Competition day had arrived,
His muzzle twitched with anticipation
And in relation my feet tingled in a way like never before.
For the first time, we both doubted ourselves
But fear not, we must carry on
As I plaited his forelock in preparation
I took the time to appreciate how flat his withers was
How typically racehorse he was
I stroked his fetlock as I knew this could be it.
His hooves were oiled and shiny as ever
Ready for anything
And the 3 link that he loved
Made no difference in poll pressure
As we bolt across the course, aiming to be the best
“I trust you, boy”
As if to tell him that even though, 2 years ago when he was deemed
A mess with dodgy hocks and lumpy coronets
Who was a waste
He could do this, to prove them wrong and beat the best
Become the best
HORSES
Knight of a famous land wanted a best horse for warfare
To buy, along with loyal consul, he landed in horse-fair
Many were on display, but one superior struck his sight
Bay coat, brown muzzle, coronet, fetlock in legs white
Measured from the withers , stood robust long and wide
Gaskin, Stifle, hock in hind legs strong for an enduring ride
Masculine back and powerhouse profound in the croup
This equine for sure would stand elegant in the troop
Perfect shock absorbing frog placed beneath the hoof
Poll on head positioned right to flex the bit sans any goof
Bouncy forelock ,mane and tail swayed with its gallop and gait
Finding place in Knight’s finest stable, its prestige did elevate
Love was in the air when its eyes located a lovely white mare
Mare was quick to catch the love cues from this special horse there!!
20th October 2016
For contest-Horses by Shadow Hamilton
A horse that runs wild and free
Enjoys freedom with each stride
No saddle on his withers be
No grazing muzzle as a guide
No headpiece on his poll abides
His fetlock and his coronet feel the tickle of the grass
As his forelock ruffles in the breeze
No horseshoe on his hoof amass
With the wind he trots with ease
His gaskin flexes to run at his decree
His frog feels the soft earth as he stands
his coat feels the soothing rain
Unbridled by the bit's demand
His neighs echo through the plains
Upon these green fields, he reigns
His stifle and his hock aches once in awhile
But a good gallop 'neath the dome
of sky, brings him back in form and style
No crupper on his croup as he roams
For this horse calls freedom home.
~~~
10/4/16
*The crupper is the strap that runs from the horse's dock, over the croup, to the saddle.
I named her Chestnut, color of her coat,
and love to hold her muzzle near my cheek,
then run my hand from poll through forelock tuft
down withers over croup...such grand physique.
But now concerned about her rear leg limp;
a problem with her stifle, gaskin, hock?
Or lower...coronet band on her hoof;
perhaps a stone in frog or sprained fetlock.
Inspection of back hoof showed small heel crack
most likely due to horseshoe mal-aligned.
With pat on back, I walk her to the barn
and waste no time...a farrier must find.
Sandra M. Haight
~2nd Place~
Premiere Contest: Horses
Sponsor: Shadow Hamilton
Judged: 10/30/2016
Required words to use:
muzzle, forelock, fetlock, hock, withers, stifle, poll,
croup, gaskin, frog, hoof, coronet.
A warm Spring's fragrant wind
lifts leaf shadows as, molten metal
sizzles from the sudden wet plunge
A farrier holds firm the muddy fetlock
while on three legs a plough horse
stands, docile beneath the hammer blows
A brown eye shines and gently
shuts- he lets a practised hand
glide over sweat-stained withers
that wiggle when a fly lands
The first foot falls- a soft
snort from a velvet muzzle as he
lifts the other to be shod
Soft hooves becoming, iron clad
For the contest, Any Poem, sponsor, Broken Wings must appear on poem
Kentucky Girl
Passing meadows lush with grass
Rail fences painted white
Stretching off toward distant hills
I observed an remarkable sight
She was a Kentucky girl
Bred from champion stock
Proud and beautiful to see
From head down to fetlock
Her body was magnificent
Sixteen hands in size
A shiny, rippling chestnut coat
White blaze between her eyes
I could see she was a yearling
She had not yet been shod
A girl still basking in her youth
Pawing at the sod.
It seems she liked to flirt with me
By ignoring my advance
Then moving down the rails a bit
Giving me a sideward glance
She would not let me get too close
Though she had no fear of me
Perhaps she thought I’d harness her
She just wanted to be free
Much time has passed since I saw her
And admired her gentle face
But I know I was just born to watch
While she was born to race
Placed 4th in Carol Browns A Horse Story
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