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Poems About Horses



This page is simply a celebration of horses through poetry and art. Horses have such marvelous presence and sometimes a poem, or piece of art, is able to capture some essence of that presence. All of the paintings below are by a German artist I like, FRANZ MARC. I hope you enjoy the poems, pics and art as much as I do.

There is something about the outside of a horse that is good for the inside of a man.

~ Winston Churchill ~

The wind of heaven is that which blows between a horse's ears.

~ Arabian Proverb ~


Franz Marc


The White Horse

by David Herbert Lawrence

The youth walks up to the white horse, to put its halter on

and the horse looks at him in silence.

They are so silent, they are in another world.


Four Horses

by David Whyte


On Thursday the farmer

put four horses

into the cut hay-field

next to the house . . .

Since then I see

their curved necks

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through the kitchen window,

sailing like swans

past the pale field.

Each morning

their hooves fill my

open door

with an urgency

for something

just beyond my grasp

and I spend my whole

day in an idiot joy,

writing, gardening,

and looking

for it

under every stone.

I find myself

wanting to do


stupid and lovely . . .

I hear the whinny of

their fenced and abandoned


and feel happy


in the field

of my own making,

writing non-stop,

my head held high,

ranging the boundaries

of a birthright



Franz Marc


The Love-Chase

by James Sheridan Knowles

What delight To back the flying steed,

that challenges The wind for speed!

seems native more of air Than earth!

whose burden only lends him fire!

Whose soul, in his task, turns labour into sport;

Who makes your pastime his! I sit him now!

He takes away my breath! He makes me reel!

I touch not earth - I see not - hear not.

All Is ecstasy of motion!

Horses and Men in Rain

by Carl Sandburg

LET us sit by a hissing steam radiator a winter's day, gray wind pattering frozen raindrops on the window,

And let us talk about milk wagon drivers and grocery delivery boys.

Let us keep our feet in wool slippers and mix hot punches-and talk about mail carriers and messenger boys slipping along the icy sidewalks.

Let us write of olden, golden days and hunters of the Holy Grail and men called "knights" riding horses in the rain, in the cold frozen rain for ladies they loved.

A roustabout hunched on a coal wagon goes by, icicles drip on his hat rim, sheets of ice wrapping the hunks of coal, the caravanserai a gray blur in slant of rain.

Let us nudge the steam radiator with our wool slippers and write poems of Launcelot, the hero, and Roland, the hero, and all the olden golden men who rode horses in the rain.


Franz Marc


A Blessing

by James Wright

Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota,

Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass.

And the eyes of those two Indian ponies

Darken with kindness.

They have come gladly out of the willows

To welcome my friend and me.

We step over the barbed wire into the pasture

Where they have been grazing all day, alone.

They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness

That we have come.

They bow shyly as wet swans. They love each other.

There is no loneliness like theirs.

At home once more,

They begin munching the young tufts of spring in the darkness.

I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms,

For she has walked over to me

And nuzzled my left hand.

She is black and white,

Her mane falls wild on her forehead,

And the light breeze moves me to caress her long ear

That is delicate as the skin over a girl's wrist.

Suddenly I realize

That if I stepped out of my body I would break

Into blossom.