Lady Jane Fits-Hamilton’s Daughter

Who rides a horse that mummy had brought her,
Who owns a horse with a bright pink Halter,
Who’s cross-country hopeful is frightened of water,
It’s Lady Jane Fitz-Hamilton’s Daughter.

Who didn’t listen to those who had taught her,
Who in the show-jumping final did falter,
Who knocked down the fences, who’s temper got shorter,
It’s Lady Jane Fitz-Hamilton’s Daughter.

Who with the groom tried what she didn’t oughta,
Who would have succeeded had daddy not caught her,
Who ended up with the groom at the altar,
It’s Lady Jane Fitz-Hamilton’s Daughter.

By John Peters

Silly Horse Clipping Poem

When your horse is hairy and he really needs a clip,
Get yourself a twitching stick and grab him by the lip.
Fill him full of sedative or half a crate of ale,
Get yourself an anvil and tie it to his tail.
Set his feet in concrete, tie his body to the wall,
Lock his door and bolt it. That should fix the animal.

If you’re a hairy horse and they think you need a clip,
Tell them that you disagree by giving them a nip.
Kick them in the clippers and watch them turning pale,
As you hit them with an anvil through a well aimed swish of tail.
Run around the stable, smash a hole right through the wall.
Gallop out to freedom shouting “Hairy Horses Rule”.

By John Peters

PRELIM 10 (2002)

A Dressage test for horse and poet

Enter A at working trot, proceeding down the centre line,
Turn right at C,
Past M and B,
If you’re at F you’re doing fine.

Half circle now, 10 metres wide in working trot from F to D,
Diagonal swap,
Without a stop,
Returning to the track at B.

Leaving B in working trot, go past M and round to C,
You have to steer,
A circle here,
20 metres accurately.

From C, go round past H, past E, until you have arrived at K,
Circle to D,
Then back to E,
Just like before, but the other way.

Trotting on, from E to H, and then to C you do return,
A circle ride,
20 metres wide,
Nice and round is your concern.

Continue trotting round the track, from C to M and then to B,
Turn right to X,
Diagonal checks,
And then turn left when you reach E.

From E to K keep trotting, prepare for Cantering at A,
It’s not a race,
Just change of pace,
Now pass the mark and chocks away.

Canter left from A to B, then circle 20 meters round,
Half way touch E,
Then back to B,
Then canter off, C’ward bound.

Canter round the track to M, keep in canter passing C,
Not too fast,
Just canter past,
At H you cross diagonally.

To F and you have a change of pace, change of rein and change of bend.
A tricky bit,
But stick with it,
As down to trot you do descend.

At A, a pace change yet again, you need a medium walk at A,
It’s not so taxing,
But no relaxing,
There’s more to do on reaching K.

At K there is a change of rein, still walking but now long and free,
A chance to flex,
Your horses necks,
Stretched, relaxed, across to B.

Stay free walking down to M, then medium walk, take up your rein.
Prepare to trot,
C marks the spot,
Then you’re back to working trot again.

Trot on past H, trot on to E, turn left across through X you go,
Turn right at B,
Trot on neatly,
Prepare your canter skills to show.

At A take canter, around to E, then canter 20 meters round,
Half way touch B,
Then back to E,
It’s easy if your horse is sound.

From E, in canter, through H C M, then canter down to K,
Now once again,
You change the rein,
Then working trot to A.

From A go down the centre line, don’t stop at X, go on to G,
Then halt, don’t budge,
Salute the Judge,
Exit A, reins long and free.

By John Peters

Megan’s Poem

Today I can’t face Polos,
And peppermint makes me cry,
As does the smell of garlic,
But struggle through, I’ll try.
Today, I’m in the office,
Lost in work if I am able,
This evening I will stay at home,
I won’t be at the stable.

There is an old head-collar,
Now hanging on the door,
And in the hall, a body brush,
Is lying on the floor.
A Mane comb in the bathroom,
There’s a lead rope on a chair,
They all serve to remind me,
That Megan isn’t there.

The yard now seems so empty,
Her stable seems so bare,
Everything is different,
Now Megan isn’t there.
Giving Meg a happy life,
That was my only goal,
And now just like a polo,
My life has got a hole.

She has no use now for a saddle,
Her bridle or her rein,
She will not need her brushing boots,
Or combs to do her mane.
Now she can’t get colic,
And now she can’t go lame,
But I miss her more than anything,
And life is not the same.

By John Peters

The Flood

It hasn’t stopped raining since Tuesday,
I’m soaked from my boots to my halter,
I’m glad that I’m 17 hands,
‘Cos I’m up to my fetlocks in water.

I’m wearing an oversized Rambo,
So I can’t say I’m really that fussed,
My body is dry in this waterproof rug,
But my shoes have started to rust.

The river has broken it’s banks,
The water is not getting lower,
My stable stands out like a great big ark,
And so all I need now is a Noah.

The grass is now 10 inches under,
Of grazing there isn’t a hope,
I’m getting a little bit worried,
Ah! here comes a man with a rope.

We are wading back to the yard,
Did I splash you? I’m ever so sorry,
No trouble loading today,
Just open the back of that lorry.

Just like my wilder cousins,
We are heading for much higher plains,
People are no different from horses,
We are both controlled by the rains (reins).

By John Peters


I like to think that I’m your pet,
I’m fed and watered by you, yet,
In all this time we’ve never met,
Do you know who I am?

I’m always here, I am persistent,
I’ll never go, I am insistent,
I’m Benzimidazole resistant,
Do you know who I am?

You fed my host that Strongid-P,
You’ll be the very death of me,
You know I take this personally,
Do you know who I am?

Why do you have to use such force,
Just because I’m in your horse,
Can’t you let nature run its course,
Do you know who I am?

A tapeworm’s life is very tough,
And frankly I have had enough,
That Invermectin stuff was rough,
Now you know who I am.

So I’m bad for your horses health,
I’m feeling rather ill myself,
Leave that wormer on the shelf,
Now you know who I am.

You and I could be good friends,
Seeing eye to eye, though that depends,
On you having a magnifying lens,
Now you know who I am.

Well I suppose you have a right,
To carry on this annual fight,
For no one loves a parasite,
And that is what I am.

By Fred the tapeworm.
C/O Ryan
Lower intestine

By John Peters

A horse’s Life

One day it did occur to me,
How dull a horses life must be.
How dull to find your fate is sealed,
Your life spent standing in a field.

Just watching as the clouds go by,
Just staring up into the sky.
And for a change, to help time pass,
You might look down and stare at grass.

Each day just like the one before,
Nothing less and nothing more.
Time means nothing, numbers are blotches,
This is why horses don't wear watches.

The sun does rise and then does set,
And once or twice you see the vet.
The farrier visits now and then,
Bangs your feet and goes again.

Every day when your owner came,
Your tea would always be the same.
And after eating grass all day,
What do they give you now but hay.

Just the same, day in, day out,
Eating, sleeping and standing about.
One day it did occur to me,
How nice a horses life must be.

By John Peters.


If Horse should spook and run away,
Be sure and in your saddle stay.
Use your wit to make him bend,
And him into a circle send.
Ride round and round and make him puff,
Ride round until he's had enough.
When he is done, then ask him "Pray,
Why was it that you ran away".
"Did you a whirling dervish see?
Or had you just enough of me?"

If Horse should on his hind-legs rear,
Hang on for all that life holds dear.
For what goes up, must downward come,
So panic not, do not cry "Mum!"
Should he go over on his back,
I've nought to say, except "Alack!"
When he's back down then ask him "Why,
The need to reach up for the sky?"
"Were you attacked so savagely,
Or had you just enough of me?"

If Horse should just refuse to go,
Then touch the whip and "Tally Ho".
Should he hold fast and stand his ground,
Try backward, sideways, round and round.
Try asking, telling or using force,
But never get off and push a horse.
Perhaps the horse is not to blame,
The poor old chap may have gone lame.
So ask him, "Have you some injury?
Or had you just enough of me?

If Horse should kick at you or bite,
While being rugged up for the night.
Or turn and pin you to the wall,
And not behave himself at all.
Do not get cross and shout or scold,
For revenge is a dish best served cold.
Just as you are about to go,
You'll spy a look of equine woe,
"Oh horsy, did I forget your tea?
Or had I just enough of thee?".

By John Peters

A Working Horse

I am a heavy draft horse,
I used to pull a cart,
I'd pull it round the streets all day,
And I'd eat and sleep and fart.

I used to have a heavy load,
But I would never moan,
Me master sat up on the back,
And cried out "Rag and Bone".

We'd set out every morning,
I'd be dragged out from me slumber,
And I would plod those same old streets,
While he called "Any old lumber".

The mornings was quite easy,
The Afternoons was not,
Cos, the cart would start out empty,
And I could almost trot.

But as the day got longer,
And as the cart got full,
I wasn't getting any younger,
And it was getting hard to pull.

There came a day in Clements Road,
When I couldn't pull at all,
We'd just picked up an Iron Bath,
It had brass taps an all.

Me master said I was too old,
And that he was very sorry,
But I was going far too slow,
He would have to get a lorry.

He left me in my stable,
And he scrapped me ancient cart,
He said I'd not walk those streets again,
It darn near broke me heart.

And then one day I heard him say,
That something must be done,
This is a business after all,
Can't keep a horse for fun.

A horse transporter came for me,
I just calmly walked the ramp,
Me master only stood and watched,
I could see his eyes were damp.

As we drove off I heard him call,
"You've been a good old horse, Goodbye",
If I wasn't such a tough old horse,
You might have seen me cry.

We went for miles and miles and miles,
Down road and lane and track,
I thought it made a pleasant change,
To be riding in the back.

We stopped out in the country,
I could smell the fresh clean air,
The ramp was gently lowered,
"Come on old chap, we're there".

Well I've been used to dirty streets,
And the town is all I've seen,
But here were other horses,
And enormous fields of green.

They said that this will be my home,
Until the day I die,
Well I won't miss that grey old town,
This will do me fine says I.

For now I live a life of fun,
And never pull a cart,
I stand out in the sun all day,
And eat and sleep and fart.

By John Peters