Commissioned Poetry

2011-03-19T12:26:00.000-07:00

Special Friends by Marnie Jones

When you met Luke you made a friend to keep through thick and thin—

Devoted, yes, and pretty too, but prettiest within.

You made a friend who loves the world (but loves you most, you know),

A friend aburst with joy and care, with love that overflows.

When you gave Cole a warm, safe home for which he needn’t run,

You shared with him a newfound joy—the joy of being loved.

You taught him that his inner worth is greater than his speed,

That friendship, warmth, and company are all one really needs.

What stroke of luck, that Cole should find himself in such a place?

With such a dog as Luke around, to help unlearn the race!

To teach him, as such hounds must learn, that homes can be enjoyed.

To show him play, and confidence, and how to go outside.

What blessing you bestowed upon these cherished, gentle souls!

The both of them so full of heart, sweet Luke and quiet Cole.

Dear Cole, aloof and elegant, a prince among mere hounds—

And Luke, adoring playmate! Luke, whose goodness knows no bounds.

You thought perhaps to get a dog (and then to get another)

To make your lives the richer, then to get dear Luke a brother.

Just as they’ve enriched your lives and blessed you with their caring,

So you’ve blessed them with rich, full lives—made better by the sharing.

2011-03-19T12:17:00.000-07:00

Bringing Bailey Home

Some horses run to save their lives—

unlucky, they that fail.

Some horses run for glory, full of heart,

with streaming tails.

Some horses win, some horses lose,

some horses miss the mark—

Some run until they find their place—

the track is just a start.

Some horses are not born to race,

not born to fight and win.

Some horses run to better lives—

to other jobs, new friends.

How dear you were to Nana, once,

and dear to all you knew,

But they new not how you would run—

or rather, how you'd lose.

A lucky thing, those races lost—

a lucky thing indeed,

For you weren't destined for the track.

A new life called, dear steed . . .

A life of lessons, friends and blessings,

jumping, and dressage,

A life from A to C and K to F

in rising trot.

New friends—you'd meet them, and

they'd love your courage and your soul,

You'd be adored, you'd be enjoyed,

you'd play and work and show.

We love you, Bailey, this you know,

but life is full of turns.

You wound up down in Florida,

and only just returned.

Eventing, running, playing

in the warm sunbeaten south—

You won more hearts each place you went,

but Ali’s most of all.

Tammy, Bucky, pretty Sass,

and Ali, always yours . . .

We honor you, and cherish you,

and welcome you back home.

You're here with us, dear Bailey,

and your life's been long and great—

It's but half done, and here with us

your next chapter awaits.

2010-08-05T15:11:00.000-07:00

Charlie Parker

Take the smoothest, cutest body

That the world has ever seen,

Dress it in a silken coat

Of many-colored luxury.

Give it legs to quickly scurry,

Legs so short and yet so fleet,

Give it tender little toenails

On its dainty, precious feet.

Give it curiosity,

And give it sparkling onyx eyes,

Give it darling, sniffling whiskers,

Wavy ears upon each side.

That’s how you make a Guinea Pig,

Now give it character—

Make it have a noble heart

beneath it’s plush and shining fur.

Give it spirit for the romping,

Give it taste for fresh, crisp treats,

Give it’s eyes a dashing sparkle,

Give it the world’s cutest squeak.

Give it trills and chirps and rumbles,

Give it shrieks and purrs and peeps,

Give it every sound that’s darling,

Give it every sound that’s sweet.

Charlie Parker has these features,

Like all cavies everywhere,

But Charlie also has some magic

Underneath his coat of hair.

Watch him snacking, watch him sprawl,

Watch the way he rests—

Watch him play, explore and learn,

And watch him in his little nest.

You’ll soon see it—there’s that twinkle,

There’s that magic in his eye!

Charlie Parker’s just a piggy?

Sure, like Einstein’s just a guy.

2010-08-02T17:41:00.000-07:00

Honey

A Tribute to Double Dip Supreme

Little Honey went with Avie

Out into the field,

And when poor Avie passed away,

Dear Honey helped hearts heal.

Wee Honey waded through the grass with nary e’en a taste,

And yet she moved with gladness

And with lightness and with grace.

Never spiteful, never irksome,

Always a delight,

Sweet Honey was a playful friend,

Her pretty eyes alight.

Patient teacher, driving master,

Wise and clever one,

Good Honey did a fine day’s work

And filled the farm with fun.

A friend to Breeze, she moved with ease,

She played and danced and squealed,

And in her muzzle Little Honey

Romped about the field.

A pretty little pinto mare,

So beautiful, so kind,

Sweet Honey is remembered—

She’ll be cherished for all time.

Her friends remember Honey

As an angel, as a gem,

And they speak of her good nature

And the things she gave to them.

She was a friend a friend should have—

So full of love and light—

Thanks, Honey, for the magic

That you brought into these lives.

2010-07-29T13:26:00.000-07:00

From Ancient Tribes of Kara Kum

for Sweet Water Farm

The ancient tribes of Kara Kum held dear to them these gems—

The noble mares and stallions of old Turkmenistan.

With gilded coats and fiery eyes they strode with chiseled grace—

Perfection sprung from desert sand, a pure and noble race.

The ahkal-teke sparkles with a shining, gold-dipped glow—

His coat is matched by inner fire, as his spirit shows.

He burns to run, to move, to go to lengths untold by man—

This noble steed now cherished far from old Turkmenistan.

His grandfather, and his before, and on through all of time—

Each one was cherished in his way and by his own proud tribe.

Today they live in lustrous strength, they flourish in new lands,

The noble akhal-teke from the blowing desert sands.

His proud ancestral memory speaks loudly in his heart—

Enduring, fleet and graceful, he remains a horse apart.

His sinewy and silken hide, his hooded eagle gaze—

The akhal-teke, cherished once, is still cherished today.

2010-07-27T15:27:00.000-07:00

For Oliver Twist, Who Could Not Stay

We make some friends in these short lives

Who touch us to the core—

Who feel to us like soulmates,

Make us cherish each day more.

We make some friends who are so kind—

So full of love to give—

That they make every day seem full

and teach us as they live.

We lucky ones who’ve had this love,

Who’ve known this kind of soul,

We can remember happy times

When our dear friends must go.

You ran with fleetness, Oliver—

You jumped to catch the moon.

You touched the hearts around you,

and you left this world too soon.

You’re remembered fondly, friend,

Dear Oliver Twist,

And your friends, they are grateful

That the memories exist.

You were cherished, loved, adored,

Respected and well missed—

Regal gelding, handsome darling,

Precious Oliver Twist.

2010-07-27T13:29:00.000-07:00

Chisholm’s Thundercloud on Life

I was born a darling pet—

A favorite: cherished, loved.

I learned to trust and learned to play

And learned what life’s made of.

Then circumstances intervened,

And life became uncertain—

Forsaken, lost, unloved and lame,

I passed beyond the curtain.

Passed on to where no souls should go,

I saw my looming end,

When out of nowhere came a chance

To love and shine again.

My sister walked alongside me

As both of us were saved;

Passed into caring, loving hands!

And so dawned this new day.

In just one week, my place was found,

And better yet, I made

A friend to last a whole life long,

Who swore to keep me safe.

I made a friend, a human friend,

Who saw me as I was—

My wit, my charm, my brawn, my brains,

My never-failing love.

I made a friend who needed me

The way that I need her—

Who feeds me, loves me, sings to me,

Who heart for me does stir.

I show her crazy, show her kind,

Show her loving trust—

My life is good, her life is good,

This life is good for us.

I show her crazy when she asks,

I wheel and bolt away,

But she does know, and I do know,

That with her I shall stay.

2010-07-22T17:17:00.000-07:00

Toebee, Big Inside

My years are few as you may count—

Of moons I shan’t see many—

But my days are as full as yours

And my life grand as any.

My heart is small by measured weight,

My pulse is light’ning fast,

But it’s a brave heart, good and true,

And full of love to last.

A day to you, a week to me—

Each minute lived is full.

As you have loved these years with me,

So I love life with you.

I eat with gusto, move with grace,

Enjoy life to it’s all . . .

I’m Toebee, and I’m big inside

Though gerbils tend towards small.

2010-07-20T17:29:00.000-07:00

For Cody, Still Cherished

Some lives are far too fragile,

Some lives are far too brief—

Some lives so grand that when they’re gone

There’s everlasting grief.

Some loves are so enduring—

Some bonds so firmly sealed—

That even death can’t shake them loose,

Can’t take a love so real.

Some friends teach peace and patience,

Some give more than they take—

Some friends teach loving lessons

With each simple move they make.

Some beings are so gracious,

Enduring and so wise,

That when they go they still remain

In many love-touched lives.

Forsaken, once—abandoned—

No stranger to dispair.

Your loving flame burned through the gale

And lit the darkened air.

You cast a light around you,

You shared a loving glow.

We were lucky to have known you,

You were loved more than you know.

Rest in peace, Cody. You are loved.

2010-07-19T17:52:00.000-07:00

The Greatest Subject

for Sue Kroll—a great artist

A painter’s eye can beauty find

Within a bowl of fruit;

A vase of blossoms can inspire art.

A scenic lake can fine art make,

As vistas can inspire,

The nude in the museum plays her part.

But should you want a subject tuned

To every singing stroke,

And should you want a work that leaps the page,

Consider painting something living,

Clad in shining coat—

With eyes more wise and soulful than a sage.

There’s something in a landscape set

To perfectly cast light,

And something in a quiet stilllife, too,

But there is something even better—

Something with more heart—

In paintings of our stoic friend the mule.

2010-07-19T13:16:00.000-07:00

Words from Rambo to his Human

What were horses made to do?

To live within a herd—

To eat, to play, to race about,

To speak without a word.

What were horses made to love?

Sweet grass, good friends, and space—

The pleasure of good company,

a playful game of chase.

If I had been a wild horse,

I would have led a band;

Been kicked and bitten here and there,

But gained the upper hand.

I’m glad I’m tame, and wasn’t born

To rove for rugged miles—

A lonely life it would have been,

Without your human smile.

You help me as a good friend should,

You groom my tender parts,

You take me out to stretch my legs

You love my good, brave heart.

A Morgan is a horse, it’s true,

Unmatched for strength and brains—

Throw hybrid vigor in, you get

A horse was born to reign.

I’m special, friend, I know I am—

I’m bold and smart and strong—

But you, dear one, complete my herd,

It’s here that you belong.

2010-07-15T11:49:00.000-07:00

photo courtesy www.iamboyfriend.com

I am Boyfriend, I am Loved

Some friends are loved for ribbons won

Or miles travelled, running.

Some horses earn a lifetime’s keep

By donning tack and jumping.

Still others carry little tots

With legs and hands a-thumping.

I do not win, I cannot breed, my bloodlines end with me

Yet I am loved—Oh how I’m loved! I’m loved for being me.

I am Boyfriend, I am loved

For every heartfelt reason.

I do not race a record mile,

Nor travel in show season.

I’m loved for me—for who I am!

For what I give to her.

My human loves me just for me,

As I love her for her.

My leg is shot, I shan’t grow sound,

I’ll never stand to labor,

Yet every day my human comes

And thanks me for my favor.

The favor of my company,

The wisdom I impart.

I play, I teach, I learn, I seek—

And love with all my heart.

I’m beautiful, I’m clever too,

I’m physically quite grand,

I’m sweet and smart and brave, it’s true,

but please do understand:

I am not loved for how I look, for with what strength I surge—

My mother loves me just for me, as I I love her for her.

2010-07-15T10:13:00.000-07:00

When Once You’ve Loved a Bunny

There’s something in a well-loved bun

and in the love she gives.

There’s something in the way he plays,

the joy with which he lives.

There’s something special you will learn

when once a bun you meet

Who shares with you and lives with you

and runs beneath your feet.

It’s hard to say goodbye when she

must pass beyond the living . . .

Though in his death he leaves behind

a gift that keeps on giving.

The memories, the moments shared,

the quiet and the funny . . .

These treasures with you will remain

when once you’ve loved a bunny.

2010-07-15T09:06:00.000-07:00

To Kathy and My Many Friends

with love and thanks, from Fenway Bartholomule

A quiet mule, I live alone—

Except for FarmWife, two white goats,

A flock of hens, their rooster too,

And little tigers passing through.

And little girls, I’ve counted three,

And FarmHusband, the dog, plus B

And Harriet, the housemules sweet.

So perhaps NOT alone.

A clever mule, I often bray—

I bray to greet each bright new day,

I bray to call for fresh clean hay,

Or sometimes when I feel afraid.

It’s true, I’ve brayed from fear, I’ll say,

But not too often—I’m quite brave.

I’m stoic, yes, and well-behaved,

But perhaps NOT so quiet.

A thoughtful mule, if often think

Of things to say and songs to sing,

Of friends to make and ways to bring

The Muleness to the front of things.

I’m oozing Muleness, don’t you think?

And don’t you find my brown coat sleek?

My velvet nose, you think it’s sweet?

You may, if you wish, kiss it.

I haven’t much—a paddock, friends,

Fresh hay at start of day, and end,

FarmWife, a friend to last my life,

And time—The time goes ticking by.

I spend a great deal thinking. Why,

I think from dawn ‘til dusk—

And then my human, whom I trust,

She writes it down.

Brays of Our Lives was just a whim—

My FarmWife had this mule, loved me,

And wanted all the world to see.

It’s true, I am a sight indeed!

So we commenced to writing, blogging,

Musing, logging every trial and each joy.

Notes from a FarmWife and her boy—

Somehow it grew.

It grew to this—a hundred friends!

Two hundred—six! A thousand soon.

I have heard joyful things, it’s true.

I’ve seen tears shed and heard glad news.

I’ve made good friends—great friends, so kind,

Been given gifts, been helped at times.

Sent to the vet on donors’ dimes.

I have been loved.

I have been loved, I have been blessed.

FarmWife, too, she must confess

To feeling very lucky. To have care

Pour in from every corner—and to share

A mule like me with you, with everyone—

FarmWife’s grateful, having fun.

I, too, am glad, and bray a song

Of love, and gratitude.

My friend, this song’s for you.

2010-07-14T17:01:00.000-07:00

The Rescued

for Save Your Ass Long Ear Rescue

Friendless, luckless, feeling down,

left behind or kicked around,

Lost, passed on from town to town—

These ones must be rescued.

With soulful brays and haunted eyes,

Wormy bellies, sunken sides,

Resigned, and breathing tired sighs—

Some don’t dare hope for rescue.

The living’s hard, each waking day,

But ghosts of old friends make their way

Through memory and seem to say,

“You may, dear soul, be rescued.”

You see the ones who once were loved,

Who trust, and hope, and want a rub,

A gentle pat, a friend, a home—

Who dare expect a rescue.

From auction lots and dusty pens,

From any dark, sad circumstance,

Through effort or through lucky chance—

A precious few are rescued.

And then you see them, real, exposed,

It’s in their eyes, a spark that grows.

Some cannot trust, but soon they’ll know

They’re safe—they have been rescued.

Just give them time, and give them care—

A gentle friend, sweet hay to share,

A visit from a farrier—

These serve to help the rescued.

In time, their confidence restored,

They’ll frolic and gambol once more.

They’ll play, sunbathe, and feel adored—

No longer needing rescue.

In time the trust will bloom and thrive,

A new life—happy! Free! Alive!

If they could talk they’d speak their minds—

They’re grateful for the rescue.

Step in, and see these gentle souls.

Hold still and listen! Hear it told.

The truth they speak will not grow old:

A “thank you,” from the rescued.

2010-07-14T15:56:00.000-07:00

Doc, Caught Stealing

Doc, my boy, you’ve been caught stealing!

Don’t you know, dear, that we saw

How you made sweet little Pepper

And dear Dallas break the law?

Breaking fences, Doc, is naughty.

Kidnapping, dear, is a crime.

Don’t you think we didn’t see you

Slipping out with friends behind!

Doc, you make your little outings

And you lead your friends astray,

But we love you, handsome fellow,

We adore you anyway.

On the trail you’re bold—intrepid!

Crossing streams and climbing hills,

Just don’t pee where you can see it—

You know frothy urine kills!

In the ring you’re sweet and gentle,

‘cept when it’s been freshly dragged.

Doc, you’re sure the evil drag marks

Wish to grab you by the leg.

That’s the mark of clever critters—

We know deadly things on sight.

Humans mustn’t call us silly!

We’ll save them from any plight.

Doc, you keep your person happy.

Doc, you keep him glad and safe.

If there’s a moment when you’re nervous,

There are hundreds when you’re brave.

Doc, you take your small adventures.

Doc, you lead your friends outside.

Just stay safe, stay out of trouble—

Gerry needs you well, alive.

2010-07-14T07:05:00.000-07:00

The Incomparably Splendid Pants

art by Sue Kroll

You’ve heard, I’m sure, of Orangey-Pants,

In satin coat she’s dressed.

Pants walks up stairs, she blazes trails,

She even eats baguettes.

She herds the geldings to and fro

And keeps a tidy place,

A tough old mare when on the go

but dainty—full of grace!

So clean, so neat, so dignified,

So beautiful and smart—

Dear Pants has earned a following

With great displays of heart.

Divine, sweet Pants, and delicate,

Yet stoic to the last,

She’ll not refuse a toothsome treat

Nor turn from lively tasks.

Pants does her job with auricles

A-pricked with eagerness,

Three cheers for darling Orangey-Pants,

Who represents Muleness.

She stands for all that’s worth a stand,

She’s perfect, even—yes,

Sweet Pants is all a mule should be!

Quite simply, she’s the best.

2010-07-13T10:53:00.000-07:00

You ran, you loved,

You played, you shoved,

You ruled the world around you.

You made your friends

And in the end

You left them glad they'd found you.

You lived your life—

Were twice a wife—

To husbuns (each one lucky).

Your ears askew,

they always knew

Who wore the pants (Miss Plucky)!

An offered nose

A nudge, a pose,

And zooooooooom! Again, a-running—

Bebe, though small

You wowed us all—

So strong, dear, and so stunning.

Our sweet hutch queen,

You've never seen

Such grief as we've been feeling,

But Bebe, we've

Our memories,

And in them we'll find healing.

A lifetime's done

We've lost you, bun

You've gone, sweet girl, forever.

You taught us trust

And love which must

help see us through, together.

As once you taught

A husbun soft

The art of love and pairing,

The love you shared,

The way you cared,

We cherish and keep sharing.

Rest in peace, Bebe. We love you.

2010-07-12T15:05:00.000-07:00

Anna mule’s an animal

With grace, and charm, and class,

Her mother was a dainty mare,

Her dad a darling ass.

She’s lost some friends, been hassled some,

Was sadly passed around,

And now she’s in a lifetime home,

With cherished friends newfound.

She drives, she brays, she lives, she plays,

She goes on splendid hikes,

Her family understands her moods

And gives her what she likes.

She crosses streams, slips under trees,

Meets every day head-on,

And on a walk she marches

To a steady, silent song.

A trooper, yes! A miner, no!

She’ll live a life of ease,

When Anna mule goes walking

Her ears dance upon the breeze.

Each new day brings adventure, now,

She meets new friends with joy,

And Anna’s in a family now

That shall not disappoint.

From a life of being lonesome,

Being troubled, being poor,

Darling Anna has arisin

And she’s walking out once more.

So very small, but full of heart,

Sweet Anna loves to go,

And now she goes out bravely,

And with patience, goes back home.

2010-07-12T13:50:00.000-07:00

A friend who knows you in and out,

Believes in you, and sees

In every look, each unsaid word,

The meaning that is hid beneath.

A friend who speaks with every fiber

Of her body, straight to you—

Whose heart is pure, whose body strong,

Whose love is deep, complete, and true.

A friend with pride, well mannered, smart,

With taste, and sense, and class,

A friend who’ll tell you when you’re wrong

But love you so in spite of that.

A friend who needs you, keeps you, feeds you—

Feeds your spirit, feeds your soul.

A friend who gives her whole life to you,

And yet you make her life whole.

Dress this friend in warm sleek fur

And give her liquid eyes,

Four sweet white paws, a soft pink tongue,

A wagging tail trailed out behind.

Now call her Gizmo. Give her love!

You’ll get it back in spades,

For she’s a friend a friend should have

Who’ll love you all her days.

2010-07-12T11:03:00.000-07:00

A friend, first—understanding

Every look you gave, each meaning

Of each word; said, unsaid.

A beauty, plush and regal,

Her gorgeous tail left-curling,

Soft eyes gazing from her bed.

Beneath your feet she rested,

Kept you company and bested

Every dog you’d ever known.

When work was done, on with the day!

Beside you she would stroll and play.

She made fine company.

She gave you all a dog could give

And you gave back, and so she lived

Beside you—trusted, loved.

And through the years—all seventeen—

She was to you as you to she—

Beloved, well thought-of.

A partner, yes, a friend as well.

A family member, loved and held

As dear to you as any.

With Juniper, through many days,

You lived and loved and worked and played

Made memories; yes, many.

Now they keep you; you look back,

Remember silver tipped with black.

And brown eyes, wise and knowing.

Remember her, and hold her dear.

(Now that’s advice you needn’t hear!)

The spark lit by your Juniper’s still glowing.

2010-07-12T11:01:00.000-07:00

An April morn, Bent Barrow Farm, the sun in streaming rays.

A restless doe walks to and fro, aware yet unafraid.

She knows as every mother knows that something has begun,

And looking on, the mule observes and waits for what shall come.

The hours pass and then at last the doe turns round to see—

Beside her lie two little forms! Two heads, four ears, eight feet.

The first springs up on restless legs—look out, world, Lark's here!

The second rests to catch her breath. She's sweet, that Dove, and dear.

Lark boldly leaps upon the teat and draws a milky sip.

Dove staggers and attempts to rise at mom's insistent lick.

While Lark then tries exploring, ready for some fun and games,

Sweet Dove at last stands for a meal and tries out trembling legs.

It's not too long before the farmwife summons someone new,

A visitor, a friend who's promised shelter for the two.

She comes and greets her little twins, still less than one day old,

And promises the darling goats a home once they have grown.

So bashful Dove and bold, brave Lark begin, so they set out—

And as the days turn into weeks their characters come out.

Lark seeks adventure everywhere, treats life as one great game,

And Dove, as pretty as the dawn, is quiet, sweet and tame.

Lark bullies every chicken and plays freeze tag with the mule,

her sister Dove reclines beside their mother, keeping cool.

When Dove cavorts, she moves with grace, she dances in the light,

And Lark gambols with brazen strength, and summits awesome heights.

So Beauty lives alongside Spirit, together these two grow,

The mule looks on while Lark and Dove learn what they need to know.

They learn to play, to take their turn, to ruminate and ponder,

They learn to heed their mother, eat what's healthy, keep their wonder.

With ten weeks passed, they've gotten big. Their tired dam is ready

To bid farewell to brave, kind Lark and Dove, serene and steady.

The mule draws near and brays farewell, the farmwife brings them out.

The family gathers, says goodbye. "Be good," the children shout.

A truck pulls up, and out step those who'll see them through transition.

Two people, ready, eager, and the doelings stop and listen.

"We'll shelter you, we'll cherish you, we'll keep you safe and happy,"

The people seem to say to them, and so the goats leave gladly.

A bumpy ride, a clean new shed, a tasty flake of hay—

Sweet Lark and Dove arrive at home, the home where they shall stay.

New friends, new games, new scenery and many smiling faces—

Sweet Dove and Lark have landed in the very best of places.

And so it goes, and so they grow, and so they learn to love

The people in their fine new home, who cherish Lark and Dove.

And so they play, and so they rest, and so they pass their days—

And back at old Bent Barrow Farm, their dam with mule shall stay.