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Poems About Horses

Updated on September 17, 2014


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

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

Blue is the male principle, astringent and spiritual. Yellow is the female principle, gentle, gay and spiritual. Red is matter, brutal and heavy and always the colour to be opposed and overcome by the other two.

~ 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.


by Sarah Katy Williams

He stands proud, head held high majestically

Viewing me with reasonable suspicion

My scent fills his nostrils as he breathes in deep

He bows in acceptance and his trust is won

I reach out to touch his shimmering mane

As his soft muzzle brushes my cheek with hot air

I mount him, marvelling at the strength,

The intimacy of a closeness so rare.

As we take to flight the wind borders our path

Exhilaration and adrenalin floods me

His firm muscles beneath me pulsate

And his wild instincts tell him he must flee

I am comforted by the rocking rhythm

His pounding hooves hypnotise me

I am possessed by awe and childlike wonder

This mystical beast and I unite in harmony

We are one, he is me and I am the horse.

Franz Marc

Horse Poem

by 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.

Horses Moving On the Snow

by David Whyte

In winter

through the damp grass

around the house

there are horses moving

on the snow

in the half-light

they move quickly

following the fence

until the mist takes them


and evening

is the hollow sound of hooves

in the south field.

Franz Marc

Horse and Rider

by Kim Schilling

Galloping towards the base of the steep hill,

watching the breeze bluster through her mane,

with a mild touch I veered her with reign;

For a serene moment all time stood still.

Horse and mount journeying with great skill,

but collectively as one we must attain;

Galloping towards the base of the steep hill,

watching the breeze bluster through her mane.

Feeling the power beneath me is a thrill,

and racing across the meadowy plane,

a feeling rushes over I can't explain,

perhaps the reality of taking a spill;

Galloping towards the base of the steep hill.

Name of Horses

by Donald Hall

All winter your brute shoulders strained against collars, padding

and steerhide over the ash hames,

to haul sledges of cordwood for drying through spring and summer,

for the Glenwood stove next winter, and for the simmering range.

In April you pulled cartloads of manure to spread on the fields,

dark manure of Holsteins, and knobs of your own clustered with oats.

All summer you mowed the grass in meadow and hayfield, the mowing machine

clacketing beside you, while the sun walked high in the morning;

and after noon's heat, you pulled a clawed rake through the same acres,

gathering stacks, and dragged the wagon from stack to stack,

and the built hayrack back, uphill to the chaffy barn,

three loads of hay a day from standing grass in the morning.

Sundays you trotted the two miles to church with the light load

a leather quartertop buggy, and grazed in the sound of hymns.

Generation on generation, your neck rubbed the windowsill

of the stall, smoothing the wood as the sea smooths glass.

When you were old and lame, when your shoulders hurt bending to graze,

one October the man, who fed you and kept you, and harnessed you every morning,

led you through corn stubble to sandy ground above Eagle Pond,

and dug a hole beside you where you stood shuddering in your skin,

and lay the shotgun's muzzle in the boneless hollow behind your ear,

and fired the slug into your brain, and felled you into your grave,

shoveling sand to cover you, setting goldenrod upright above you,

where by next summer a dent in the ground made your monument.

For a hundred and fifty years, in the Pasture of dead horses,

roots of pine trees pushed through the pale curves of your ribs,

yellow blossoms flourished above you in autumn, and in winter

frost heaved your bones in the ground - old toilers, soil makers:

O Roger, Mackerel, Riley, Ned, Nellie, Chester, Lady Ghost.

Franz Marc

Horses Running Free

Horses (haiku)

by Ros Shrapnel

Seventeen hands tall,

Girl's best friend during childhood,

Gallops to her heart.

Horse in Landscape: Franz Marc

by David Whyte

We know the fiery animality

of the purebred horse,

its ghostly hide moving like smoke

over the green landscape.

But must remember

in that wild vulnerability

a natural power of rest.

Marc did it with a bold gesture.

Painted the neck

rising to the curved horizon

and its blue mane swelling in waves.

Primary colors and prime emotion

swirl in the coiled flank.

Head rearing to the pasture's expanse.

The landscape living in its body

as the sinewy horse lives in the world.

Now, as it turns toward you,

head curved to one side

and the wild mane flying

above the distant hoof beats'

incantatory silence,

you are asked again --

What will you do

and what will you say

in the times

when you are left alone

to meet, like this,

the quiet fury of the world?

I am trying to intensify my feeling

for the organic rhythm of all things,

to achieve pantheistic empathy with the throbbing and flowing of nature's bloodstream in trees, in animals,

in the air.

~ Franz Marc ~

Franz Marc

The Horse

by Ronald Duncan

Where in this wide world can man find

nobility without pride,

Friendship without envy,

Or beauty without vanity?

Here, where grace is served 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 more patient.

When God created the horse . . .

from The Koran

When God created the horse, he said to the magnificent creature:

I have made thee as no other.

All the treasures of the earth shall lie between thy eyes.

Thou shalt cast thy enemies between thy hooves,

but thou shalt carry my friends upon they back.

Thy saddle shall be the seat of prayers to me.

And thou fly without any wings, and conquer without any sword.

Franz Marc

The Horse Ride

by Annabel Sheila

Taking a romantic ride today,

We sat upon the wagon.

Suddenly the horse lifted his tail

And we heard a roaring dragon!

The deafening sound hurt my ears

And the smell burned the hairs in my nose.

My girlfriend sat and glared at me.

Somehow my fault I suppose.

It was my idea to take the ride,

But how was I to know?

It really wasn't in my plans;

Didn't know the horse would blow.

The noise and the smell were bad enough,

As the wind blew quickly by.

But I think the very worst of it,

Was the brown stuff in my eye.

My girlfriend's face turned angry red.

So I figured I wouldn't dare,

Advise her of the smelly pieces

Of horse stuff in her hair.

The horse finally stopped; my girl ran away,

Stubbornly lifting her chin.

I think that horse was enjoying himself,

Cause I'm sure I saw him grin.

A lesson learned for me today.

Although I must confess,

I laughed so hard I nearly cried

As I wiped away the mess.

Wild Brumbies Run

by Lee Emmett

wild brumbies run

rumbling hooves rush

through trees and brush

manes glow in sun

galloping, racing

majestic horses

on high-country courses

leaders out-pacing

nostrils are flaring

steaming out-breath

defying death

heart-spirit baring

sweat pours off flanks

taut muscles ripple

leaf-shadows' stipple

plunge river-banks

exhaustion depletes

graze, mild and content

all passion spent

placid day greets

Franz Marc

The Man And His Horse

by Anne Kingsmill Finch

Within a Meadow, on the way,

A sordid Churl resolv'd to stay,

And give his Horse a Bite;

Purloining so his Neighbours Hay,

That at the Inn he might not pay

For Forage all the Night.

With Heart's content th' unloaded Steed

Began to neigh, and frisk, and feed;

For nothing more he car'd,

Since none of all his Master's breed

E'er found such Pasture, at their need,

Or half so well had far'd.

When, in the turning of a Hand,

Out comes the Owner of the Land,

And do's the Trespass eye;

Which puts poor Bayard to a Stand,

For now his Master do's command

Him to return and fly.

But Hunger quick'ning up his Wit,

And Grass being sweeter than the Bit,

He to the Clown reply'd;

Shall I for you this Dinner quit,

Who to my Back hard Burdens fit,

And to the Death wou'd ride?

No; shou'd I as a Stray be found,

And seiz'd upon forbidden Ground,

I'll on this Spot stand still;

For tho' new Riders shou'd abound,

(Or did Mankind this Field surround)

They cou'd but use me ill.

Urge no Man to despair; lest in the Fit

He with some Counterblow thy Head may hit.

Portrait: Franz Marc

Portrait: Franz Marc
Portrait: Franz Marc

Comments Welcome!

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    • Leptirela profile image


      5 years ago from I don't know half the time

      Noble creatures are Horses.

      Still think a horse takes the place of a best friend for a man. Although a lot say it's a dog , who is man's best friend.

      A very thorough hub. Just beautiful

    • profile image

      joyfuldesigns lm 

      7 years ago

      Wonderful lens I really enjoyed! Awesome poetry, photos and art, makes me want to go riding soon. Great job!

    • profile image


      7 years ago

      Never realized how much people love horses. Very nice lens, great pictures and painting of course great poems too. Thanks for that soft breeze after after work hours. Again, nice reading

    • profile image


      7 years ago

      What a wonderful page about horses! I love the artwork that accompanies. LOVE IT.

    • profile image

      imagelist lm 

      7 years ago

      Cool...interesting content...

    • profile image


      7 years ago

      I really love house there are so cute

    • michalk lm profile image

      michalk lm 

      7 years ago

      Horses are great

    • profile image


      7 years ago

      Very nice lens for the horse lovers among us.

    • jean valdor profile image

      jean valdor 

      7 years ago

      Some great poems!

    • profile image


      7 years ago

      some where good

    • giovi64 lm profile image

      giovi64 lm 

      7 years ago

      I love horses, you've created a nice lens, very original.

    • Tom Maybrier profile image

      Tom Maybrier 

      7 years ago

      Love Franz Marc!

    • profile image


      8 years ago

      very interesting and beautiful lens, thank you

    • profile image


      8 years ago


    • TheresaMarkham profile image


      8 years ago

      beautiful poems & paintings!

    • MarcoG profile image


      8 years ago from Edinburgh

      I'm a massive Franz Marc fan, and I'm delighted to see his work here :)

    • profile image


      8 years ago

      Beautiful lens! Thank you for making it - I loved the pictures, art work, and the poems (not necessarily in that order :)

    • profile image


      8 years ago

      I love the poems about the horses and the horses are my biggest passion.

    • profile image


      8 years ago

      I love the poems about the horses and the horses are my biggest passion.

    • profile image


      8 years ago

      I had a good time reading the peoms. Thank you.

    • profile image


      8 years ago

      These truly are beautiful Thank you for making them

    • profile image

      mary lighthouse15 

      8 years ago

      Paintings are so beautiful, and so are the poems!

    • profile image


      8 years ago

      Love these poems! Thank you so very much for the beautiful paintings to view as well! Lovely.

    • profile image


      8 years ago

      these are beautiful indeed, I'm grateful I read these today.

    • profile image


      8 years ago

      We love the horse poems and artwork. Great lens!

    • Diana Wenzel profile image

      Renaissance Woman 

      9 years ago from Colorado

      This is my kind of lens. Love everything about it. Wonderful celebration of horses. Thanks!

    • squidoopets profile image

      Darcie French 

      9 years ago from Abbotsford, BC

      Lovely horse poems, rolled to my horse fun pages. You might wish to look into allposters affiliates to sell the art you've posted on this lens, it's very beautiful. Many thanks -:)

    • JakTraks profile imageAUTHOR

      Jacqueline Marshall 

      9 years ago from Chicago area

      @ZenandChic: Awesome! Thank you.

    • patriciapeppy profile image


      9 years ago

      Love the art work. Love horses too.

    • ZenandChic profile image


      9 years ago

      I love this lens! The art and poems are both good! Blessing this lens and putting it on my poetry review lens!

    • Titia profile image

      Titia Geertman 

      9 years ago from Waterlandkerkje - The Netherlands

      Rated, favorited and lensrolled into my Belgian Draft Horse lens. As you know I love poetry and I love horses too. Great lens.

    • profile image


      9 years ago

      The poems name my admiration and awe of The Horse and the horse's patience with us mere humans who impose ourselves upon his back.

    • delia-delia profile image


      10 years ago

      Hello from a Squidoo Greeter! great lens on the poetry and using Franz Marc paintings, he one of my favorite equine artists, I love the colors and naiveté of his paintings

    • sheriangell profile image


      10 years ago

      Very nicely done. I enjoyed both the poetry as well as Franz Marc's work.

    • Amy Fricano profile image

      Amy Fricano 

      10 years ago from WNY


    • WildFacesGallery profile image


      10 years ago from Iowa

      Oh now you've done it. My all time favorite subject horses. Plus I'm a huge fan of Franz Marc though I swear that one image under Horses and Men In Rain is of a horse peeing. Just saying . . . :) Another great lens combining art and poetry,


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