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  1. #1
    Join Date
    Mar. 12, 2008
    Location
    Rhode Island
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    70

    Default horse poems

    I need some help. A good friend's mom recently passed on due to cancer. She came to me in search of a good 'horsey' poem to read at the memorial service. Any thoughts would be MUCH appreciated. Thanks.
    Riding: The art of keeping a horse between you and the ground. ~Author Unknown



  2. #2
    Join Date
    Oct. 16, 2002
    Posts
    1,771

    Default Frost`s "Riders"

    At Heather St. Claire Davis` service some years ago, there was a Robert Frost poem, "Riders", not exactly a horse poem, more of an allegory of life as a ride.

    One line I remember---"What is this so called mystery of birth
    But being mounted bareback on the earth----"

    That`s a possible one.



  3. #3
    Join Date
    Jul. 5, 2006
    Posts
    630

    Default

    Found the poem by Robert Frost:

    Riders

    The surest thing there is is we are riders,
    And though none too successful at it, guiders,
    Through everything presented, land and tide
    And now the very air, of what we ride.

    What is this talked-of mystery of birth
    But being mounted bareback on the earth?
    We can just see the infant up astride,
    His small fist buried in the bushy hide.

    There is our wildest mount--a headless horse.
    But though it runs unbridled off its course,
    And all our blandishments would seem defied,
    We have ideas yet that we haven't tried.



  4. #4
    Join Date
    Apr. 30, 2002
    Location
    Looking up
    Posts
    6,119

    Default

    Not sure if this fits but I have always liked it.

    Don't cry for the horses that life has set free
    A million white horses forever to be,
    Don't cry for the horses now in God's hand,
    As they dance and they prance in a heavenly band.

    They were ours as a gift, but never to keep
    As they close their eyes forever to sleep.
    Their spirits unbound, On silver wings they fly,
    A million white horses against the blue sky

    Look up into heaven, you'll see them above,
    The horses we lost, the horses we loved,
    Manes and tails flowing, they gallop through time.
    They were never yours, they were never mine.

    Don't cry for the horses. They'll be back someday,
    When our time is gone, they will show us the way.
    Do you hear that soft nicker? Close to your ear?
    Don't cry for the horses. Love the ones that are here.

    Also try leadmare.com, and poemhunter.com.
    "Passion, though a bad regulator, is a powerful spring." -- Emerson
    www.eventhorse.wordpress.com



  5. #5
    Join Date
    Jul. 5, 2006
    Posts
    630

    Default

    Riva, I'm very sorry for your friend's loss.

    Not sure what type of poem you're looking for, but I think there are many ways one could interpret this one that could be appropriate to the situation.

    Horse and Rider

    The prairie blows the grasses
    And whips the horse’s mane
    They travel, horse and rider,
    Through the sea of amber grain

    Hills roll by, and clouds pass
    But steady are the horse’s hooves
    Upon the wind blown grass
    As they travel, horse and rider

    There is no trail that they follow
    No path that can be seen
    There they travel, horse and rider
    Upon the endless blowing green



  6. #6
    Join Date
    Aug. 27, 2008
    Posts
    53

    Default to bury

    it is all about keeping the memory, horse or human. I love this poem.
    To lose a horse - well, there are almost no words... but a mother.................

    “IF YOU BURY HIM IN THIS SPOT, THE SECRET OF WHICH YOU MUST ALREADY HAVE, HE WILL COME TO YOU WHEN YOU CALL – COME TO YOU OVER THE FAR, DIM PASTURES OF DEATH, AND DOWN THE REMEMBERED PATHS TO YOUR SIDE AGAIN. AND THOUGH YOU RIDE OTHER LIVING HORSES THROUGH LIFE, THEY SHALL NOT SHY AT HIM OR RESENT HIM COMING. FOR HE IS YOURS AND HE BELONGS THERE.

    PEOPLE MAY SCOFF AT YOU, WHO SEE NO LIGHTEST BLADE OF GRASS BENT BY HIS FOOTFALL, WHO HEAR NO NICKER PITCHED TOO FINE FOR INSENSITIVE EARS. PEOPLE WHO MAY NEVER REALLY LOVE A HORSE. SMILE AT THEM THEN, FOR YOU SHALL KNOW SOMETHING THAT IS HIDDEN FROM THEM, AND WHICH IS WELL WORTH KNOWING.

    THE ONE PLACE TO BURY A HORSE IS IN THE HEART OF HIS MISTRESS.”


    And another that makes me happy at the so sad time of passsing. I only hope it is true.

    Meeting Again At The Rainbow Bridge
    All the animals who have been ill and old are restored to health and vigor; those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind. They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent; his eager body begins to quiver. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.
    You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.
    Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together.

    And there is always the old standby from Four Weddings and a Funeral:

    Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone. Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone. Silence the pianos and with muffled drum,

    Bring out the coffin... let the mourners come. Let aeroplanes circle, moaning overhead, Scribbling on the sky the message: He is Dead. Put crepe bows 'round the necks of public doves, Let traffic policemen wear black, cotton gloves.

    He was my North, my South, my East, my West. My working week and my Sunday rest. My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song, I thought love would last forever: I was wrong.

    The stars are not wanted now, put out every one. Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun. Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood, For nothing now can ever come to any good."


    Geri'nDarth



  7. #7
    Join Date
    Mar. 12, 2008
    Location
    Rhode Island
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    70

    Default Thank you

    I'm sobbing over my keyboard....thank you for reminding me, enlightening me...poetry can be so beautiful.
    Riding: The art of keeping a horse between you and the ground. ~Author Unknown



  8. #8
    Join Date
    Apr. 27, 2008
    Posts
    2,288

    Default

    This has no comforting words for a funeral, but it's a horse poem that I have loved for years.

    THE ARAB'S FAREWELL TO HIS STEED
    Hon. Mrs. Norton

    My beautiful! my beautiful! that standest meekly by,
    With thy proudly-arched and glossy neck, and dark and fiery eye;
    Fret not to roam the desert now with all thy winged speed;
    I may not mount on thee again -- thou'rt sold, my Arab steed!

    Fret not with that impatient hoof, sniff not the breezy wind,
    The further that thou fliest now, so far am I behind;
    The stranger has thy bridle rein-- they master hath his gold;
    Fleet-limbed and beautiful, farewell! thou'rt sold, my steed, thou'rt sold.

    Farewell! Those free, untired limbs full many a mile must roam
    To reach the chill and wintry sky which clouds the stranger's home;
    Some other hand, less fond, must now thy corn and bed prepare;
    The silky mane I braided once, must be another's care.

    The morning sun shall dawn again, but never more with thee
    Shall I gallop through the desert paths where we were wont to be;
    Evening shall darken on the earth, and o'er the sandy plain
    Some other steed with slower step shall bear me home again.

    Yes, thou must go! The wild, free breeze, the brilliant sun and sky,
    Thy master's home -- from all of these my exiled one must fly;
    Thy proud dark eye will grow less proud, they step become less fleet,
    And vainly shalt thou arch thy neck they master's hand to meet.

    Only in sleep shall I behold that dark eye glancing bright;
    Only in sleep shall hear again that step so firm and light;
    And when I raise my dreaming arm to check or cheer thy speed,
    Then must I, starting, wake to feel -- thou'rt sold, my Arab steed!

    Ah! rudely then, unseen by me, some cruel hand may chide,
    Till foam-wreaths lie, like crested waves, long thy panting side;
    And the rich blood that's in thee swells, in thy indignant pain,
    Till careless eyes which rest on thee may count each starting vein.

    Will they ill-use thee? If I thought -- but no, it cannot be,
    Thou art so swift, yet easy curbed; so gentle, yet so free;
    And yet if haply, when thou'rt gone, my lonely heart should yearn,
    Can the hand which casts thee from it now command thee to return?

    Return! -- alas, my Arab steed! what shall thy master do
    When thou, who wert his all of joy, has vanished from his view?
    When the dim distance cheats mine eye, and through the gathering tears
    Thy bright form, for a moment, like the false mirage, appears?

    Slow and unmounted shall I roam with weary step alone,
    Where with fleet step and joyous bound thou oft hast borne me on;
    And, sitting down by that green well, I'll pause and sadly think
    "It was here he bowed his glossy neck when last I saw him drink!"

    When last I saw him drink! -- Away!! the fevered dream is o'er!
    I could not live a day and know that we should meet no more!
    They tempted me, my beautiful! for hunger's power is strong --
    They tempted me, my beautiful! but I have loved too long.

    Who said that I had given thee up? who said that thou wert sold?
    'Tis false! "tis false my Arab steed! I fling them back their gold!
    Thus, thus I leap upon thy back, and scour the distant plains!
    Away! who overtakes us now may claim thee for his pains!



  9. #9
    Join Date
    May. 31, 2006
    Location
    Columbus, OH
    Posts
    734

    Default

    I can't read the Rainbow Bridge story without crying, so I had to skip over it as I don't feel like crying tonight.

    I'm sorry about your friend's mom.
    God forbid that I go to a heaven in which there are no horses



  10. #10
    Join Date
    Aug. 27, 2008
    Posts
    53

    Default The Rainbow Bridge

    I think The Rainbow Bridge is beautiful and will speak to all animal lovers. There won't be a dry eye in the house.

    geri'ndarth



  11. #11
    Innisfree9 Guest

    Default

    Quote Originally Posted by Snapdragon View Post
    Found the poem by Robert Frost:

    Riders

    The surest thing there is is we are riders,
    And though none too successful at it, guiders,
    Through everything presented, land and tide
    And now the very air, of what we ride.

    What is this talked-of mystery of birth
    But being mounted bareback on the earth?
    We can just see the infant up astride,
    His small fist buried in the bushy hide.

    There is our wildest mount--a headless horse.
    But though it runs unbridled off its course,
    And all our blandishments would seem defied,
    We have ideas yet that we haven't tried.
    GREAT poem....Frost's epitaph on his headstone reads,
    "I had a lover's quarrel with the world".

    Thinking of your friend's mother....



  12. #12
    Join Date
    Nov. 10, 2004
    Location
    KY
    Posts
    187

    Default

    Sending good thoughts... I don't know if she would prefer something long or short and sweet, but these are two of my favorites:

    Some horses come into our lives and quickly go.
    Others stay awhile, make hoofprints on our heart,
    And we are never, never the same.
    ~Unknown

    Somewhere in time's own space
    There must be some sweet pastured place
    Where creeks sing on and tall trees grow
    Some paradise where horses go
    For by the love that guides my pen
    I know great horses live again.
    ~ Cecilia M. Hylton
    -ohio

    Good cowgirls keep their calves together!



  13. #13
    Join Date
    Mar. 12, 2008
    Location
    Rhode Island
    Posts
    70

    Default

    Thanks Ohioeventer, and everyone else. I think that I will start a scrapbook so I can include all of the poems that you all have offered.
    Riding: The art of keeping a horse between you and the ground. ~Author Unknown



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