At the turn to the straight
where the favourites fail
the steeds, brave and strong,
run at a length and a tail.
The competition drives them,
roan and pitch hued behemoths alike
stretching and straining,
at the far turn as dust is strewn,
none the worse for their training.
Eyes wide and full in stride,
the gallop sounds of tympani,
and jockeys slight and wiry,
abreast the beast in harmony;
a oneness in their trek.
Crowded grandstands cheer,
while the purists fear their wagers
will offer no return but despair.
And in the paddock, comrades
stir them onward, whinny and neigh,
well on the way to a victory for one.
Off and running at the sound of a gun,
only to cross the line; photo finish.
A nose gets the win, and an equine grin.
**Inspired by “Do They Know?” by Australian poet, Banjo Paterson
love that this ends with a grin. :)
ReplyDeleteso glad you're writing with us.
i found your link in the gong's intro post: will you repost your link under the post labeled "day one"? then you can link your day 2 poem under our day 2 post and day 3 ... etc.
want to make sure people find you! :)
And I too am glad I found you! The pictures in my head from this poem are wonderful - and your line "the gallop sounds of tympani" took me back to 1944, living in Newmarket with an aunt, to escape the buzz bombs. We would wake each morning to that tympani, passing the window and receding up the Heath.
ReplyDeleteThis is a ripper poem mate!
ReplyDeleteSheila Rose