Poetry

Bart Cummings

Ashlley Morgan-Shae

 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