The Cup

Author: aimznabz
Word Count: 254
previous browse writing next

Poem about the Melbourne Cup.

The anticipation,
Surrounding the race.
The winner would be the one,
who kept up with the pace.

Coats glistening with sweat,
Nostrils flared.
Ears pricked,
Heads high in the air.

The barriers are loaded,
The mounts ready to run.
It was the annual race,
Under the Melbourne sun.

Much more was at stake,
Then the bookies’ purses.
Pride, glory and conquest.
Who would be victorious?

The bell rang,
The gates flew open.
The crowd was uproar,
Encouragement was screamed, not spoken.

The flash of the jockey’s silks
As they raced on by.
Those horses appeared,
Able to fly.

The pounding of the hooves
As they rounded the turn,
The sound was deafening,
Who would crash, who would burn?

The field surged forward,
Towards the line.
The race seemed to last,
The eternity of time.

It would be close,
The spectators could see.
Would the winner be a gelding?
Or the chestnut filly?

Then out of the blue,
Roared this stunning bay.
She surpassed all others,
Including the favourite grey.

With her ears pinned back,
She came from the outside.
She flew past the pack,
And over the line.

The cheers, the tears.
The congratulations.
The owners’ of the winner,
Were in elation.

Then the final parade,
Ceremony and speech.
The winner’s circle,
The cup was within reach.

Gold and gleaming,
It had pride of place.
Then it was presented,
To the winners of the race.

The cup was waved in the air,
For all to see.
That stunning bay mare,
Reigned supremacy.