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Favorite horse poems/quotes/sayings

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  • #41
    i'm a teary mess now! love all of these. if i'm not between a 3 and a 7 on the emotional scale, i'm in tears; too happy or too sad, lol, ever since having a two-legged baby.
    Gracious "Gracie," 2002 TB mare
    Facebook me!

    I have Higher Standards ...do you?


    • #42
      Always There Are The Horses by M. Adelia Ramey

      I ride because I rode as a child when life was simpler and somehow more complete. Only the whiff of a clean horse is needed to remind me of days gone by. For always there have been the horses.

      I ride because of all the great horse souls who have shared their lives with me and taught me more than I can say. Their names and faces flash before me as old friends. I ride because of all the horses I shall never ride. Those I have watched and marveled at from afar for all their
      grace and beauty. This is the stuff of a child’s dream, the kind that doesn’t die with time. Always there are the horses.

      I ride because the seasons call to me. Each unique in its appeal and all quite frequently best viewed from the back of a favorite horse. I ride because of all things, horses are my passion. They inspire and encourage, energize, and challenge in ways I cannot explain to the
      un-initiated. I ride because of the rush of stretching one’s self just a bit farther today than before both mind and body. Always there are the horses.

      I ride because of those briefest of spans when the partnership comes to full promise. When the path twists and barriers fall, each footfall is measured and balanced between the two as a dance. There are no others…only this moment and this single step to ride. The memories of those times stand vivid in my mind to be recalled with all the freshness of the day at will and in times less grand.

      But if I must choose, I ride because I have dreams yet to live. I ride because I have dreams yet to have and what exactly they will be tomorrow I cannot say…but always there will be the horses.
      The Sempiternal Horse


      • #43
        Originally posted by 2DogsFarm View Post
        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.
        ~Stanley Harrison

        This one kept me sane when I lost my 2 boys - Vern & Cash - the same awful day.
        And oddly now, I hear it in my mind as Sam displays some of the same Cash's sweetness and Kouma replays Vern's TB 'tude in pony-size.

        I cannot read this without tearing up:
        (stoopid of me to post a printout by my desk at work...)

        When I am an old horsewoman
        I shall wear turquoise and diamonds,
        And a straw hat that doesn’t suit me
        And I shall spend my social security on
        white wine and carrots,
        And sit in my alleyway of my barn
        And listen to my horses breathe.

        I will sneak out in the middle of a summer night
        And ride the old bay gelding,
        Across the moonstruck meadow
        If my old bones will allow
        And when people come to call, I will smile and nod
        As I walk past the gardens to the barn
        and show instead of flowers growing,
        stalls fresh-lined with straw.
        I will shovel and sweat and wear hay in my hair
        as if it were a jewel
        And I will be an embarrassment to all
        Who will not yet have found the peace in being free
        to have a horse as a best friend
        A friend who waits at midnight hour
        With muzzle and nicker and patient eyes
        For the kind of woman I will be
        When I am old.
        LOVE both of these. I did not know there was a horsey version of the 2nd, my grandmother had the original "When I am an old woman" in her downstairs bathroom for years and years. I can still recite a lot of it in my head.
        "Choose to chance the rapids, and dare to dance the tides" - Garth Brooks
        "With your permission, dear, I'll take my fences one at a time" - Maggie Smith, Downton Abbey


        • #44
          by Trooper Gerady, Australian Light Horse

          They gave me a fiery horse to groom, and I rode him on parade,
          While he plunged and swung for kicking room like a young and haughty jade.
          I rode him hard till I curbed his will, hot foot in the sham attack,
          Till he ceased to jib, and took to drill like a first-class trooper’s hack.

          He tasted hell on the Indian sea. Pent up in the gloom below,
          He dreamed of the days when he was free, and his weary heart beat slow.
          But he lived to leave the reeking ship, and raised his drooping head
          With new-born zest when he felt the grip of the earth beneath his tread.

          I left him and sailed away to fight on foot in the trenches deep-
          A stretch that passed like an awful hour of fearsome nightmare sleep.
          I lived to search for a mount once more on the crowded piquet line-
          I rode him out as I did before, when I’d claimed the horse as mine.

          I loved him as only one who knows the way of a horse may love;
          Who rides athirst when the hell-wind blows and the sun stands still above;
          Who rides for cover behind the rise that lifts like a wall of woe
          And smites the vision of burning eyes when the Moslem lead rips low.

          Far out on the hock-deep sands that roll in waves to the flaming sky,
          He carried me far on the night patrol where the Turkish outposts lie;
          He took me back to the camp at noon when the skirmish died amain,
          And under a white and spectral moon he bore me afield again.

          Our squadrons surged to the left and right when the fire of the day was dead;
          The foeman crept in the sombre night with a wary, noiseless tread.
          We moved away on a flanking march, like a brown line rudely drawn
          That reached the foot of the grey sky’s arch in the waking light of dawn.

          The line closed in when the red sun shot from the purple-tinted east
          To glare with scorn on the wretched lot of man and his jaded beast.
          I urged my horse with a purpose grim for a ridge where cover lay,
          And my heart beat high for the heart of him when he saved my life that day.

          His knees gave way and I slipped from him: he dropped in a sprawling heap
          On the wind-gapped edge of the skyline’s rim where the high-blown sand was deep;
          And fear came down with a gusty rain of lead on his final bed ……..
          Before I turned for cover again I knew that his life had fled.
          ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
          My heart is warm for a heart that died in the desert flank attack,
          And the white sand surges down to hide the bones of a trooper’s hack.


          • #45
            "Whoever said money can't buy happiness, never owned a horse."

            "All horses deserve, at least once in their life, to be loved by a little girl."

            "I've spent most of my life riding horses. The rest I've just wasted."

            "A good rider can hear his horse speak. A great rider can hear his horse whisper."

            A website with some fan-freakin-tastic quotes!


            • #46
              Does anyone have The Rainbow Bridge poem? I wouold like to send it with the tail of a boarders horse that died this morning unexpectantly at my barn.Im in Ga and the owner of the once rescued mare lives in Maine.I have been boarding her horse for the last three years.She sent her down here for greener pastures and better care than she was getting at the barn in Maine and has been faithful at paying her board knowing that she was very happy here and being cared for. RIP RIRA
              "Ain't no horse ever run faster than I could ride it"" (Wind Whistling through Willow)
              Owner of Josephine "The Lost and Found Kitty"


              • #47
                The Rainbow Bridge
                There is a bridge connecting Heaven and Earth. It is called the Rainbow Bridge because of its many colors. Just this side of the Rainbow Bridge there is a land of meadows, hills and valleys with lush green grass. When a beloved pet dies, the pet goes to this place. There is always food and water and warm spring weather. The old and frail animals are young again. Those who are maimed are made whole again. They play all day with each other.
                There is only one thing missing. They are not with their special person who loved them on Earth. So each day they run and play until the day comes when one suddenly stops playing and looks up!
                The nose twitches! The ears are up! The eyes are staring! And this one suddenly runs from the group! You have been seen, and when you and your special friend meet, you take him or her in your arms and embrace. Your face is kissed again and again and again, and you look once more into the eyes of your trusting pet.
                Then you cross the Rainbow Bridge together... — Author Unknown
                There is no secret so close as that between a rider and his horse-Robert Smith Surtees
                Breeding TBs, Connemaras and TB/Conn crosses for eventing


                • #48
                  Thank you twistoffate!
                  "Ain't no horse ever run faster than I could ride it"" (Wind Whistling through Willow)
                  Owner of Josephine "The Lost and Found Kitty"


                  • #49
                    Somebody - anybody - make an anthology of COTH sayings - I'd buy it.
                    Proud member of People Who Hate to Kill Wildlife clique


                    • #50
                      Originally posted by ellemayo View Post
                      I love this! I have a huge collection of quotes and

                      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

                      That was my first read of this. I just love it. Thank you.


                      • #51
                        By May Swenson (1919 - 1989) The Centaur

                        The summer that I was ten --
                        Can it be there was only one
                        summer that I was ten?

                        It must have been a long one then --
                        each day I'd go out to choose
                        a fresh horse from my stable

                        which was a willow grove
                        down by the old canal.
                        I'd go on my two bare feet.

                        But when, with my brother's jack-knife,
                        I had cut me a long limber horse
                        with a good thick knob for a head,

                        and peeled him slick and clean
                        except a few leaves for the tail,
                        and cinched my brother's belt

                        around his head for a rein,
                        I'd straddle and canter him fast
                        up the grass bank to the path,

                        trot along in the lovely dust
                        that talcumed over his hoofs,
                        hiding my toes, and turning

                        his feet to swift half-moons.
                        The willow knob with the strap
                        jouncing between my thighs

                        was the pommel and yet the poll
                        of my nickering pony's head.
                        My head and my neck were mine,

                        yet they were shaped like a horse.
                        My hair flopped to the side
                        like the mane of a horse in the wind.

                        My forelock swung in my eyes,
                        my neck arched and I snorted.
                        I shied and skittered and reared,

                        stopped and raised my knees,
                        pawed at the ground and quivered.
                        My teeth bared as we wheeled

                        and swished through the dust again.
                        I was the horse and the rider,
                        and the leather I slapped to his rump

                        spanked my own behind.
                        Doubled, my two hoofs beat
                        a gallop along the bank,

                        the wind twanged in my mane,
                        my mouth squared to the bit.
                        And yet I sat on my steed

                        quiet, negligent riding,
                        my toes standing the stirrups,
                        my thighs hugging his ribs.

                        At a walk we drew up to the porch.
                        I tethered him to a paling.
                        Dismounting, I smoothed my skirt

                        and entered the dusky hall.
                        My feet on the clean linoleum
                        left ghostly toes in the hall.

                        Where have you been? said my mother.
                        Been riding, I said from the sink,
                        and filled me a glass of water.

                        What's that in your pocket? she said.
                        Just my knife. It weighted my pocket
                        and stretched my dress awry.

                        Go tie back your hair, said my mother,
                        and Why Is your mouth all green?
                        Rob Roy, he pulled some clover
                        as we crossed the field, I told her.

                        From Cage of Spines by May Swenson. Published by Rinehart. Copyright © 1958 the Literary Estate of May Swenson.


                        • #52
                          Let us ride together
                          (Blowing mane and hair)
                          Careless of the weather,
                          Miles ahead of care.
                          Ring of hoof and snaffle
                          Swing of waist and hip
                          Trotting down the twisted road,
                          With the world let slip.

                          Let us laugh together,
                          (Merry as of old)
                          To the creak of leather
                          And the morning’s gold.
                          Break into a canter,
                          Shout to bank and tree,
                          Rocking down the waking trail
                          Steady hand and knee.

                          Take the life of cities
                          Here’s the life for me.
                          ’Twere a thousand pities
                          Not to gallop free.
                          So we’ll ride together
                          Comrade, you and I.
                          Careless of the weather,
                          Letting care go by.
                          Riding Song, Theodore Goodridge Roberts

                          My treasures do not clink together and glitter. They gleam in the sun and neigh in the night. - allegedly a Bedouin proverb.
                          Fat Cat Farm Sporthorses on Facebook
                          Fat Cat Farm Sporthorses Website and Blog


                          • #53
                            "I am still under the impression there is nothing alive quite so beautiful
                            as a thoroughbred horse."
                            -JOHN GALSWORTHY


                            • #54
                              "One man's right lead is another man's counter canter."


                              • #55
                                from Lorna Doone -R. D. Blackmore

                                ...Nevertheless, she outraged not, though her eyes were frightening Annie, and John Fry took a pick to keep him safe; but she curbed to and fro with her strong forearms rising like springs ingathered, waiting and quivering grievously, and beginning to sweat about it.

                                Then her master gave a shrill clear whistle, when her ears were bent towards him, and I felt her form beneath me gathering up like whalebone, and her hind-legs coming under her, and I knew that I was in for it.

                                First she reared upright in the air, and struck me full on the nose with her comb, till I bled worse than Robin Snell made me; and then down with her fore-feet deep in the straw, and her hind-feet going to heaven. Finding me stick to her still like wax, for my mettle was up as hers was, away she flew with me swifter than ever I went before, or since, I trow.

                                She drove full-head at the cobwall--'Oh, Jack, slip off,' screamed Annie--then she turned like light, when I thought to crush her, and ground my left knee against it. 'Mux me,' I cried, for my breeches were broken, and short words went the furthest--'if you kill me, you shall die with me.'

                                Then she took the court-yard gate at a leap, knocking my words between my teeth, and then right over a quick set hedge, as if the sky were a breath to her; and away for the water-meadows, while I lay on her neck like a child at the breast and wished I had never been born.

                                Straight away, all in the front of the wind, and scattering clouds around her, all I knew of the speed we made was the frightful flash of her shoulders, and her mane like trees in a tempest. I felt the earth under us rushing away, and the air left far behind us, and my breath came and went, and I prayed to God, and was sorry to be so late of it.

                                All the long swift while, without power of thought, I clung to her crest and shoulders, and dug my nails into her creases, and my toes into her flank-part, and was proud of holding on so long, though sure of being beaten. Then in her fury at feeling me still, she rushed at another device for it, and leaped the wide water-trough sideways across, to and fro, till no breath was left in me. The hazel-boughs took me too hard in the face, and the tall dog-briers got hold of me, and the ache of my back was like crimping a fish; till I longed to give up, thoroughly beaten, and lie there and die in the cresses.

                                But there came a shrill whistle from up the home-hill, where the people had hurried to watch us; and the mare stopped as if with a bullet, then set off for home with the speed of a swallow, and going as smoothly and silently.

                                I never had dreamed of such delicate motion, fluent, and graceful, and ambient, soft as the breeze flitting over the flowers, but swift as the summer lightning. I sat up again, but my strength was all spent, and no time left to recover it, and though she rose at our gate like a bird, I tumbled off into the mixen.