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Poems On / About HORSE  7/28/2014 7:31:46 PM
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  97.     

The Przewalski Horse

The last true wild horses of Planet Earth of them it has been said
Of stocky build with dark brown mane and coloured brown to red
Przewalski's horse it is their name in the wild state now quite rare
In the Gobi desert years ago they were seen everywhere.

'Tis said they were discovered by the Russian Naturalist Nikolai Przewalski in eighteen seventy nine
The last wild horses it is said of an unmixed blood line
In the Mongolian Gobi desert they have not been seen for years perhaps extinct in the wild state
Those who breed them in captivity save them from a far worse fate.

Long before the historic conquests of the immortal Genghis Khan
Przewalski's horses lived in the Gobi desert independent of man
But for the increase in the human population wildlife always give way
And the Mongolian wild horses only bred in zoos today.

In Mongolia in the Gobi Desert where they once ranged wild and free
The horses known as Przewalski one unlikely for to see
A captive breeding program has saved them from extinction though endangered they remain
And in the vast Gobi Desert they may never be seen again.
 
Francis Duggan

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  98.     

I also pay tribute to my flesh

I do not keep a snob spirit
A closed one not open to the realities
Of my duality: body and soul
Flesh and spirit, to keep myself whole
To keep the horses satisfied and make
This chariot travel smoothly towards
The path I have chosen towards the path
Of my true destination
The black horse and the white horse
They must too live in harmony
The black horse of my nights
The white horse of my days
And this chariot where I ride

I am still the driver in control
I drive where I want to go
I stop when I want to stop
These horses must see me as their master
And this chariot where I ride Is nothing
But just a useful thing.

Today, I pay tribute to my flesh
And my spirit must also understand
Love after all hinges on desires
And without this body, how can the spirit feel?
And where can guilt be, if love knows
That it is always greater and can always win.
 
RIC S. BASTASA

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  99.     

Old Black Tom

My dad sold black Tom our old work-horse when he had known a better day
But what happened to him after that I do not know for to say
Suppose he was slaughtered for dog meat few work-horses of old age do die
To say that all work-horses become children pets would be telling a lie
Any way old black Tom would never have been any good as a child's pet
A few nips he gave to me I never will forget
Old Tom he was surely not gentle or quiet
And given the opportunity he surely would bite
Five out of ten for him would seem a fair score
He was a good work-horse that and nothing more
Not the finest equine west of Millstreet Town
For Tom the old rogue horse no such a renown
He was sold to a horse dealer more than three decades ago
And what happened to him after I cannot say I do know.
 
Francis Duggan

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  100.     

Painted Horses....

As The days pass by,
And the kids ride painted horses,
Families smile again,
Remember the memories,
The memories of the Painted Horses,
The time when you were a kid,
And a time when a dollar was a dollar,
You spent it fast,
And without circumstance,
Remember the memories of Painted Horses.
When Prom flew by,
And your date was again forgotten.
And your pressure was there to stay.
Remember the memories of Painted Horses.
When your daughter was born,
And all the faces were there,
Smiling forever forth.
Remember the memories of Painted Horses.
Wake me when it's over,
Before the clock strikes Midnight,
Show me the memories that are now forgotten.
Show me,
My painted Horses.
 
M.A. Wood

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