The following selections of poetry work are the creative writings of Catherine Sampson. All poems are copyright protected and are offered at this site for viewing purposes only. Any duplication in whole or in part is strictly prohibited. Full colour 8x10 illustrated and laminited copies of these writings are available for purchase from the farm. If you wish to place an order, please e-mail us with your request. All poems are $15 (Canadian).
"Come little one. His gentle smile transcends that rough transplanted British veneer
Making my adventure seem all the while, secure and rewarding
As we stroke the patient milkman's horse
And flatten our palm holding the sweetness of sugar crystal.
The long shadows of afternoon stretch out before us
Prompting grandpa to reflect on his working past
Of horses, dairy routes and traffic of stink wagons that rattled by
As he settles into a beckoning chair
Striking a match to light his constant companion.
The first puff of smoke rises from the tired Briar pipe
And fills the still air in the confines of the summer porch.
He begins for the umpteenth time.
Barely knee-high
I scramble to hoist myself upon the bony expanse of his welcoming lap
And gaze with a child's wonderment, upwardly,
Rocking in rhythm with the song of his storytelling.
Like an endless novel,
The words spill out in glorious revelation
As he speaks of Babe and Teddy
Friends immortalized in his unconscious mind.
Brought out of their imaginary pasture for visitation and entertainment.
Perhaps through grandpa's eyes,
The wisdom of an old man could sense that
A fervent, religious love of horses
Would take seed, as it had in him
Remaining steadfast and unrelenting in this little girl.
How long ago those mornings opened up to us
Soldering grandpa and I to the curb; taking up our post
As the slow methodical clip-clop
Of the cart horse moves towards our stationary place.
Through grandpa's eyes
The Babes and Teddys were brought back to this world
As I remember
Hanging a set of harness on a cleaning hook
Wishing he were here
For my tales need telling too.
Maybe this time they are being heard - and seen
If only through grandpa's eyes.
Lazy eyes try to focus with intensity
Upon discovery of this unfathomable world.
Anxious to catch every haunting minute sound,
Ears not yet strengthened by constant movement
Flop listlessly at half-mast in the cool night air.
Long muzzle whiskers tickle and retreat at the slightest touch
As they search in some semblance for recognition
Of what, it does not know.
No longer muted by womb's protected slumber,
It frantically beckons for its detached mother.
A soft wise deep nicker responds in kind
As a soothing lick gives solace to her little one.
With an inborn sense of urgency and parental authority,
The mare nudges the flesh deprived bony quarters
Encouraging them to engage at once.
Struggle upon struggle,
It rises on curl bound limbs,
Representative of uneasy towers.
Intoxicated by gravity's firm pull,
It battles against its compromising effects
And weaves desperately to remain bolt upright.
Its tottering weight goes down, hard with no apology.
Flared nostrils draw in a smorgasbord of unmasked scents
Expanding virgin lungs with a tingle of precious oxygen.
Its small body heaves with exhaustion and renewed exhilaration.
All systems now self sustaining and pumping to their max
It braces to stand again, this time with acquired fortitude.
Guided by the miracle and magnetic force of instinct
Contentment and belonging is found
In a warm feast of security, nourishment and want
As it passionately suckles from a fulsome teat.
How I wish that IWhat if I was
To have a fall
Or worse I hear
My maker's call
Oh tell me why
I worry so much
Of something
I can't even touch
What if the horse
Bolts off with me
What will I do
If I hit a tree
What if I lay
On harden ground
And can't scream
A single sound
Oh tell me why
I worry so much
Of something
I can't even touch
What if the horse
Bucks mighty high
Leaving the saddle
As I reach for the sky
What if he tramples me
Into the dirt
As I revel and reel
In some awful hurt
Oh tell me why
I worry so much
Of something
I can't even touch
These thieves of thought
Have stole my pleasure
The only thing
That I truly treasure
To ride my horse
Carefree and bold
Unafraid of a fall
Now an unreachable goal
Oh tell me why
I worry so much
Of something
I can't even touch
I haven't always
Been like this
There was a ride
I rarely missed
It seems the years
Have given to play
Foreboding visions
Of misery way
Oh tell me why
I worry so much
Of something
I can't even touch
What if I choose
To remember the good
Instead of the bad
Then maybe I could
Rise up in the saddle
And settle on in
Managing my mind
For the ultimate win
Resurrecting those
Longing sweet times
The body soon follows
That quieting mind
My horse feels content
In my once taut seat
As confidence returns
With no lingering defeat
The "what ifs"
That shouted
So long in my head
Have finally been silenced
Now buried and dead
Fun rides I knew
Have now come again
Dusted off and welcomed
Like a long lost friend.
When you feel anxious
Remember this hope
"What ifs" are just that
Giving reason to cope
So if you're a captive
A prisoner of thought
Instead of "what if"
Defy with "why not".
by Catherine Sampson
My heart how it quickens
Its exaggerated beat
As I strain pushing pedals
With aching hot feetTired and panting
My lungs how they vent
As the race to the stable
Is all but now spentThe dandy brush whisks
Hair free of its dust
For I groom and I polish
As only I mustMy vigor rewards
What my arms will afford
Brilliant satin of red
Set afire
It spreadsI coo and I pat
I pick and I praise
I laugh and I smile
As I groom all the whileNo saddle, no crop
But a helmet on top
Jeans press to horseflesh
As we ready our quest
We march on our way
Pretend soldiers at play
All at the glorious
Expense of the dayMy pony’s no mean one
Either trickster or demon
She’s patient and kind
With a trustworthy mindLike best friends of yore
Over terrain we explore
Of timber and wild flowers
Forest creatures galoreEmbraced by the salt
Of her hide white with lather
As the reins, flying mane
I do firmly now gatherThe rhythm of her canter
As it teases and banters
Keeps us steadfast together
Oh, but to ride on foreverAll full of our thrill
For this game of wind chasing
We retreat to a trot
With a change soon to hastenThe plodding walk welcomes
Solitude
Mind and limb
Like a lullaby it rocks
In a cooling summer windThe bridle drops
The halter’s caught
The fetlocks pulled
The pebbles culled
The curry strokes
A gritty coat
At last we’re done
The bridle’s hungI guide her to
Her restful stall
Then gaze upon
A pictured wallAn ancient photo
Hangs in place
Of pony days
And a wondrous faceI caress the memory
With longing eyes
So long, farewell
And fond good-byes
Old Friend of Mine
by Catherine SampsonOld friend of mine
Like an old fine wine
A good marriage of leather
We have been faithful togetherYou mold to my form
As if mutually born
The valleys and hollows
You so intimately followSitting proudly atop
Many a horse we have taught
Strong and sturdy you stay
Keep me safe from harm’s wayAs a horse spins and dances
We have taken our chances
Still when all said and done
We always are oneMy fingers trace
Your wasted back
Tired, imperfect
Still considered good tackAs you groan in complaint
Feeling the woes of restraint
With desert parched thirst
I will quench your skin firstNo sham or imposter
Genuine bovine you foster
Natural fibers bred tough
That do battle the roughOf trail dust and sweat
Of raindrops cold wet
Of sun burning hot
Of jarring horse trotOf snow on your pommel
And storms we do grumble
The weather companion
We’ve never abandonedStorytellers of old
Every crevice unfolds
Truths of the ride
Some taken with prideAs you swing into place
And I straddle your base
And settle on down
Without even a frownWe are partners you see
Committed to thee
For this leather I feel
Has meant much
More to me
The Legend ofRaker's Christmas Angel
High atop a wildwood mountainShe spreads her wings to take the flight
As did long ago that wintry night
Godspeed with her to that chosen farm
A Morgan colt whose gift she’s giving
The simple treasurers of life and living.
And as she looks to heaven’s way
She knows she pleased his special day
Smiling St. Francis at His side
Blessing the creatures far and wide.
The Angel’s journey now complete
The message delivered for those to keep
Brings hope and light to a world that cares
The meaning of Christmas, not want or despair.
Resting Pastures
Their hooves no longer pound
this earthly soil
Gone is the physical image we knew of gleaming satin,
Taut muscles, sinew and bone
Of fanning nostrils, wide-seeing eyes and heaving sides
Reaching forward with an all encompassing exuberance - powerful -
Like riderless Thoroughbreds, boldly racing towards the invisible wire.
From empty stalls within, their welcoming calls are muted -
Sadly silent to our ears that long to catch their friendly presence, once more.
Tucked safely away are hidden memories of treasured spirit
Guarded closely by those who cared and loved them.
As the ghostly mist of dawn toys with our casting thoughts,
Rising like giant clouds from the tear drop meadow,
Desperately, we peer into its veil of intrigue, with a wanting aura of illusion.
For a brief moment - a hopeful glimpse of what was
The phantom horse emerges from the distant tall woods, tail flagging, mane tossing
Our troubadour's come home.
We smile.
And as the fog laden field slowly clears to show the day
Our dream-like daze begins to fade, and we struggle in defiance
While our hand tightens its grip on the orphaned halter.
We are not forgotten in our sorrow
For the seasons renew our passion of God's finest creature
As each spring heralds the arrival of new beginnings
With a soft found whispered nicker from a foaling box.
It's a celebration of those to come and for those that have already
been.
It honours the mares who have lovingly licked with ownership, a new born foal.
It remembers the breeze, setting the tri-colour a dancing in the wind of a victory pass.
It dries the sand and cures the bridle ways after winter's long scourge.
It covers the dull brown fields of early spring with beckoning waves of rich long grass
And floods the knolls with warm healing sunlight on their broad unsaddled backs.
Take solitude not to mourn our lost companions
But to gently stroke the proud bearing crest with fresh visions of yesterday.
Surrounded in blissful peace,
Protected and immune from this world's realities
The noble heads which once wore leather and steel
Now bend in resting pastures, forevermore.
Brain Buckets
by Catherine Sampson
A rider's folly Or vanity taken
No excuse for the fool
Who thinks it’s not cool
It takes but a second
That mortality beckons
Protect the wise head
For without it you're dead
Set a good example
Don't take the gamble
Grab for the gear
Think of those we hold dear
Don't become stubborn
For freedom we govern
What good is carefree
If a chair's all you'll see
Too heavy, too hot
Weak reasons we fought
This lecture will end
With a message to send
So please go ahead
When all that is said
Guard for your brain
When you take up your rein.
The smart rider you are
Will let you ride far
The foolhardy will leave
Much regret and bereave.
The Christmas Horseshoe Wreath
by Catherine SampsonThese shoes have trotted the show ring wide
With victory passes and smiles of pride.
They’ve travelled the woodland terrain so bold
Carrying safely the rider as the seasons unfold.
With cold winds blowing as winter draws near
These shoes are pulled for another year.Hanging with honour on this festive wreath
The arc of steel guards the longing belief
That goodness is found in the meekest of men
Not in power and wealth
But in the hand of a friend.And when the farrier comes next spring
His hammer and anvil creating a ring
As the shoes return to protect the steed
Releasing the message and planting the seed
That true strength is not measured
In a metal called steel
But in the humble act of giving
For a caring heart that feels.
Christmas Cabin
by Catherine SampsonThe Christmas Cabin sits so cozy
My hands so cold, my cheeks so rosy
Cowpony chomps the bit for hay
So with these words, I do prayPlease keep the winter cold at bay
Stars shining bright, lead not astray
And dust the trail oh so lightly
That we can still travel sprightlyUp and over the Utah ridges
Crossing natural God made bridges
Round the crooked path we wind
Standing tall, are guarding pinesElk and deer we don’t find
Jog on by with wary minds
Home to the Christmas Cabin we ride
Carrying a wrapped gift on the sideMusic and merry I will plunk
Guitar and fiddle at my bunk
So please dear Lord keep us safe
As we ride ahead of the storm post hasteMy horse is small but never a quitter
Regardless of the going & weather bitter
Keep his footing firm and steady
No wolves or cougars at the readyKeep the sleet from my bending Stetson
As we prepare for winter’s lesson
Through a maze of green fur branches
I peer warm light as a candle dancesGlorious cabin, now in sight
Bless you Father of the night
You’ve been our lantern in the dark
Our guide and protector of these partsMy prayer for help has been heard
Sweet as any singing songbird
Our Christmas Cabin sits so cozy
"Giddyup" my friend
No time to mosey.
Revised: December 28, 1998
Copyright © 1999 Trillium Morgan Horse Farm
