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Poems

The poems on this site have been written by Jackie Richards and are copyright.
If you wish to use one of her poems please contact her for permission.

The Horseman
Tom Seniors Warning
Bush Riders
Old Horse
Carmen

 
 
We breed them, we raise them, we teach them to lead'
We feed them, we groom them,  present a fine steed;
We train them for saddle, then say they're for sale,
We pray  for a future of heartwarming tale;
 
 
The newbee sees colour,
The judges, 'top line'
The eventer sees spirit,
The showies see shine;
 
 
The would-be sees 'pretty' ask's, 'who is it by?
The snob values 'prefix' and price must be high;
The know-all's just see faults, dismissive of soul,
They like a horse passive, 'supreme ME' their goal;
 
 
But the Horseman, is different from all those above, 
can see past the wrapper and knows it's a glove;
The Horseman can pick it, with just a quick glance'
That substance, depth, courage, dismissive of prance;
 
My hopes for all horses whether show or endurance,
Is for Horsemen to care for them, nurture performance;
They're a rarity sent here from heaven above,
To show us, to guide us, with kindness and love; 
 
 
 
Jackie Richards
 
13/8/2006
 

 

As Endurance riding is pushed and pulled as a sport/profession, so the dramas within the society eb and flo.  There are people who ride for the sheer pleasure of the sport and just being with their horse and there are the professional riders who do it for a living.  A drama came and passed and this poem is a reflection of that spot in time. 
 
 
Tom Perkins wrote it late one night
an unveiled warning to our site;
He warned us that it's gone the day
when people rode for love, not pay:
 
I argued the next Sunday morn
said, What's this message full of scorn!
Said Tom you've got it figured wrong
this sport is fine, and moving on:
 
Then came me crashing back to Earth
as Anne's post hit and quelled my mirth;
My God he's right, our futures grim
divide and  conquer, hopes now slim:
 
With petro-dollars shining bright
the armatures challenged, will they fight?
But deep inside us we all know
that nothing mortal dims the glow;
 
And from the ashes, something stirs
the phoenix reappears with spurs;
As riders from all walks of life
support our sport, forget the strife: 
 
We codgers sit and waffle on
about a brighter era gone;
But is it time or 'us' who change
then mould our sport to something strange:
 
A tiny girl-child, pony small
a bootie stirrup, now she's tall;
A smile from parents, reassurance
a future rider, That's endurance!
  
  
Jackie Richards
 
02/8/2006
 

 

This poem was written as a form of protest at the Beattie governments intention to bar horse riding in the state forests.
 
 
It was taken then for granted, by riders of the bush;
that the tracks and trails would be there till the end;
Back then horsemen were accepted by both town and country folk;
to be  carers of this land we all defend.
 
To hear children laughing loudly on their ponies, jumping logs,
riding home from musters through a forest track;
Was a normal part of country life; like a drover and his dogs;
And the loss of such would burr the bushmans back;
 
And the townies too would dream of one day riding through the bush;
sweet escape from fluro lights and smog and time.
Dreamt of riding bright and early,  free from hassle, pull and push;
Dreamt of peaceful, tranquil rides through natures shrine.
 
In those days of carefree riding was a sport they called Endurance;
where the riders took their mounts through forest trails:
They would marvel at the magic, of the spell within the bush;
while they rode to keep their horses stress curtailed.
 
 On they rode, the silence broken, only by the bellbirds token;
which was also well contended by the whipbirds haunting call;
But explain this to a polly, tried they did but it was folly;
Now those forest trails are history for bush riders one and all.
 
Yes those pollies they lamented, patting paunches, quite contented;
said they offered an alternate way of riding, as they should;
You can ride in pine plantation, nice straight lines, no undulation;
we bureaucrats, wev'e answered all  your needs, for your own good.
 
So Bob called them to a rally, folk from every town and ally;
We must stop them passing motions, to exclude us from our trails;
But they thought he had it covered, and in short-time, they discovered;
that their world was now quite different from the one they'd come to know.
 
Now they ride in fine formation on straight tracks, no undulation;
and the water comes in buckets, no sweet streams to eb and flow;
And our pollies fear they'll blunder up a forest track, small wonder!;
as the ghosts of Bob and others, keep the tracks and trails aglow.
 
Yes, it was taken then for granted by the riders of the bush;
that the tracks and trails would be there to the end.....................
 
 
Jackie Richards
 
November, 2004
 

 

 
 
  How much d'you want for that old horse?
how often is it said;
We got him as a youngster
full of nonsense, but well bred;
 
He took the kids through pony club,
could hack, or jump, had fun;
He minds the foals at weaning time
can cope with anyone;
 
His wizened eyes reveal to you 
nobility profound;
He'll take you proudly for a ride 
then vet through safe and sound;
 
Although the years suggest he's old
and long since past him prime;
His boundless love of life and folk
surpasses given time;
 
So, what d'you want for that old horse
still often they declare;
No riches in this universe
Could buy a single hair!
 
 
 
by Jackie  Richards  March 2004
In loving memory of Chaswyck Kaleidoscope (Chaz)
  Foaled 7-11-82
  Died 9th October, 2004
 

 

This poem is dedicated to three ladies who turned up quite unexpectedly and separately, one October afternoon when Ninderry Park Callista was in labour and, as it turned out, needed some assistance with the delivery of her foal.  The vet was called but turned up too late to help so these ladies each played a part and delivered a perfect little filly, Cooroora Carmen.
 
 
She's laying down mid afternoon,
a sign she'll be presenting soon.
 
But hours they pass, though squeezing tight,
her abdomen conceals the sight;
The priceless sculpture unrevealed,
from all the peering eyes concealed.
 
Sweet angels hover, 'heavens arm',
They channel peace and soothing calm.
 
When finally, what's this we see?
a tiny hoof upturned, not free!
But angels, faithful, cool and calm
rotate and free the twisted arm.
 
The painful screams from mare recede,
and there before us to concede..........
a perfect foal before us spread,
with shining star upon her head.
 
A twitch, a kick as wet ears flicker,
responding true to mothers nicker;
While silent spirits in her head,
say,  'time to rise from natures bed.'
 
Through early stumbles, lessons taught,
with wise mares guidance, mishaps - naught!
The uncut diamond starts to glow,
as preps begin for her first show.
 
The stable then becomes her home,
she's often swathed in fragrant foam;
The round-yards now a place to run,
with leaps and kicks and joyful fun.
 
The classes chosen and declared,
her glowing coat, so well prepared;
so on the mobile home we go,
en route to Queensland's, 'Summer Show'.
 
Though sounds and sights she's never seen,
excite this dainty beauty queen;
She floats, then strikes a perfect pose,
A sight once seen, from seats they rose.
 
It's sixteen months by now she's seen,
with many lessons in between;
My mind recoils as memories tune,
to one October afternoon......

 

 Jackie Richards  2004