UNICORNER FARM

Miniature Horses and Tunis Sheep

Fun with Minis

POETRY FOR HORSE LOVERS

Cute, "horsey" stuff rounded up on the Internet.


Prior to Clipping Horses

When your horse is hairy and he really needs a clip,
Get yourself a twitching stick and grab him by the lip.
Fill him full of sedative or half a crate of ale,
Get yourself an anvil and tie it to his tail.
Set his feet in concrete, tie his body to the wall,
Lock his door and bolt it.
That should fix the animal.

If you're a hairy horse and they think you need a clip,
Tell them that you disagree by giving them a nip.
Kick them in the clippers and watch them turning pale,
As you hit them with an anvil through a well aimed swish of tail.
Run around the stable, smash a hole right through the wall.
Gallop out to freedom shouting "Hairy Horses Rule".


A Horse Husband's Lament

My wife she has a quarter horse, with flaxen mane and tail
She thinks he is the finest thing that ever jogged a rail
She calls him Dandy Darling, and if the truth I tell,
That fancy pampered quarter horse has made my life pure HELL.
My wife she used to cook for ME and serve it with champagne
Now she'd rather feed that horse and fix his special grain.
She rides him every morning, and grooms him half the night,
The last time that she kissed ME it was just to be polite.
He dresses better than I do, with matching wraps and ties,
My wardrobe's so neglected now that I attract the flies.
One day my wife was shopping, she was down at the mall,
And fancy pampered DANDY was just standing in his stall.
He looked so smug and sassy, that I began to grin,
I'd saddle that fat sucker, and take him for a spin.
I've wondered since if cues I gave, he might have misconstrued,
For when I climbed aboard that horse, he rightly came UNGLUED.
He bucked and spun, and snorted fire, and threw me through a fence.
I saw big stars and there are 6 teeth that I ain't heard from since.
My wife came home and saw me, just a lying in the dirt,
She rushed up to her HORSE and asked him, "Sweetheart are you HURT?"
She'd scratched his nose a little bit, and the memory galls me yet,
She left me lying in the mud, and ran to call the VET!!!

Author Unknown


WHEN I AM OLD ...

I shall wear diamonds
And a wide brimmed straw hat
With silver and leather on it
and I shall spend my social security
On white wine and carrots
And sit in the alley of my barn
And listen to my horses breathe.
I will sneak out in the middle of a summer's night
And ride the dapple grey
Across the moonstruck meadow.
If my old bones will allow.
And when people come to call I will smile and nod.
As I walk them past the gardens to the barn
And show, instead, the beauty growing there
In stalls fresh-lined with straw.
I will learn to shovel and sweat and
Wear hay in my hair as if it were a jewel.
And I will be an embarrassment to all
Who look down on me.
Who have not yet found the peace in being free
To love a horse as a 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.

Author unknown


Ode to the Horse

 
"Where in this wide world can a man find
nobility without pride, friendship
without envy or beauty without
vanity? Here: where grace is laced
with muscle and strength by
gentleness confined.
He serves without servility; he has
fought without enmity. There is
nothing so powerful, nothing less
violent; there is nothing so quick,
nothing less patient.
England's past has been bourne on his back.
All our history is his industry. We are his heirs;
he our inheritance.
The Horse"
--written by British poet, Ronald Duncan


THE BEST COLOR

"Tradition, they say, can teach us a lot,

So here is what horsemen, on color, have thought.

A bay is hardy, a chestnut is fast

And you can't kill a buckskin: he'll last and last.

A grey is gentle, a sorrell is hot,

A dun is a horse you'll be happy you bought.

White eyes are flighty, white feet may crack

While some won't rely on the feet of a black.

Some pintos are lucky, like the medicine hat,

But all horsemen agree the best color is FAT.

--------Anonymous


Even Cowboys Cry

By Cris Paravicini

"Twas the heart of the night when a cry stirred the dark, From the bundle held snug in her arms. And the young mother vowed to do what she could, To keep her young child from harm.

One hand stroked a pup as it moved to her side, He whimpered, then nuzzled her son. "You rascal," she said, "better rest while you can, Lots to do 'fore the morrow is done."

Now, they're four years old and always they play, Together, the folks pride and joy. With a mimicking whoop they lope 'round the yard, The stickhorse, the dog, and the boy.

And when the stickhorse stumbles and falls to the ground, To the end the young cowboy rides. Then lifting his eyes, he howls to the moon, 'Cause at four the pain's hard to hide.

At eight years old his white pony bucks; Once more he furrows the dirt. The dog licks his face while Mom dusts his hat, And a tear is wiped on his shirt.

A crimson sunset in the fifteenth year, Saw the cowboy, old dog, and a lass. She squeezed tight his hand; frail dog licked his cheek, One last time as life came to pass.

Anguished sobs could be heard over meadow and stream, Near the cow herd, the mountains, and pine. For the dog was his comrade, his partner, his pal, From their birth, everyday, till this time.

It's a decade plus ten and the range seems to sing; Our cowboy is coming of age. Tears fill his eyes as kind lass takes his name, And their love writes the next history page.

Through thirty-and-some, the good years rolled by, Three babies and nature played fair. The cattle were fat and the streams ran bank-full, Happy tears and glad cheer filled the air.

When our cowboy's fortieth birthday was near, Ill-fortune shadowed the land. The weight of bad luck tried to crumple the man; Tall and proud, it was so hard to stand.

And the faithful, gray horse that he rode across time, Broke his leg in mysterious way. And as cow prices fell in rhythm with tears, The drought took its toll on his hay.

Like the workteam he'd lost to a strange, equine flu, Tired family pulled more than its share. In his fiftieth year, his last parent died, Who promised this life would be fair?

They should've been called the glory years, As he entered his sixth decade, But, the government ruled "for-the-good-of-mankind," And it took the existence he'd made.

When eighty-one winters had come and gone, For the lass who had dried every tear, She followed his dog and his horse to the stars, To abide with the ones he holds dear.

Now, in memory he dwells with his boyhood and pup, And his mate with the strawberry lock; And the promise God made many centuries ago, That once more, side by side, they'd all walk.

All the years washed with waters of sadness and joy, Strong currents of life, low and high. And mighty the man from whom teardrops fall, Yes, even the cowboy will cry.


DEEP INSIDE

-author unknown

Lately I’ve been thinking of when we first met,

At once our hearts were joined, and they haven’t parted yet.

Our souls ran free together, side by side.

From each other, there was nothing to fear or hide.

I didn’t need to say a word, you understood my touch.

I responded to your language and loved you very much.

Now i lay here wondering, if these feelings you recall,

Do you ache from all the sadness, or did you escape it all?

Tears fall so often, only pain I can find.

After your sudden exit, I’m the one who’s left behind.

I often look for you, and find an empty stall,

With tears I search my heart, and see you remain after all.

All the memories and joy engraved in my soul,

Survive, even after your death takes its toll.

The wind through my hair reminds me of our rides,

Now the wind whispers to me "you’ll find him deep inside"

Although the pain lives on deep within my heart,

I know you live inside me and our souls will never part.

 


I love the horse from hoof to head
From head to hoof and tail to mane
I love the horse as I have said
From head to hoof and back again.
                   ~James Whitcomb Riley


Don’t Cry For the Horses

by Brenda Riley-Seymore
That life has set free
A million white horses
Forever to be
Don’t cry for the horses
Now in God's hands
As they dance and they prance
To 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 will be back someday
When our time has come
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  

I AM FAMOUS NOW

I was born today.
My Daddy is very FAMOUS. I have lots of half brothers and sisters.
My Mother is very FAMOUS. Since she got FAMOUS, she has only had foals.
No more loving hands, no more daily grooming....just foals.
She is always sad when they leave her.
I left home today.
I didn't want to go so I hid behind my mama.
I didn't like you.
But, one day, they said, I would be FAMOUS.
I wonder, is famous the same as fun and good times?
So, you picked me up and hauled me away,
even though you were concerned that it took an hour to catch me.
I don't think you like me.
My new home is far away.
I am scared and afraid.
My heart says BE BRAVE.
My ancestors were.
Did they go to good homes like mine?
I'm hungry because I can't eat too much, it will be bad for my bones.
I can't play with the other horses because I might get hurt.
I just wander around my small dirt paddock, and pretend
I'm in a big green field with butterflies and robins and frogs.
I can't understand why they hate me!
I am quiet but the man hits and says loud things.
The lady doesn't feed me good things like I had with my mother.
She just throws dry, dusty hay on the ground, then goes away,
before I can get too close for touching and petting.
Sometimes my food smells bad but I eat it anyway.
Today I had a baby.
He is so wonderful and warm.
Am I FAMOUS now??
I wish I could play with him but I am so tired.
I am so young that it is hard to be a good mother.
I am so hungry!
I wish someone would throw me some food.
I am also very thirsty.
He got cold during the night and we have no shelter
I couldn't make him warm again.
We are very weak.
Maybe if I whinny someone will notice us and give us food and water.
Today they took us away.
to a place with many other horses.
There were lots of people and loud noise.
Someone grabbed my foal. He was so scared.
That was the last time I saw him.
Is my baby FAMOUS now?
I hope so because I miss him.
He is gone.
I was put in a trailer with many others in it.
It is crowded and smells of urine, fear and sickness.
Why am I here?!?
I was beautiful like my ancestors.
Now I am hungry, dirty, in pain and unwanted.
Maybe the worst is unwanted.
No one came, though I tried to be good.
No one spoke to me in gentle tones or stroked my soft neck.
I am in a small pen with many horses.
I am SCARED and ALONE.
Today someone came.
They chased us from our pen and into a room.
One by one we were herded into a chute.
I hear screams of agony, sounds of thrashing, and then silence.
Someone came and put me in the chute.
Someone reached in and patted my nose.
I felt tired and laid my head over the last one who cared.
I am ready for what will come next.
Today someone cared.
I AM FAMOUS NOW.
~ Author Unknown ~


MY GRANDEST FOAL

-author unknown

I'll lend you for a little while
My grandest foal, He said.
For you to love while she's alive
And morn for when she's dead.
It may be one or twenty years,
Or days or months, you see.
But, will you, till I take her back
Take care of her for me?
She'll bring her charms to gladden you,
And should her stay be brief
You'll have treasured memories
As solace for your grief.
I cannot promise she 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 her your total love?
Nor think the labor vain,
Nor hate Me when I come
To take her back again?
I know you'll give her tenderness
And love will bloom each day.
And for the happiness you've known
Forever grateful stay.
But should I come and call for her
Much sooner than you'd planned
You'll brave the bitter grief that comes
And someday you'll understand.
For though I'll call her home to Me
This promise to you I do make
For all the love and care you gave
She'll wait for you, inside Heaven's Gate.


All the Pretty Horses

Traditional, circa 1860s

Hush-a-bye don't you cry,
Go to sleep-y, little baby.
When you wake you shall have
All the pretty little horses.
Blacks and bays, dapple grays,
Coach and six white horses.
Hush-a-bye don't you cry,
Go to sleep-y, little baby.


THE OLD GRAY MARE

"What do you see owner, what do you see?

What are you thinking when you look at me?

An old Grey mare not very wise,

uncertain of habit with far away eyes.

Who drags her hooves and makes no reply

when you say in a loud voice, "I do wish you'd try!"

Who seems not to notice the things that you do,

and forever is lame in a leg or two.

Who, resisting or not, let's you do as you will,

with grooming and feeding, the long day to fill.

Is that what you're thinking, is that what you see?

Then open your eyes owner, you're not looking at me.

I'll tell you who I am as I stand here so still,

as I move at your bidding, as I work at your will.

I am a month old foal with my mother,

she cares for and nurtures me, we love each other.

A playful two-year old with wings at her feet,

hoping there's patience in the trainer she's to meet.

A trusting mount at the age of four,

carries her riders ten miles and more.

At six now I have a foal of my own

who I nurture then teach to live on his own.

As the years go by I raise more foals,

carry more riders on the trails and in shows.

At twenty, only the smallest ride upon by back,

for power and strength is what I lack.

At twenty-five, once more foals play at my knee,

for someplace to put me, a babysitter I'll be.

Now at thirty, dark days lay ahead,

I look at the future, I shudder with dread.

I may be an old mare, and nature is cruel,

it's her jest to make old age look like a fool.

The body it crumbles, grace and beauty depart,

now there's a stone where I once had a heart.

But inside this old carcass a young foal still dwells

and now and again my battered heart swells.

I remember the joys, I remember the pain,

I am loving and living life over again.

I think the years of life are too few, gone too fast,

and I accept the fact that nothing can last.

So, open your eyes owner, open and see,

not just an old Grey mare, look closer...it's me."

 


 

Inheritance Ignored

By Robert M. Miller, D.V.M.

 "It's a shame," I said to Walt.
 "Her conformation's filled with fault.
 Her head is plain. Her neck is ewe.
 Her back is long. Her tail askew.
 Her shoulder straight, back at the knees;
 She toes out in front, you'll notice please.
 Offset cannons and splints you see.
 This mare, I fear, will never be
 A racing prospect, or good for show;
 Brittle feet with seedy toe.

 Four years old, already lame
 In both forelegs; in back the same.
 Problems to worsen eventually
 Because she's built inadequately.
 Her hip is short. Her croup is low.
 The right fore tendon's begun to bow.
 She cribs, you know, and lolls her tongue -
 Too many vices in a mare so young.
 And when she's worked to desperation,
 She wheezes with each respiration.

 Her teeth are bad. She overbites.
 With other mares she always fights.
 When she trots she'll weave and bobble.
 Her hind end has a definite wobble.
 Now melanoma in horses gray
 Is very commonplace I'd say.
 But these masses `neath her tail are bad.
 In a mare so young it makes me sad.
 I hate to bear such tragic news:
 You might as well just pull her shoes.
 And stop her training as of now.
 You cannot ride her anyhow."

 Walt looked at me and then replied,
 "The guy who sold her surely lied.
 He told me that she was so great,
 And I so eager, could hardly wait,
 To load her up and take her home,
 To pay for her, make her my own.
 Well, no matter," said Walt aloud,
 "She'll make a broodmare fine and proud.

 We'll breed her soon and get repaid
 For the investment that I made.
 I know a stallion with a fee so low
 He's laid up for a year or so.
 He's got navicular disease they say.
 But his stud fee I guess I'll pay;
 And raise a foal so this young mare
 Will pay her way and earn her fare.
 Don't you agree, Doc, with my plan?"
 I answered him ... I told the man:

 "Like begets like. You've heard that said?
 This foal you're planning, in your head,
 Is good for business-mine, I mean.
 Foals like this, I have seen,
 Are useful to support a vet.
 Because of many defects, yet
 Our voice is often heard alone
 Warning breeders, `Do not condone
 The breeding of inferior sire
 To inferior mare if you desire
 To produce foals to improve the breed.
 Breed best to best, that's all you need.

 Now listen you breeders of puppy dogs
 And cats and sheep and cows and hogs,
 For your own species just change the name.
 The principles are still the same.
 Like begets like. It's in the genes,
 Controlled by DNA it seems.
 Breed best to best, it's your only chance
 For offspring that will the breed enhance.


Somewhere

Stanley Harrison

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.

 


Peter McCue

unknown

Ain't you never heard what Peter done?

Run the quarter mile in :21

And he run it backwards in "20 flat;

Why, stranger, where have you been at?

What else could he do, this Peter McCue?

He could gallop the range with tireless legs,

He could build a fire and scramble the eggs;

Though he never learned to subtract or divide,

He was mighty good when he multiplied! 

 


When Your Day Seems Out of Balance

by MaryAnn Miller

When your day seems out of balance-
And so many things go wrong.
When people fight around you,
And the day drags on so long....

When parents act like children
In-laws make you think "Divorce,"
Go out into your pasture...
Wrap your arms around your horse.

His gentle breath enfolds you,
As he watches with those eyes...
He may not have a PhD,
But he is Oh so wise!

His head rests on your shoulder
You embrace him good and tight;
He puts your world in balance.
And makes it seem all right.

Your tears will soon stop flowing,
The tension is now eased.
The garbage has been lifted
You'll be quiet and at peace.

So when you need the balance
From circumstances in your day
The best therapy you can seek-
Is out there chomping hay!


Christmas in the Barn

It's the night before Christmas, we're out in the barn, Blanketing horses to keep them all warm, They're eating their dinners, tucked in cozy stalls, Not aware that it's Christmas, or any special day at all.

They can dream of spring pastures from their pine-scented beds, No visions of sugarplums dance in their heads, But we people are thinking of merry parties and such, Maybe feeling a little sad at missing so much.

This season is special but the horses don't know, We've got work to do before we can go, We finish the chores and head on inside, To get ready for dinner and our own yuletide.

It's nearly midnight, the carols are sung, I remember a story I was told when I was young, How at midnight on Christmas Eve, The creatures of the barnyard can speak to us with ease.

I am called to the barn, I wade through the rain, I know I must go, I can't really explain, I slide open the door, pause for a while, Then slowly walk down the dimly lit aisle.

A nicker from Casey, a wink from JD, Sleepy old Alibi waking to see, Tucker rustling his bedding, a snort soft and light, Each horse gave a greeting as I walked through the night.

I thought about parties bright lit and warm, The ones we don't go to 'cause we have the barn, And vacations and holidays that we don't get, When we're working long hours for bills to be met.

Walking all the way to the end of the aisle, I stop to stroke Bonnie, it brings me a smile, She snuffles my face, hot breath on my skin, It starts me to thinking about my horses, my kin.

I could be at parties with laughter and mirth, But where I am right now is the best place on Earth.



 

 

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