Poetry

Bart Cummings

 Horses are often riddles waiting to be worked out ...

—J.B. Cummings, Bart: My Life

 

School’s out—horses running around in his head

Young strapper leads Comic Court up at dawn-tread

Across common-sense river-sand tracks, to train

The well-bred, the ugly, the gorgeous—but vain

Note each ride, how she moves, calm pats, and oats

fed “Resents whips”, “hates grey males”, “try blinkers

instead” Passion is taking all in; keen—thinking plain

Keeping at it, removing barriers—pain

            Horses running ’round in his head

At clocktower, Melbourne Cup horses close head Saintly, a joy ride, cannot be better bred

Let’s Elope, Think Big, Light Fingers—flaring mane

His heart with the horse—on the breadth of blood

chain Sprinters, gallopers, stayers—swimmers in rain

Winners don’t tire—hit their straps past the red

Horses to work out—fit to race, out of bed

            Horses running ’round in his head

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