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About Janie Lee Moor





When the Wind Blows (More Than the Bough Breaks)

One of the puzzles as old as time
That seems to resist reason and rhyme,
Concerns an egg and related hen,
Confounding many scholarly men.
At most times we do not know or care
To solve questions that are here nor there,  
Then at times, the answer will appear,
So plain and simple and crystal clear.
Our horses can often show the way
While smart men debate, day after day.
Let me prove my point before you laugh
How horses can cut straight through the chaff.
We all know that a strong gusty breeze
Will make a horse spook at things it sees.
The wind was blowing real hard that day
I led my horse to his grass buffet.
As we walked behind the chicken coop,
Our dog leaped off of the back porch stoop.
Yipping loud, he raced to that fowl shed,
From under it, two scaredy cats fled.
Squawking hens flapped in the noisy brawl
In this swift impromptu free-for-all. 
The air filled with feathers and fur,
The incident was a flashing blur.
The mayhem with the dog, cats, and hens
Shot faster than a camera’s lens.
With the brisk wind, that horse was not primed
For this wild chase which was quite ill-timed.
One trait I always liked about him,
Was he’d jump and freeze on panic’s rim.
When frightened, he does not bolt or flee….
Today it’d prove disastrous for me.
I admit the loud scene scared me too,
Reacting to the hullabaloo
Both my horse and I in perfect sync
Jumped straight up but before I could think
We came down and the timing was lost.
His left hoof would extract quite a cost
From my right leg, which had landed first,
In my pain-wracked mind I swore and cursed.
For up from my leg flew hot lightning bolts,
Ignited by raging horseshoe volts.
I could not speak or get one small breath,
It felt like respiratory death.
I believe that I was pain-struck dumb,
I wanted to cry—no tears would come.
Doubled over in pure agony, 
Denouncing my horse’s ancestry,
Trying to walk in a tortured haze
Under my horse’s innocent gaze,
I realized I was in bad shape.
This was much more than a minor scrape.
The catastrophic chain of events
Were by now well into the past tense.
Chasing other prey, the dog was gone,
From high in the barn, the cats looked on.
Smoothing ruffled feathers as they clucked,
Hens marched to the coop in safe conduct.
Enduring long recuperation,
I have pondered that situation.
As I think about that windy day
And a bone-breaking equine ballet,
The searched-for answer’s no longer vague:
The chicken came right before the leg.

© 2008, Janie Lee Moor
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.

Janie Lee Moor comments, "All of my poetry is based on personal experiences or observations. This poem is an example of one of those experiences."



Horse Crazy

I’ve ridden good horses in my time
And a few not even close to prime.
I’ve learned with time and consistency
A horse can be trained to some degree.
But once a colt was born on this place
Who became quite a challenging case.
He was smart and learned the basics fast,
But his character left me aghast.
He learned all steps quick and easily,
Then would misbehave contrarily.
At first fooling with this horse was fun,
‘Till training began to come undone.
It seemed each move he’d anticipate
Then add his version with no debate.
It got hard to stay one step ahead—
“This has got to stop right now!” I said.
A neighbor stopped by and watched our show,
“Horse training has changed a lot you know,
You’ve got to be natural—connect,
‘Think like a horse’ to earn its respect.”
Later I thought about his critique,
I’d try to update my old technique.
For years I’ve watched how horses behave,
To “think like a horse” I’ll be a slave.
I’d no longer be out of fashion,
“Think like a horse” became my passion.
Days were spent in the field with my herd,
Then changes gradually occurred.
Standing up I’d take naps in the shade,
With just my lip I’d pull a grass blade.
At strange new objects I’d loudly snort,
In the brisk air I’d kick and cavort.
Meeting strangers I’d want to call loud,
Reaching to sniff their nose and stand proud.
I could feel equine traits control me,
A famous trainer I soon would be.
There was a huge sale at the feed store,
I piled up salt blocks, grain, and much more,
Pushing my loaded cart to check out,
Through the crowded aisles I moved about.
As I edged to the long waiting line,
A woman crashed her cart into mine.
Her attitude tripped something in me,
With stretched neck, bared teeth, I charged swiftly.
As I wheeled around to kick at her
I heard her scream an offensive slur.
Leaving her cart, she turned tail and ran.
The bottom then fell out of my plan.
I had mastered “to think like a horse,”
Without comprehending its full force.
Doctors visit me in my locked stall—
Horseophrenia was my downfall.

© 2008, Janie Lee Moor
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.


Janie Lee Moor comments, "The first part of the poem is true. I learned more about horses from that frustrating clever horse than all the other horses I've worked with. The last part of the poem is an exaggeration, although there are those who might disagree with me about that."

Sole Long

No doubt, they’re looking mighty sad,
The truth is that they’re long past bad.
It’s just like parting with a friend
When you realize it’s the end.

We have had quite a history;
So much is coming back to me...
They’ve carried me through many days,
In snow, rain, sun, and dusty haze.

The first big scuff they acquired
Was from a colt that was inspired
To hurt me as the worst he could,
And he succeeded pretty good.

They’ve been soaked in manure and mud,
They’re badly stained with oil and blood.
They’ve been scratched, sliced, scorched, crushed, and more,
They look like they’ve been through a war.

They’ve known my joy at calves’ first breath,
And felt my pain witnessing death.
They’ve helped me earn an honest wage,
I danced in them on life’s great stage.

Over the years they’ve stretched just right
‘Till on my feet, they’re pure delight.
The leather’s now too torn and thin;
They cannot be repaired again.

I sure do hate to let them go,
It will be done with little show.
It’s just like parting with a friend
When you realize it’s the end.

© 2010, Janie Lee Moor
This poem may not be reprinted or reposted without the author's written permission.


 About Janie Lee Moor:

Descended from generations of farmers, Jane Moor grew up on a farm in Northwest Ohio. She and her husband, Herb, operated a small farming operation. Now retired from teaching and farming, She still has a few horses which are put to work carrying Jane in exploring trails in a variety of locations.

She has written magazine and newspaper articles and poems. Most of her writing is horse related. Jane is a part-time reporter for a local newspaper.



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