Horse Poetry

The Stallion
A gigantic beauty of a stallion, fresh and responsiv to my caresses,
Head high in the forehead, wide between the ears
Limbs glossy and supple, tail dusting the ground
Eyes full of sparkling wickedness, ears finely cut, flexibly moving
His nostrils dilate as my heels embrace him
His well-built limbs tremble with pleasure as we race around and return

Walt Whitman [1819-1892]

Wildness
He gallops through the moonlit night,
His heart full of fire, his steps so light,
His coat shines grey in the moon's silvery beam,
And in his eyes, wildness gleams

Where is he coming from?
Where is he going to?
Up to the mountains,
Up to the hill tops,
Up where the mountains kiss the sky.

R. Ward

The Horse Show
Bright-eyed children,
Bouncing on rotund ponies,
Who peer from beneath,
Their shaggy forelocks.

Spirited hot-bloods,
Pirouetting and prancing,
While their riders gossip,
Perching loftily on their mounts.

Heavy Clydsdales and Shires,
Lumber steadily,
Placing each hoof,
With careful precision.

Judges ponder,
From their glass-covered booth,
Muttering quietly,
Before announcing the winners.

The horse boxes leave
At the end of the day,
Rosettes fluttering in the breeze;
The owners smiling haughtily.

R. Ward