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Favorite horse poems/quotes/sayings

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  • #21
    Riding a horse is not a gentle hobby, to be picked up and laid down like a game of solitaire. It is a grand passion. It seizes a person whole and, once it has done so, he will have to accept that his life has been radically changed. -Ralph Waldo Emerson

    The big guy: Lincoln

    Southern Maryland Equestrian

    Comment


    • #22
      LOVE THIS THREAD ~~~ MORE PLEASE !

      LOVE THIS THREAD !

      MORE PLEASE ```
      Zu Zu Bailey " IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE ! "

      Comment


      • #23
        This from Christopher Bartle's book, Training The Sport Horse.
        " I study my horse; and my horse studies me. If I am a coward,he is one: if I am lazy,he is lazy; if I am impatient he is impetuous; if I am lost in thought how dreamily he pursues his way!"
        John Osgood, Vermont farmer, 1864

        Comment


        • #24
          "A horse gallops with his lungs, perseveres with his heart, and wins with his character" - unknown

          This was from Tesio.

          The quote about the winds of heaven between a horses' ears -- from the Koran

          Here, reaching back in the archives...is one of my most favorite posts on COTH, and it's by our own BigRuss.

          "I know my horses as well as I know myself. I delivered them, imprinted them, and watched them take their first breath and their first steps. I raised them, trained them and take care of them every day 365 days a year and spend almost my entire day with them....they are now 12 and 13. I feed them, clean their stalls, ride them, etc. I can tell you about every lump and bump on their body, I know every detail of their lives. I even have a baby monitor on the one horse cause he gets cast (always has since he was a foal) so I even know what he does at night cause I can hear him and roll over in bed and watch him. I know when they are not right, too hot, too cold, bored, tired, not feeling well, not sure of something, scared, angry. I can tell you when the one horse is going to bite you almost to the moment it happens.
          The others I have had since they were very young (under 3 yrs of age and 5 months) and they are now 33 and 20 and I know when they are having a good day or a bad. Older horses have their own unique set of old age issues that come and go.
          Even when we had the breeding farm still and had up to 112 horses here I knew each of them on sight, saw every leg every day, and monitored each horses diet, turnout, etc. Was riding 13 to 18 a day then and knew them all and all their different personalities. When it has come their time to pass the rainbow bridge I have been there with each and every one and watch them take their last breath.
          It can be done but you have no other life. My horses ARE my life and it is a lifestyle I chose years ago. They come before everything."
          Proud & Permanent Student Of The Long Road
          Read me: EN (http://eventingnation.com/author/annemarch/) and HJU (http://horsejunkiesunited.com/author/holly-covey/)

          Comment


          • #25
            Originally posted by retreadeventer View Post
            "A horse gallops with his lungs, perseveres with his heart, and wins with his character" - unknown

            This was from Tesio.

            The quote about the winds of heaven between a horses' ears -- from the Koran

            Here, reaching back in the archives...is one of my most favorite posts on COTH, and it's by our own BigRuss.

            "I know my horses as well as I know myself. I delivered them, imprinted them, and watched them take their first breath and their first steps. I raised them, trained them and take care of them every day 365 days a year and spend almost my entire day with them....they are now 12 and 13. I feed them, clean their stalls, ride them, etc. I can tell you about every lump and bump on their body, I know every detail of their lives. I even have a baby monitor on the one horse cause he gets cast (always has since he was a foal) so I even know what he does at night cause I can hear him and roll over in bed and watch him. I know when they are not right, too hot, too cold, bored, tired, not feeling well, not sure of something, scared, angry. I can tell you when the one horse is going to bite you almost to the moment it happens.
            The others I have had since they were very young (under 3 yrs of age and 5 months) and they are now 33 and 20 and I know when they are having a good day or a bad. Older horses have their own unique set of old age issues that come and go.
            Even when we had the breeding farm still and had up to 112 horses here I knew each of them on sight, saw every leg every day, and monitored each horses diet, turnout, etc. Was riding 13 to 18 a day then and knew them all and all their different personalities. When it has come their time to pass the rainbow bridge I have been there with each and every one and watch them take their last breath.
            It can be done but you have no other life. My horses ARE my life and it is a lifestyle I chose years ago. They come before everything."
            That is a COOL Post....WOW. Made me cry.
            May the sun shine on you daily, and your worries be gone with the wind.
            www.mmceventing.com

            Comment


            • #26
              Thanks retread! :-) ...as I was re reading that I remembered when I wrote it. Since then two of those horses have passed over the bridge and the 5 month old was "Phoebe"! Since then I have acquired the broodmare I bred for this year who is due in April...hence the cycle begins again. It's amazing how time flys...

              Here is one of my favorites:

              The Horse's Prayer
              "To thee, my master, I offer my prayer. Feed me, water and care for me, and, when the day's work is done, provide me with shelter, a clean, dry bed and stall wide enough for me to lie down in comfort.

              Always be kind to me. Talk to me. Your voice often means as much to me as the reins. Pet me sometimes, that I may serve you the more gladly and learn to love you. Never strike, beat or kick me when I do not understand what you want, but give me a chance to understand you. Watch me, and if I fail to do your bidding, see if something is not wrong with my gear or my feet.

              Do not check me so that I cannot have the free use of my head. If you insist that I wear blinders, so that I cannot see behind me as it was intended I should, I pray you be careful that the blinders stand well out from my eyes.
              Do not overload me, or hitch me where water will drip on me. Keep me well shod. Examine my teeth when I do not eat; I may have an ulcerated tooth and that, you know, is very painful. Do not tie my head in an unnatural position, or take away my best defense against flies and mosquitoes by cutting off my tail. I cannot tell you when I am thirsty, so give me clean, cool water often. Save me, by all means in your power, from that fatal disease - the glanders. I cannot tell you in words when I am sick, so watch me, that by signs you may know my condition. Give me all possible shelter from the hot sun, and put a blanket on me, not when I am working but when I am standing in the cold. Never put a frosty bit in my mouth; first warm it by holding it a moment in your hands.

              I try to carry you and your burdens without a murmur, and wait patiently for you long hours of the day or night. Without the power to choose my shoes or path, I sometimes fall on the hard pavements which I have often prayed might not be of cement but of such a nature as to give me a safe and secure footing. Remember that I must be ready at any moment to lose my life in your service.

              And finally, o my master, when my useful strength is gone, do not turn me out to starve or freeze, or sell me to some cruel owner to be slowly tortured and starved to death; but do thou, my master, take my life in the kindest way, and your God will reward you here and hereafter. You will not consider me irreverent if I ask this in the name of Him who was born in a stable, Amen"

              - Author Unknown
              "A little less chit-chat a little more pitter-pat"

              Comment


              • #27
                The above. Wow.

                Comment


                • #28
                  From Park Benjamin's "The Taming of Bucephalus":

                  A matchless horse. Vigor and beauty strove
                  Like rival sculptors carving the same stone
                  To win the mastery; and both prevailed.
                  His hoofs were shod with swiftness; where he ran
                  Glided the ground like water; in his eye
                  Flashed the strange fire of spirits still untamed,
                  As when the desert owned him for its lord.
                  Mars! What a noble creature did he seem!
                  Too noble for a subject to bestride,
                  Worth gold in talents; chosen for a prince,
                  The most renowned and generous on earth.


                  From Emmons Pierce's "The Horse":

                  He who sees no beauty in the horse,
                  Nor ne’er admires his speed upon the course,
                  Is doomed to only see life’s shady side,
                  And always should behind a donkey ride.

                  (I like a lot of his work, actually. They're good, solid narrative poems, usually with a bit of a wry side.)


                  And from Ogilvie's "The Maker of Empire":

                  Yet those who know shall not forget
                  That North and Westward, rod by rod,
                  He saw the conquering camp-fires set
                  And broke the track an Empire trod.

                  (Another one whose work I like generally -- I think he gets a little overshadowed by Adam Lindsay Gordon and Andrew Barton Paterson, and that's unfortunate.)
                  Halt Near X | Horse Bloggers - Blog Directory

                  Comment


                  • #29
                    William Henry Ogilvie's "The Pearl Of The All".

                    Gaily in front of the stockwhip
                    The horses come galloping home,
                    Leaping and bucking and playing
                    With sides all a lather of foam;
                    But painfully, slowly behind them,
                    With head to the crack of the fall,
                    And trying so gamely to follow
                    Comes limping the pearl of them all.

                    He is stumbling and stiff in the shoulder,
                    And splints from the hoof to the knee,
                    But never a horse on the station
                    Has half such a spirit as he;
                    Give these all the boast of their breeding
                    These pets of the paddock and stall,
                    But ten years ago not their proudest
                    Could live with the pearl of them all.

                    No journey has ever yet beat him,
                    No day was too heavy or hard,
                    He was king of the camp and the muster
                    And pride of the wings of the yard;
                    But Time is relentless to follow;
                    The best of us bow to his thrall;
                    And death, with his scythe on his shoulder,
                    Is dogging the pearl of them all.

                    I watch him go whinnying past me,
                    And memories come with a whirl
                    Of reckless, wild rides with a comrade
                    And laughing, gay rides with a girl -
                    How she decked him with lilies and love-knots
                    And plaited his mane at my side,
                    And once in the grief of a parting
                    She threw her arms round him and cried.
                    And I promised - I gave her my promise
                    The night that we parted in tears,
                    To keep and be kind to the old horse
                    Till Time made a burden of years;
                    And then for his sake and one woman's...
                    So, fetch me my gun from the wall!
                    I have only this kindness to offer
                    As gift to the pearl of them all.

                    Here! hold him out there by the yard wing,
                    And don't let him know by a sign:
                    Turn his head to you - ever so little!
                    I can't bear his eyes to meet mine.
                    Then - stand still, old boy! for a moment ...
                    These tears, how they blind as they fall!
                    Now, God help my hand to be steady ...
                    Good-bye! - to the pearl of them all!



                    Every single time I read that I

                    Kipling's "Maltese Cat" is not only one of my favorite horse stories, but one of my favorite stories, period.
                    The very existence of flamethrowers proves that sometime, somewhere, someone said to themselves, "You know, I want to set those people on fire, but I'm just not close enough to get the job done".

                    Comment


                    • #30
                      Ride a wild horse
                      against the sky-
                      hold tight to his wings
                      before you die
                      whatever else you leave undone
                      once ride a wild horse
                      into the sun.
                      ~ Anomymous

                      Comment


                      • #31
                        I love this! I have a huge collection of quotes and I've just added all of these!
                        Here are some that I don't believe have been said yet.

                        This one always gets me

                        “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.”
                        -Author Unknown


                        When I bestride him, I soar, I am a hawk: he trots the air; the earth sings when he touches it; the basest horn of his hoof is more musical than the pipe of Hermes.
                        -William Shakespeare, Henry V


                        Wherever man has left his footprint in the long ascent from barbarism to civilization we will find the hoofprint of the horse beside it.
                        -John Moore

                        I love this one too

                        My horse's feet are as swift as rolling thunder
                        He carries me away from all my fears
                        And when the world threatens to fall asunder
                        His mane is there to wipe away my tears.
                        -Bonnie Lewis

                        And Allah took a handful of southerly wind, blew His breath over it, and created the horse.... Thou shall fly without wings, and conquer without any sword. Oh, horse.
                        -Bedouin Legend

                        When God created the horse, he said to the magnificent creature: I have made thee as no other. All the treasures of the earth shall lie between thy eyes. Thou shalt cast thy enemies between thy hooves, but thou shalt carry my friends upon they back. Thy saddle shall be the seat of prayers to me. And thou fly without any wings, and conquer without any sword.
                        -The Koran

                        The Horse
                        Here is nobility without conceit,
                        Friendship without envy,
                        Beauty without vanity
                        A willing servant, yet no slave...
                        -Ronald Duncan

                        The horse, with beauty unsurpassed, strength immeasureable, and grace unlike any other, still remains humble enough to carry a man upon his back.
                        -Amber Senti

                        And 'The Grandest Foal'
                        What a tearjerker.

                        I'll lend you for a little while
                        My grandest foal, He said.
                        For you to love while he's alive
                        And mourn for when he's dead.
                        It may be one or twenty years,
                        Or days or months, you see.
                        But, will you, till I take him back
                        Take care of him for me?
                        He'll bring his charms to gladden you,
                        And should his stay be brief
                        You'll have treasured memories
                        As solace for your grief.
                        I cannot promise he will stay,
                        Since all from earth return,
                        But, there are lessons taught on earth
                        I want this foal to learn.
                        I've looked the wide world over
                        In my search for teachers true.
                        And from the throngs that crowd life's lanes
                        With trust I have selected you.
                        Now will you give him your total love?
                        Nor think the labor vain,
                        Nor hate Me when I come
                        To take him back again?
                        I know you'll give him tenderness
                        And love will bloom each day.
                        And for the happiness you've known
                        Forever grateful stay.
                        But should I come and call for him
                        Much sooner than you'd planned
                        You'll brave the bitter grief that comes
                        And someday you'll understand.
                        For though I'll call him home to Me
                        This promise to you I do make
                        For all the love and care you gave
                        He'll wait for you, inside Heaven's Gate

                        Comment


                        • #32
                          My favorite is from the Book of Job 39:19 in the Tanahk.

                          39:19
                          Hast thou given the horse his strength? Hast thou clothed his neck with fierceness?
                          39:20
                          Hast thou made him to leap as a locust? The glory of his snorting is terrible.
                          39:21
                          He paweth in the valley, and rejoiceth in his strength; he goeth out to meet the clash of arms.
                          39:22
                          He mocketh at fear, and is not affrighted; neither turneth he back from the sword.
                          39:23
                          The quiver rattleth upon him, the glittering spear and the javelin.
                          39:24
                          He swalloweth the ground with storm and rage; neither believeth he that it is the voice of the horn.
                          39:25
                          As oft as he heareth the horn he saith: 'Ha, ha!' and he smelleth the battle afar off, the thunder of the captains, and the shouting.

                          Comment


                          • #33
                            1sock, what a tearjerker!
                            The big guy: Lincoln

                            Southern Maryland Equestrian

                            Comment


                            • #34
                              I lke this:

                              "... the animal shall not be measured by man. In a world older and more complete than ours they move finished and complete, gifted with extensions of the senses we have lost or never attained, living by voices we shall never hear. They are not brethren, they are not underlings; they are other nations, caught with ourselves in the net of life and time." H.B.

                              Comment


                              • #35
                                "Four things greater than all things are; women and horses and power and war."

                                Rudyard Kipling.

                                and to paraphrase one I can't remember completely- "Half the problems in life are caused by pulling back when your horse is leaping."

                                Comment


                                • #36
                                  Thread for Dressage & General Horse

                                  Comment


                                  • #37
                                    Reading these has me in tears, so many favourites.

                                    There is a poem by Robert Graves that I love....off to find it again.
                                    A Fine Romance. April 1991 - June 2016. Loved forever.

                                    Comment


                                    • #38
                                      Old proverb.

                                      "The eye of the master maketh the horse fat".

                                      If you want your horse well cared for, keep an eye on him. Not so much a problem when many of us do our own horse care, but something to be always aware of when leaving our charges in another's care.
                                      Some riders change their horse, they change their saddle, they change their teacher; they never change themselves.

                                      Remember the horse does all the work, we just sit there and look pretty.

                                      Comment


                                      • #39
                                        The Arab's Farewell To His Horse
                                        by Caroline Norton (1808-1877)

                                        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 they winged speed:
                                        I may not mount on thee again - thou'rt sold, my Arab steed!

                                        Fret not with that impatient hoof, snuff not the breezy wind,
                                        The farther that thou fliest now, so far am I behind,
                                        The stranger hath thy bridle rein - thy master hath his gold;
                                        Fleet-limbed and beautiful, farewell! - thou'rt sold, my seed, 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 o'er 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, thy step become less fleet,
                                        And vainly shalt thou arch they neck thy master's hand to meet.
                                        Only in sleep shall I behold that dark eye glancing bright;
                                        Only in sleep shall I 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, along thy panting side;
                                        And the rich blood that's in thee swell in they 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 gentil, yet so free;
                                        And yet, if haply, when thou'rt gone, this lonely heart should yearn,
                                        Can the hand that 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,
                                        " 'Twas here he bowed his glossy neck when last I saw him drink!' "

                                        When last I saw thee 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!

                                        From "The Best Loved Poems of the American People", selected by Hazel Felleman, Garden City Publishing Company, Garden City, New York, copyright, 1936.
                                        I have a Fjord! Life With Oden

                                        Comment


                                        • #40
                                          I love this one by Anne Sexton

                                          PAIN FOR A DAUGHTER

                                          Blind with love, my daughter
                                          has cried nightly for horses,
                                          those long-necked marchers and churners
                                          that she has mastered, any and all,
                                          reigning them in like a circus hand --
                                          the excitable muscles and the ripe neck;
                                          tending this summer, a pony and a foal.
                                          She who is too squeamish to pull
                                          a thorn from the dog’s paw,
                                          watched her pony blossom with distemper,
                                          the underside of the jaw swelling
                                          like an enormous grape.
                                          Gritting her teeth with love,
                                          she drained the boil and scoured it
                                          with hydrogen peroxide until pus
                                          ran like milk on the barn floor

                                          Blind with loss all winter,
                                          in dungarees, a ski jacket and a hard hat,
                                          she visits the neighbors’ stable,
                                          our acreage not zoned for barns;
                                          they who own the flaming horses
                                          and the swan-whipped thoroughbred
                                          that she tugs at and cajoles,
                                          thinking it will burn like a furnace
                                          under her small-hipped English seat.

                                          Blind with pain she limps home
                                          the thoroughbred has stood on her foot.
                                          He rested there like a building.
                                          He grew into her foot until they were one.
                                          The marks of the horseshoe printed
                                          into her flesh, the tips of her toes
                                          ripped off like pieces of leather,
                                          three toenails swirled like shells
                                          and left to float in blood in her riding boot.

                                          Blind with fear, she sits on the toilet,
                                          her foot balanced over the washbasin,
                                          her father, hydrogen peroxide in hand,
                                          performing the rites of the cleansing.
                                          She bites on a towel, sucked in breath,
                                          sucked in and arched against the pain,
                                          her eyes glancing off me where
                                          I stand at the door, eyes locked
                                          on the ceiling, eyes of a stranger,
                                          and then she cries...
                                          Oh my God, help me!
                                          Where a child would have cried Mama!
                                          Where a child would have believed Mama!
                                          she bit the towel and called on God
                                          and I saw her life stretch out...
                                          I saw her torn in childbirth,
                                          and I saw her, at that moment,
                                          in her own death and I knew that she
                                          knew.
                                          --Becky in TX
                                          Clinic Blogs and Rolex Blogs
                                          She who throws dirt is losing ground.

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