Horses are enigmatic creatures. They look so strong and well built but they are very loyal and kind to their masters. They are majestic and strong that is why they are often portrayed in art accompanying famous people and royalties. Horses can display a broad range of emotions and extremely communicative. These qualities are what make horses suitable to form a strong bond with humans. They are always reliable and faithful, willing to wait for the return of their master. They are also skillful and we see them in different settings such as racing, sports, battle, wars, and trekking hard terrains.
Browse through our collection of poems at 1Love Poems for your next writing inspirations and ideas, and have your readers talking about the themes that you love.
Horse – Poem by Louise Gluck
What does the horse give you
That I cannot give you?
I watch you when you are alone,
When you ride into the field behind the dairy,
Your hands buried in the mare’s
Then I know what lies behind your silence:
Scorn, hatred of me, of marriage. Still,
You want me to touch you; you cry out
As brides cry, but when I look at you I see
There are no children in your body.
Then what is there?
Nothing, I think. Only haste
To die before I die.
In a dream, I watched you ride the horse
Over the dry fields and then
Dismount: you two walked together;
In the dark, you had no shadows.
But I felt them coming toward me
Since at night they go anywhere,
They are their own masters.
Look at me. You think I don’t understand?
What is the animal
If not passage out of this life?
Dark Horse – Poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
I I have proved and stayed as dark horse
Nobody would come to know without code Morse
People disregard me and pass the curse
Always non starter and unavailable force
I have earned disrepute and considered as unreliable
Still try to garner support and prove capable
Never waste a time for second or minute
Keep watch on all and observe it minutely
Play game safe and advance self interest
Try to extract more and achieve the best
Everything at command without passing test
Achievement of the goal without any rest
All for self betterment and not for social cause
No let up in work and continue without pause
This all becomes necessary in changing world
I know naked truth then why people turn cold?
This is selfish world and you should stay supreme
Play safe and never go to the end extreme
I may prove incompetence if not seize the opportunity
Life comes to a halt if not keep continuity,
People have a soft corner and very short memory
Go for bright glitter and never feel sorry
Worship rising sun and look not at sunset
Life should be at height and ambition preset
All eyes are on achievement and conceding defeat
Success story should emerge even making repeat
People fall in line and not mind treachery
Offer all the help even they feel jittery
Neither I am claiming nor proving hollow
System so prevalent I piously follow
Not offer chance or slight mistake to allow
People know better what is lying below
I want to achieve and rise above average
Glory and name should have wide coverage
All might say what is there in name
It doesn’t follow without playing game
I continuously strive after hard bargain
Doesn’t matter more whether loss or gain
Nothing comes in life without taking pain
Simple truth should be followed as it is plain
Horse And Rider – Poem by Ivy Schex
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
The Fly-Away Horse – Poem by Eugene Field
Oh, a wonderful horse is the Fly-Away Horse –
Perhaps you have seen him before;
Perhaps, while you slept, his shadow has swept
Through the moonlight that floats on the floor.
For it’s only at night, when the stars twinkle bright,
That the Fly-Away Horse, with a neigh
And a pull at his rein and a toss of his mane,
Is up on his heels and away!
The Moon in the sky,
As he gallopeth by,
Cries: “Oh! what a marvelous sight!”
And the Stars in dismay
Hide their faces away
In the lap of old Grandmother Night.
It is yonder, out yonder, the Fly-Away Horse
Speedeth ever and ever away –
Over meadows and lanes, over mountains and plains,
Over streamlets that sing at their play;
And over the sea like a ghost sweepeth he,
While the ships they go sailing below,
And he speedeth so fast that the men at the mast
Adjudge him some portent of woe.
“What ho there!” they cry,
As he flourishes by
With a whisk of his beautiful tail;
And the fish in the sea
Are as scared as can be,
From the nautilus up to the whale!
And the Fly-Away Horse seeks those faraway lands
You little folk dream of at night –
Where candy-trees grow, and honey-brooks flow,
And corn-fields with popcorn are white;
And the beasts in the wood are ever so good
To children who visit them there –
What glory astride of a lion to ride,
Or to wrestle around with a bear!
The monkeys, they say:
“Come on, let us play,”
And they frisk in the cocoanut-trees:
While the parrots, that cling
To the peanut-vines, sing
Or converse with comparative ease!
Off! scamper to bed – you shall ride him tonight!
For, as soon as you’ve fallen asleep,
With a jubilant neigh he shall bear you away
Over forest and hillside and deep!
But tell us, my dear, all you see and you hear
In those beautiful lands over there,
Where the Fly-Away Horse wings his faraway course
With the wee one consigned to his care.
Then grandma will cry
In amazement: “Oh, my!”
And she’ll think it could never be so;
And only we two
Shall know it is true –
You and I, little precious! shall know!
Father Riley’s Horse – Poem by Banjo Paterson
‘Twas the horse thief, Andy Regan, that was hunted like a dog
By the troopers of the upper Murray side,
They had searched in every gully — they had looked in every log,
But never sight or track of him they spied,
Till the priest at Kiley’s Crossing heard a knocking very late
And a whisper “Father Riley — come across!”
So his Rev’rence in pyjamas trotted softly to the gate
And admitted Andy Regan — and a horse!
“Now, it’s listen, Father Riley, to the words I’ve got to say,
For it’s close upon my death I am tonight.
With the troopers hard behind me I’ve been hiding all the day
In the gullies keeping close and out of sight.
But they’re watching all the ranges till there’s not a bird could fly,
And I’m fairly worn to pieces with the strife,
So I’m taking no more trouble, but I’m going home to die,
‘Tis the only way I see to save my life.
“Yes, I’m making home to mother’s, and I’ll die o’ Tuesday next
An’ be buried on the Thursday — and, of course,
I’m prepared to meet my penance, but with one thing I’m perplexed
And it’s — Father, it’s this jewel of a horse!
He was never bought nor paid for, and there’s not a man can swear
To his owner or his breeder, but I know,
That his sire was by Pedantic from the Old Pretender mare
And his dam was close related to The Roe.
“And there’s nothing in the district that can race him for a step,
He could canter while they’re going at their top:
He’s the king of all the leppers that was ever seen to lep,
A five-foot fence — he’d clear it in a hop!
So I’ll leave him with you, Father, till the dead shall rise again,
Tis yourself that knows a good ‘un; and, of course,
You can say he’s got by Moonlight out of Paddy Murphy’s plain
If you’re ever asked the breeding of the horse!
“But it’s getting on to daylight and it’s time to say goodbye,
For the stars above the east are growing pale.
And I’m making home to mother — and it’s hard for me to die!
But it’s harder still, is keeping out of gaol!
You can ride the old horse over to my grave across the dip
Where the wattle bloom is waving overhead.
Sure he’ll jump them fences easy — you must never raise the whip
Or he’ll rush ’em! — now, goodbye!” and he had fled!
So they buried Andy Regan, and they buried him to rights,
In the graveyard at the back of Kiley’s Hill;
There were five-and-twenty mourners who had five-and-twenty fights
Till the very boldest fighters had their fill.
There were fifty horses racing from the graveyard to the pub,
And their riders flogged each other all the while.
And the lashin’s of the liquor! And the lavin’s of the grub!
Oh, poor Andy went to rest in proper style.
Then the races came to Kiley’s — with a steeplechase and all,
For the folk were mostly Irish round about,
And it takes an Irish rider to be fearless of a fall,
They were training morning in and morning out.
But they never started training till the sun was on the course
For a superstitious story kept ’em back,
That the ghost of Andy Regan on a slashing chestnut horse,
Had been training by the starlight on the track.
And they read the nominations for the races with surprise
And amusement at the Father’s little joke,
For a novice had been entered for the steeplechasing prize,
And they found it was Father Riley’s moke!
He was neat enough to gallop, he was strong enough to stay!
But his owner’s views of training were immense,
For the Reverend Father Riley used to ride him every day,
And he never saw a hurdle nor a fence.
And the priest would join the laughter: “Oh,” said he, “I put him in,
For there’s five-and-twenty sovereigns to be won.
And the poor would find it useful, if the chestnut chanced to win,
And he’ll maybe win when all is said and done!”
He had called him Faugh-a-ballagh, which is French for ‘Clear the course’,
And his colours were a vivid shade of green:
All the Dooleys and O’Donnells were on Father Riley’s horse,
While the Orangemen were backing Mandarin!
It was Hogan, the dog poisoner — aged man and very wise,
Who was camping in the racecourse with his swag,
And who ventured the opinion, to the township’s great surprise,
That the race would go to Father Riley’s nag.
“You can talk about your riders — and the horse has not been schooled,
And the fences is terrific, and the rest!
When the field is fairly going, then ye’ll see ye’ve all been fooled,
And the chestnut horse will battle with the best.
“For there’s some has got condition, and they think the race is sure,
And the chestnut horse will fall beneath the weight,
But the hopes of all the helpless, and the prayers of all the poor,
Will be running by his side to keep him straight.
And it’s what’s the need of schoolin’ or of workin’ on the track,
Whin the saints are there to guide him round the course!
I’ve prayed him over every fence — I’ve prayed him out and back!
And I’ll bet my cash on Father Riley’s horse!”
Oh, the steeple was a caution! They went tearin’ round and round,
And the fences rang and rattled where they struck.
There was some that cleared the water — there was more fell in and drowned,
Some blamed the men and others blamed the luck!
But the whips were flying freely when the field came into view,
For the finish down the long green stretch of course,
And in front of all the flyers — jumpin’ like a kangaroo,
Came the rank outsider — Father Riley’s horse!
Oh, the shouting and the cheering as he rattled past the post!
For he left the others standing, in the straight;
And the rider — well they reckoned it was Andy Regan’s ghost,
And it beat ’em how a ghost would draw the weight!
But he weighed in, nine stone seven, then he laughed and disappeared,
Like a banshee (which is Spanish for an elf),
And old Hogan muttered sagely, “If it wasn’t for the beard
They’d be thinking it was Andy Regan’s self!”
And the poor of Kiley’s Crossing drank the health at Christmastide
Of the chestnut and his rider dressed in green.
There was never such a rider, not since Andy Regan died,
And they wondered who on earth he could have been.
But they settled it among ’em, for the story got about,
‘Mongst the bushmen and the people on the course,
That the Devil had been ordered to let Andy Regan out
For the steeplechase on Father Riley’s horse!