Some of my favorite horse poems.
New York St Horse
Plunked down in chaos
from a gentler time
Blinkered from the traffic
he draws the coach along
Patient, in his harness bond,
he tugs at hearts with pathos
as, to his love of duty - we respond
Amid the screech of sirens
and the blasting horns,
he stands and dreams
of meadows,
in a nosebag
Such rythmic clicking of
his metal shoes on concrete
Smooth rolling of the carriage
wheels and he, confined
Down through the centuries,
he thought he'd left behind
© Suzanne Delaney
Star Steed
I ride the skies striking mystical notes
on a jet-black, dream steed
Proud head barely constained by a
pure white bridle and snow white reins
Angelic,innocent, in pale chiffon, flounces,
gathered with white satin ribbons, pink rosebuds,
and fragrant gardenias,
Pure white, floating near his flanks
slow motion, dreamlike,luminous,
mesmerising,
The black space of night echoes a
dark demonic power as we become starlight
© Suzanne Delaney
Oct 4 2000
Ride a Speckled Horse
Half Moon Bay
My little speckled grey
How unwilling you were
But I'd rented you that day
An apaloosa dream- straining
at the rope
He was the first choice
worthy of my hope
But he led you out- that
cautious owner of the 'string'
The one I wanted- being feared as-
too much horse - to tame
No cajoling and no show of force
Could lift your heart to run
Weren't you used- to-always
being, abused by everyone ?
In shame, at that slap of
reins across your neck
I let go, content to feel the
rythm of your walk and
not the rocking of your canter
Turned your jaded head toward
a trail down to the sea
Smelt the salt air with you
and felt the wide expanse of
beach and wind on me
Under the gulls glide
your gait became wide
And like a rocking horse by
the rolling sea, you and I
glided, close to eternity
I could have cantered on forever
when you gave your heart to me
And though I'm sure, that many tried
It's few I know, have ever felt,
the magic of your stride
© Suzanne Delaney
Freedom's Edge
How long has it been since
a day stretched before me
like infinity
a blank page on which
to write my destiny
The day I stole a gentle plough horse
And rode with nought
but plastic reins
fashioned from my dress belt
Was this the budding instance
of desire overriding sanity?
How was it that clouds then
held more for me
How in my depths
I felt so free
Free to pluck an apple from a tree
Or stand and gaze, at only that
In front of me
Realizing now
It was not the plastic reins
that held the plough horse
in my thrall
T'was the trusting and
the innocence
Of it all
© Suzanne Delaney
See the wandering horses pass
Robert Desnos
Of the Wandering Horses
I speak of the wandering horses for I have lived on the essence
of them for all my life
Yearning to be with them in their freedom to gallop into the sun
I see them, breezes lift their manes, soft nostrils blow,
necks crested like paintings from Michaelangelo, reach to
lush grasses and clear streams below
I count their colours, pure white, jet black, sharp bay,
fiery chestnut, crisp piebald, dappled grey
Wandering horses appear in my imagination,and in paintings
on my wall, in small statuettes by vases of flowers
Their shrill winnies call to alert me of their passing
I run to look - I look long after them,
I yearn for them but they have galloped to the hearts of the tired townspeople
who laugh and rejioce to see their iconic beauty,
the memories of pastoral peace,
of horses slowly grazing meadows of promise.
I speak of the wandering horses and not the flowers
that fade in the vases of offices and living rooms
I speak of the wandering horses captured in the marble
carvings and the monuments
Dutiful horses caught in mid-prance, the beauty of them
feeds millions of souls as they imagine their dance
light steps of rythm, proud head carriage, powerful rumps
Have we really done to them as Robert says,
Tails dragging in the dust and "nostrils smoking as
they pass by the flowers"
See the wandering horses pass
They may not pass again
They may not pass again
They may not pass again
© Suzanne Delaney
Enter content here
Something strange appeared in a widows yard.
At first, nobody noticed............
Add Author here
They Hang Horses, Don't They?
A scaffold to hang horses
for throwing their masters
Dumb and never protesting
they were led up the ramp
built like a stairway to heaven
There was never any
last minute salvation
No 'Pegasus' wings that
sprouted from the withers
Hooves crossed on the chest
each was duly blest
and I wonder if each
mistook the noose for
a lasso around its neck
With one somb're bell a'ringing
The hangman pulled the lever
'There are no last minute requests
for horses being executed'
yet a butterfly perches
on the forelock of each,for
one last comforting moment
Justice done again?
Yet it seems
in the equine world
hanging has served
as no deterrant
Inherant in all horses
is an urge to
throw their masters
©Suzanne Delaney
Jigsaw
It was years and years
before I found the shoes there,
still waiting
My only pair
of riding boots
bought with my first paycheck
I search to understand
my wild quest then
Why was it so important
to seek out dingy
Riding School Rental
places for a few frustrating
hours spent on misused horses
I guess my girlhood fancies
kept me taking chances
My deep obssession with
their beauty was unclear
My mastery of equestrian skills
so marginal and yet
It was my passion and
only mine that drove me
beyond any fear
I still dream of possessing
a piebald named Jigsaw
To canter along
in those old riding boots
Old but hardly worn
never used much more
than for the sole purpose
they were purchased
© Suzanne Delaney
New York St Horse
Plunked down in chaos
from a gentler time
Blinkered from the traffic
he draws the coach along
Patient, in his harness bond,
he tugs at hearts with pathos
as, to his love of duty - we respond
Amid the screech of sirens
and the blasting horns,
he stands and dreams
of meadows,
in a nosebag
Such rythmic clicking of
his metal shoes on concrete
Smooth rolling of the carriage
wheels and he, confined
Down through the centuries,
he thought he'd left behind
© Suzanne Delaney
Star Steed
I ride the skies striking mystical notes
on a jet-black, dream steed
Proud head barely constained by a
pure white bridle and snow white reins
Angelic,innocent, in pale chiffon, flounces,
gathered with white satin ribbons, pink rosebuds,
and fragrant gardenias,
Pure white, floating near his flanks
slow motion, dreamlike,luminous,
mesmerising,
The black space of night echoes a
dark demonic power as we become starlight
© Suzanne Delaney
Oct 4 2000
Ride a Speckled Horse
Half Moon Bay
My little speckled grey
How unwilling you were
But I'd rented you that day
An apaloosa dream- straining
at the rope
He was the first choice
worthy of my hope
But he led you out- that
cautious owner of the 'string'
The one I wanted- being feared as-
too much horse - to tame
No cajoling and no show of force
Could lift your heart to run
Weren't you used- to-always
being, abused by everyone ?
In shame, at that slap of
reins across your neck
I let go, content to feel the
rythm of your walk and
not the rocking of your canter
Turned your jaded head toward
a trail down to the sea
Smelt the salt air with you
and felt the wide expanse of
beach and wind on me
Under the gulls glide
your gait became wide
And like a rocking horse by
the rolling sea, you and I
glided, close to eternity
I could have cantered on forever
when you gave your heart to me
And though I'm sure, that many tried
It's few I know, have ever felt,
the magic of your stride
© Suzanne Delaney
Freedom's Edge
How long has it been since
a day stretched before me
like infinity
a blank page on which
to write my destiny
The day I stole a gentle plough horse
And rode with nought
but plastic reins
fashioned from my dress belt
Was this the budding instance
of desire overriding sanity?
How was it that clouds then
held more for me
How in my depths
I felt so free
Free to pluck an apple from a tree
Or stand and gaze, at only that
In front of me
Realizing now
It was not the plastic reins
that held the plough horse
in my thrall
T'was the trusting and
the innocence
Of it all
© Suzanne Delaney
See the wandering horses pass
Robert Desnos
Of the Wandering Horses
I speak of the wandering horses for I have lived on the essence
of them for all my life
Yearning to be with them in their freedom to gallop into the sun
I see them, breezes lift their manes, soft nostrils blow,
necks crested like paintings from Michaelangelo, reach to
lush grasses and clear streams below
I count their colours, pure white, jet black, sharp bay,
fiery chestnut, crisp piebald, dappled grey
Wandering horses appear in my imagination,and in paintings
on my wall, in small statuettes by vases of flowers
Their shrill winnies call to alert me of their passing
I run to look - I look long after them,
I yearn for them but they have galloped to the hearts of the tired townspeople
who laugh and rejioce to see their iconic beauty,
the memories of pastoral peace,
of horses slowly grazing meadows of promise.
I speak of the wandering horses and not the flowers
that fade in the vases of offices and living rooms
I speak of the wandering horses captured in the marble
carvings and the monuments
Dutiful horses caught in mid-prance, the beauty of them
feeds millions of souls as they imagine their dance
light steps of rythm, proud head carriage, powerful rumps
Have we really done to them as Robert says,
Tails dragging in the dust and "nostrils smoking as
they pass by the flowers"
See the wandering horses pass
They may not pass again
They may not pass again
They may not pass again
© Suzanne Delaney
Enter content here
Something strange appeared in a widows yard.
At first, nobody noticed............
Add Author here
They Hang Horses, Don't They?
A scaffold to hang horses
for throwing their masters
Dumb and never protesting
they were led up the ramp
built like a stairway to heaven
There was never any
last minute salvation
No 'Pegasus' wings that
sprouted from the withers
Hooves crossed on the chest
each was duly blest
and I wonder if each
mistook the noose for
a lasso around its neck
With one somb're bell a'ringing
The hangman pulled the lever
'There are no last minute requests
for horses being executed'
yet a butterfly perches
on the forelock of each,for
one last comforting moment
Justice done again?
Yet it seems
in the equine world
hanging has served
as no deterrant
Inherant in all horses
is an urge to
throw their masters
©Suzanne Delaney
Jigsaw
It was years and years
before I found the shoes there,
still waiting
My only pair
of riding boots
bought with my first paycheck
I search to understand
my wild quest then
Why was it so important
to seek out dingy
Riding School Rental
places for a few frustrating
hours spent on misused horses
I guess my girlhood fancies
kept me taking chances
My deep obssession with
their beauty was unclear
My mastery of equestrian skills
so marginal and yet
It was my passion and
only mine that drove me
beyond any fear
I still dream of possessing
a piebald named Jigsaw
To canter along
in those old riding boots
Old but hardly worn
never used much more
than for the sole purpose
they were purchased
© Suzanne Delaney
