend us their backs
To become of them a part
Horse and it's rider are
Pure emotional poetry
Hearts souls and bodies
Combine as one you see?
~~~~~~~~~~~
When I was young I had two horses,
A gelding and a mare.
The gelding's name was "The Cheyenne Star",
With a temperament so fair.
The mare, her name was Candy,
She was anything but sweet.
She looked just like a Clydesdale
Without the hairy feet.
Riding Cheyenne was a joy,
With power steering and power brakes.
He responded easily to each touch
And what a difference that makes.
Candy, on the other hand,
Was like driving a big dump truck.
Hard to get her to move at all
But if she took offense, she'd buck.
They are both long gone now
But I remember both their styles
And they left me with many memories
Which can always bring on smiles.
Cal Expos vibrant colourful crowd; jewels as treasures?!
A sea of laughter and excitement; such anticipation
Ushering in together the end of a summers, fading year....
This turning of a decades, leaving the world behind ~
Escapisms wonderful sights; to rest, and then to capture
Utopias hearts within a bottles, dream filled sighs
Memories amid this scrapbook; postcards, collected throughout time....
Beyond the midways bright lights and stuffed animals; thrill rides!?
The fairest wheel turning; screams and smiles; precious lives ~
Walking up to the finish line, to gaze upon the post parade
Unable to recollect, as unto exactly which race, it was
Everything coming to a halt; frozen; as he looks into my eyes....
Warmed by this immaculate thought; possibilities, of a recent born?!
High stepping and prancing; silent words, to be reserved
For a late Autumns morn, many years later; this page so turned ~
A chestnut gelding; no one else around; just he and I....
Coming down the home stretch, amid a chorus of jubilant cheers
Searing, the poles as he passes; golden dust rising from beneath his hooves!?
Shining, majestic mane as that of a crown; something magical, now
Stirring within the whisperings, softly spoken wind ~
Into my very soul; a new horizon; the bluest of metaphores....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
His name, "Get Up America?!"
Form:
Doc Holliday truly amazing
Sick to death and two six guns blazing
Though his blasting appeared not to be phasing
The calmness of his gelding equine’s grazing
This be the glory, how the west was won
By house of ill repute, and the six gun
Plenty of action, was never boring
Funeral parlors, were businesses soaring
Stank of many bodies in pine boxes
All human life was generalized poxy
In the west, principle way of the law
Generally how fast every man could draw
These early days were quite chaotic
Wyatt Earp’s moves were a bit methodic
The saloons were filled with poker tables
And many big bosoms of dance hall mabels
Indians drank of white man’s fire waters
Sheep herders were known as only free squatters
The winning of the west, was quite a quest
Reservations put Indians to the test
America has it’s many stories
How our west was won by many glories
So greatly was the west romanticized
We wonder how much was only lies
Well documentation of westward truths
Or documentation of many human spoofs
Maybe fraudulent claims, as was the hog leg’s aim
We accept no blame, but we’ll take the fame
Placed # 15
He neatly won the race hands down.
It was the gelding's break maiden.
He secured the coveted crown.
He neatly won the race hands down.
Triumphant smile, no frown. No frown!
Both horse and jockey wreath-laden!
He neatly won the race hands down.
It was the gelding's break maiden.
Cal Expos vibrant colourful crowd; jewels as treasures?!
A sea of laughter and excitement; such anticipation
Ushering in together the end of a summers, fading year....
This turning of a decades, leaving the world behind ~
Escapisms wonderful sights; to rest, and then to capture
Utopias hearts within a bottles, dream filled sighs
Memories amid this scrapbook; postcards, collected throughout time....
Beyond the midways bright lights and stuffed animals; thrill rides!?
The fairest wheel turning; screams and smiles; precious lives ~
Walking up to the finish line, to gaze upon the post parade
Unable to recollect, as unto exactly which race, it was
Everything coming to a halt; frozen; as he looks into my eyes....
Warmed by this immaculate thought; possibilities, of a recent born?!
High stepping and prancing; silent words, to be reserved
For a late Autumns morn, many years later; this page so turned ~
A chestnut gelding; no one else around; just he and I....
Coming down the home stretch, amid a chorus of jubilant cheers
Searing, the poles as he passes; golden dust rising from beneath his hooves!?
Shining, majestic mane as that of a crown; something magical, now
Stirring within the whisperings, softly spoken wind ~
Into my very soul; a new horizon; the bluest of metaphors....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
His name, "Get Up America?!" *
Form:
Cal Expo's vibrant colourful crowd jewels as treasures ~
A sea of laughter excitement such anticipation ushering in together
The end of a summer's fading year; this turning of a decades leaving her world
Behind escapism's wonderful sights to rest and then capture Utopias hearts
within a bottle's
Dream filled sighs memories amid this scrapbook; postcards, collected
throughout time
Beyound his midway's bright lights, stuffed animals, thrill rides their fairest
wheel turning
Screams and smiles joy and laughter precious, priceless lives ~
Walking up to the finish line gazing upon it's post parade: unable to recollect
As unto exactly which race this was ? Everything coming to a halt frozen while
He looked into my eyes warmed by, this immaculate thought possibilities, of a
recent borne....
High stepping prancing silent words to be reserved, for a late Autumn's morn
many years
Later this page revealed ~ A chestnut gelding; no one else around; just he
and I ?
Coming down the home stretch amid a chorus in jubilee's cheers searing their
poles as passing ~
Golden dust rising from aneath His hooves shining, majestic mane be that; of
a crown something magical now
Stirring within these whisperings her softly spoken wind my very Soul: New
horizons the bluest tomorrows love's, metaphor....
***************************************************************
**********************************************
....`His name, "Get Up America?!" ~
Form: