Family is that  familiar word for the go-getters, the thoroughbreds of the families, those nearest and dearest applaud the strong to thrive, and yet a painful  forgotten word, for the lost generation,  ignored and despised,special and different, terminally unique, were only as strong as our weakest link lost black sheep and shepherds sanity on the brink of exposing the lies, waiting for the train that will never come to the station;
In time...

Forget
About
ME
I
LOVE
You

Screaming "Do I even exist? ******* LOVE ME!"As he tightens his headlock, begging to be loved, from a desperate rage of rejection.

"But why won't you love me the way that you don't? I'm a lovable hopeless drunk loser ,who hasn't washed in months, I'll be the prodigal son  if you want ,coming home and we can sit at the table for lunch ...wishful thinking! If only! you could love me unconditionally ,and not just on a hunch!
If  you want me, Just a touch of acknowledgement will do! I'll give you my soul on my sleeve, just some crumbs from your lofty plinth, to my slum will suffice!
I'm so ******* lost in the dark of the night, I forgot I was looking for love  and soulmates at first sight!"

Screaming to be acknowledged from the four corners of the globe since time began, everybody knows there's a pink elephant in the room being ignored, like the emperors new clothes.  Couples desperate to procreate, using frozen embryos. Those still remembered ,who died ages ago,
Forget me not , everyone wants to be known,Everyone misses someone, and children yearn to be grown. Don't forget all those lost childhoods, Once my heart was my home, a long long; long time ago!The machine advertises  the have's and the have not's ...all those special qualities, some of us just don't got.... were what's  lacking in our family units cost... and immediate vicinities. Thank God for the internet, hounding us  to forget our inherent need to be loved and belong, feeding us with toxic seeds of disconnected, anti-life and discombobulated lifelong wrongs, from  a plethora of sources transmitting The current Perfect archetypal family systems ,propagated  through the myriad of deadman tv shows, and films ,promoting an unblemished, should be family values and traditions, most of us know we will never live to experience. Force feeding us with a yearning of an unachievable contentment in our innocence , hoping in our wildest dreams ,we try to ignore the facts displayed in the constant narrative dictated through the mean instrument of mental emotional and spiritual propaganda...**** your tv licenceS! and smash the ******* thing into public artistic scenes!, smash them into smithereens!don't be ambivalent! No one wants to sit down on the fence as a family and watch on the screen the colour purple riddled with ****** and seriously toxic themes for participants.

Forgotten and ignored are the origins of the word family... famula-serving woman or famulante-servant or even familiarcus -house hold slave...So it should come as no surprise that the human race has been plagued and fractured with slavery throughout our brief brutal AGE.From a creative perspective I can understand the widespread epidemic curse in the hearts and minds of manhate and mankind,of the feeling that we do not belong to our very own families our communities and the societies structured to evoke the black sheep syndrome .It is this lack of feeling apart of, and that we do not exist , that has inspired an overwhelming need for us to persist and create our own families,tribes,gangs,communities, groups and fellowships. From the tower of babel, its as if  we have  been programmed to automatically divided, segregate and become as alien as possible to each other sides.Separating cultures with borders and religion,class and access all areas for members only. Blood is running through my body just like yours, and I done a big massive **** this morning! Do you identify? Nothing like a good ****!
This has become one of the defining factors of the human experience our evolutionary process and diversity.Not our **** similarities! Yet it is these differences that have caused over a billion to be killed! Thats a lot of hate and anger,pain and suffering ...And I'm adding up everyone whos ever been killed because of there differences...Just imagine?..Its probably a lot more! why can't we just get along? and stop all the wars? Everybody wants to be right, Everybody yearns to be wanted ,needed and loved,to feel they exist and that they belong.But with a record number of divorces,broken families and runaways in a culture spiraling further and further away from the original family structures intention, where do we go from here?What is our inheritance? Why do we always fight over money? Why not just care to dare to share?

I find in this day and age, we the broken human family, searching for all these possibilities of experiencing the human experience in the wrong social utilities . Such as gang warfare,militia, online gaming and the plethora of virtual communities available from facebook and myspace to mental health and suicide forums, social toxic rearing, which mimic a sense of divergence,preference, belonging and being apart of something other than feeling so alone! Which in reality we are!  Deepening our deepest wounds the one thing that we yearn for more than anything on the face of the earth is to feel connected,wanted ,needed and loved, everything a family is supposed to provide, not ruin and despise.

The most horrific emotions, I have ever felt was the rejection and abandonment by my mother, when I was just a special wild child, the terror and dread of not being wanted was horrific, and created a deeply destructive state which infected my core, and has grown into a great toxic spiritual tumor 30 years later. I fear I will never get over it! With my head in the sand, so many relevant individual grains just swept under the carpet like a hidden beach, and so I search for the love I was denied in a thousand ways and a million times I seek. From hunting for my mothers love in another woman or a man. I can't even begin to explain the pain my father inflicted upon me. lest I curl into a ball and die right now! Its as if he hated me more than words ,and yet I loved him so much. Left me seeking comfort in despair in the pit in the belly of the beast, through alcoholism and addiction of every kind! none of these methods was sufficient in filling the void inside,The hole in my soul can't breathe,for all to see, especially me ,can't hide but only these things expanded it , creating a deeper hunger and leaving me more broken and empty. My desperation to remain part of the family was displayed in my familiar slave like demeanour(desperate to please my mother) by cleaning the whole house  from top to bottom with a toothbrush. I would lose myself in the neverending chores, it was never a bore, as long as mother didn't let me go, but it was never enough, and it seems as if I was doomed to be a cast out! on my own, exposed to the harsh reality of being alone my worst nightmare coming true... me dying from loneliness! They say its true! and I can understand now how that could be possible ....

There are so many different types of families, and ways for us to feel as if we are connected to a greater community, to feel as if we fit in. But often children grow without a father figure to balance ,protect and nurture them ,lead them! But what if there father is a drunken ,violent,gambling ,deranged bully? what then? Surely they would be better off without such a toxic head of the family, infecting his sons and daughters with the sins of the father. Who of us is cursed with being the blacksheep of the family ? having to toil for the rest of our days in the vastness of our existence, primarily alone ,we search in vain for surrogate mothers and sisters and fathers and brothers. But we find them not, because substitution will never suffice in order for us to truly count and heal within and feel alive ! We must heal this broken bridge that has crippled us to the core in our very short miserable lives.

Its up to us to give love where we have been denied. Invite the broken souls inside, shelter them from the  bitter cold, Just to see another friendly face can mean so much! why is life so tough?, leave us like Lazarus risen from the grave,or Adam and Eve and able and cain to the prodigal son, we have always suffered when we were on our own and alone, I know you prefer your own company, but we were born to surpass ourselves and continue to co-exist beyond our own morality...Ub3

Yes, it's the racing carnival,
Fashionistas so topical,
Significance trivial,
Eye candy,
Drunk and silly,
Studs in suits,
Looking beaut,
Glitterati,
Haves and wannabes,
For the paparazzi,
Doyens of the racing industry,
You all look fabulous,
Gambling magnanimous,
Thoroughbreds' gloss,
Media hype and dross,
Great racing day,
*****, bets and babes,
Stuff the plebs today,
Our city's public holiday,
Melbourne Cup Day!

You make yourself easy to be seen..
    by someone like me.
The only  thing I would think you would  find
  as surprising

Is why it has taken this  long
for a beautiful Thoroughbred in Spirit
such as you
to finally be seen
for exactly who it is that you are

Free from assessment or judgement,
I would venture so far to say  
that the greater  central part
of who it is that you are,  
is (sadly so)  tremendously lonely.

Again, not a judgement  at all,
but an assessment of life in general.
A lover like me would be perfect,
but I am  (as you could guess)
spiritually volatile in how deeply I push--

..Even within the normal  give and take
of everyday things. Sometimes  even
one well placed  word  can bring one
off-center and into  (and towards)
an even deeper part  of their own journey.

Most gorgeously-luscious
Thoroughbreds such as yourself
usually  pick less 'challenging' partners
in order to have a somewhat more
'stable' home life..

..But sadly with that also,  develops
a relationship where the deeper,
   more exctasy-based and driven
      parts  of  you

   are left with no choice
   but to become, dormant..

in order to protect the 'beautiful-luscious'
within you from slipping into despair

--Until one day,
what you have been avoiding
   (longing for)  most,
shows his *******.. unorthodoxically-untethered,
brazen attitude (and perfectly clear eyesight)

   and suddenly you become seen.

There is absolutely no way
with some one like me  that you..
(within all of your Wondreous,
   Deep-feeling Glory)
would not eventually be seen.

I urge you to take  every single
part of it all,  in..
(the very thing you were "built" to do)..
Even if in doing so, you were almost
continually brought right up  to
(and so very often, "over")  the edge

Gifted fingers, helping the body  find
its own form of release,
when the pressings of Spirit,  mixed
with the deeply-Penetrating View  that
Love carries within every single  part
  of itself..
..Those gracious fingers are not 'up to no good'..
   but instead..
(by the very Deeply-Understanding
nature of Love itself)..  
  both they..  and the  whole
  beautiful process of Release..

      is deemed, Holy.

The physical human body  becomes
pushed way too far  within its limited
ability to contain,  the Wholly
uncontainable Ectsatic Pulsings
  of Love's true Agenda.

Perfection knows that and says
      (so do I)..

     "How could she not?"

Be gracious to yourself, girl.
You have wanted to live
within the Beautiful Realms,  
worthy of your calling.

   Welcome Home ❤

How come with all the brilliant thoroughbreds
That stand strong and ready at the starting gates
Those glorious, shiny coats gleaming in the sun
Do I keep on beating dead horses?
Instead of placing my bets on the alive and thriving?

Don't I want to finally engage in the race?
Don't I want to to keep my eyes on the winning prize?
For a dead and decaying horse,
With flies swarming about its lifeless carcass
Just ain't gonna move

Dead horse beating is a ludicrous hobby
It is more futile than leading a thirsty horse to water that just won't drink
That whip, in hand, just needs to be surrendered, put down on the ground
As well as finally releasing, letting go, on the pulling of those reins
So that horse can finally have a proper burial

Be finally laid to rest

In my dictionary
Dead horse (a noun) = people, places, or things of decay that should be out of your life
Dead horse beating (a verb) = from your thoughts to your actions, trying to revive a lost cause
Dead horse (synonoms) =  bad relationships/friendships/acquaintances {that are of the morgue}

Anything that is counterproductive to your life

Flames flew from Salem to Soweto,
Fanned by freedom's winds
In sails stubborn like mules
Seeking the rights of  thoroughbreds
And the thrill of the trifecta;

But in the land of speed
Horses and zebras reign
And the mules,
They dream of pristine barns
With piles of fresh hay
And corn...

Dry, white, primed
For revolution
by fire
Like crimson race-cards
And threadless black tires...

~ P (#burnfree)
12/20/2013

I remember the beginning
And how you took my heart
The way your arms would hold me
Your lips so warm and soft
The way you bit my neck
To grab my full attention
And off to wilder tempos
Till love relieved our tension
We’d relax a moment
In lovers' afterglow
And soon you’d be right back
And off again we’d go
You woke my sleeping senses
And warmed me to the bone
Our loving was fantastic
With thunder in our *****
Just like two thoroughbreds
We pushed our outer limits
Holding back just barely
To delay the final finish
Milking all the sweetness
As hungry lovers might
To reach another pinnacle
Before the morning light

Summer. bike ride. I’m a child. I live just outside of Churchill Downs in Kentucky. young in skinned knees, pumping a 10 speed in a humid southern town, dodging cracks in the side walk. it’s an old superstition and I still hold it. grass growing in tiny bunches, in cracks. sun peeling the skin. candy rotting the teeth. the city is so *****. the houses dilapidated like fallen, shambling drunks. paint crumbling. and my brother ate paint chips. someone called him *******. rusted cars, playing house. sedan clubhouse, an oven in July. garbage day, rummaging for toys. I once found Quik strawberry milk in the trash I consumed it, and later felt like ****. hot trash treats. cumulus cloud companions, balloons without strings, the heat over eighty degrees, friends none to speak. after school fight. kids claiming coitus in the elementary. country music blaring from a fake wood radio. I found the radio on the curb and was proud of my conquest. all the lyrics incoherent but somehow they resonated. riding bikes all day. no parents. busy, their marriages failing, lives changing. riding through the slums. the houses of broken homes watching me tiredly. boarded eyes. down steep hills. up plywood ramps. kids jeering from porches, throwing rocks, glass, anything. scribbled graffiti. the rain makes everything more loathsome, wet clinging grime.  the dirt sticks to everything. fingertip messages scrawled on cars. s.o.s. twenty foot Marlboro man towering above the block, faded, peeling, half his face gone. like a totem making sentry of the oiled trash, the houses and apartments nodding to demolition. meanwhile, the thoroughbreds are fenced off and protected like coveted family jewels. I stood at the fence and thought, that’s all Kentucky is to the world. just some **** horses. Now and Laters and candy lips stick, my front porch.  the house leans. a drunk on the curb mouth a gape and snoring. is that your dad? no he’s in the tavern across the street. he lives there and its always loud. angry sounding buses threaten to squash the spastic child cyclers as they clutch their Sega genesis desires. cleaning gritty fingernails, I learned that my math teacher was dead. her car she wrapped around an old elm or maple on Southern Parkway the night before. my dad signed me out of school and took me to see the spot where she died. on the asphalt a ripe red stain. did I make this up or was that real? death. learning about death. with cockroaches. the bug-man sprayed and killed your parakeet, Christina. it was stuck to the newspaper that lined the bottom of its cage. I recorded it chirping on a cassette tape. I remember running terrified from rusted sedans. dented and hosting drug addled predators in cut-off jeans, wet legs stuck to torn imitation leather seats. ***** glued them and fueled them. I fled with my flea bitten mongrel friend. fly eaten, **** making. my dog made a minefield of our backyard. in this backyard where every Derby I parked tourist cars, the ladies in fine heals, disgusted and wobbling around the turds, the mud. I stood squat, shabby and I pocketed their money. Kentuckians, that’s all we are; horses, chicken and the cluck, Thompson.

You said, “Ask me what I am thinking”
Obediently I did
Swiftly you kissed me
Tongue, lips, all of it.
And suddenly,
I felt
E v e r y t h i n g.

Chills up my spine
Arm hair raised
Stiff and straight
Senses heightened
Heart beating
Stampeding
Like a band of thoroughbreds racing.
Intense sensations
Swarms of tingling and tickling
Like someone softly blowing
On the back of my naked neck.

A shock wave of pleasure
Feelings immeasurable
To anything I’ve experienced.
This was no ordinary kiss
Warm, gentle, firm
Just enough wetness
To keep motion fluid.

Lasting only 10 seconds
But feeling endless
Like falling into an abyss
A bottomless pit
Deeper and deeper
Rapidly dropping
Picking up speed

Until your hands released my cheeks
And all the warmth left me.
Overtaken by an icy breeze
Compared to the heat I was just feeling.
Like pulling covers abruptly off a body
While in the middle of a slumber.

I never liked the feelings of being stripped
Unwillingly, unexpectedly
Especially
When the everything was so inviting.

You kissed me without permission
Then the position I was put in
Decisions I had to make quickly after
Because what I say now
Outlines our future
Defines our label
Of each other.

You put that pressure
Onto me
I wanted nothing of that responsibly
At least not to that degree
Don’t ask that to me
To state what I think we should be.

10 seconds ago
I only asked what you were thinking
I was unaware,
Completely unprepared
To know I would be deciding
The fate of our relationship
This now sinking ship.

I can swim
But I feel like I'm sinking
Having to live with the dreadful feeling
I’ve hurt another person again.

I got to be the lead
As I’d always dreamed
I never expected my role to be
Heart Breaker.

I want to go along with it,
Put up with the charades
Be the good actress
And pretend things didn't change
Say for your sake
I feel the same way.

But for this show to go on
For my role to be authentic
I must be honest.

I guess some friendships expire…

Even the best shows don't last forever
Enjoy the run for what it was
And say goodbye
Because it’s for the better.

I. Aprilis

You wished the summer for no one
moments of white wilderness
stars in the blood
sepaled bees scatter
drown each day as all lights
unmade pollen blossoming among
fistfuls of paper tasks
busied thought scrolls with the Seen
afternoon feathers multiply
white honey of Aries


II. Julius

Months as paper pass flitting
through the screens that
separate outdoors from in where
light pools on an ancient carpet and
summer lay broken in pieces
on the floor like
so much shattered vinyl
what happens to the trapped light then, as
it ages, it thickens
curdles in the stale drapes
staunches awareness of
time the moon
is slowly
drifting away
from Earth


III. Octus

Apples fall on the rotten dusty ground we
threw them, trapped in the speckled atmosphere of decades
that never rinses clean you swore
we could see Venus if
the clouds would sit right
Aphrodite in blue jeans a ladder
in darkness is still
a ladder


IV. Januarius

Color dissolves and
hibernates underground grey winds
stampede through the Roman Year
like the ghosts of unchained thoroughbreds
all the bees have drowned their honey
spread thin across the blackened sky   when
everything is upside down
stars become seeds

Some years ago, on a Monday, I met Joyce at Whitlows.
I bonded with her over bourbon and cokes.
She wore a black dress; sloping V, open back
It clung to her thigh, as though her skin
Was coated in sweets: sugar, honey, syrup.
Her face shined under the light overhead:
Denim eyes, velvet lips, an upturned nose.
She went to G.W.; read Junot; rode thoroughbreds;
Spoke Arabic; ate okra; watched Kubrick.
At the foosball table, I touched her wrist. She touched my arm.
The next day, after coitus and coffee,
I went to my car and found a ticket.

Where women aren't quite women
They're Menstruating folk,
Their gender simply Human,
The world gone truly woke.

Grasping for atonement,
The art of double speak,
The fancy of the moment
Our words they cutely tweak.

Political correctness,
Not He, nor She, but It,
In search of urban fairness,
With some a glowing hit.

For others who stay silent,
Not knowing what to say,
On tact sorely reliant,
For this to pass they pray.

But how about this thought
To brighten up your day,
Good sense is rarely taught
So why should wokes hold sway?

We the startled masses
Muted for so long,
Know Thoroughbreds from *****,
That's how we get along.

Que voulez-vous de plus de la New Orleans?
Nutria sniped from shotgun shacks,
Horseradish hand grenades, get out of jail free charades.
Oyster forks in Lafourche talk the Trinity,
Those poor boys preceded Sal's Snowballs.

Papa Q raced the tracks; trains and thoroughbreds.
We were pubescent pirates, deck hands for hired luck,
Trifectas bribing our age, thirteen.
'Buted up' horses breaking down, their chalk line finite.

Late Spring, the Jazz rains for dusty crowds,
Like groundhogs gorging crawfish bread in Gospel tents,
Smelling of spices and creole sweat, a serenity treat, home.
Mom's Monday red beans, stirring since Sunday, salivating glands.

Rear view Blues light, chasing 23.8 miles,
Causeway, 'laissez faire' attitudes over Lake Pontchartrain,
When bedding the D.A.'s daughter is my convenient, corrupt plea.
Heir to Napoleonic code, law fallacies And
Alligator alleyways rush youth's normalcy.

The Dr. & Professor bled on all eighty-eight, resonating
From Frenchman to Tips, black and white keys turned red,
Tuning out race or nomenclature, lower wards up garden districts.
Second line's ancestors, parading dead down Marigny, joyfully.
Que voulez-vous de plus de la Nawlins?

How do they do it, those who stumble through life
as if blind? Caught in their blissful
delusion, bumping into others,
unaware of the ripples or floods caused
by their passage. Here I present to you the
Common Man, as profound and prolific as a
****, sometimes harmless, sometimes choking,
a blinkered horse spooked into running,
unguided by the reins of consideration.
How do they speak and kiss and mock without
feeling the feelings they create in
those they drunkenly stumble into?
These are the real life-livers,
the treasure hunters, the junkies addicted to
pleasure, lust, excitement. These thoroughbreds
can’t be bothered to slow for thought when
all that matters is winning more.

you keep running a losing race
with the white horse that gallops
inside of your veins

continually placing bets
but how long you'll last
is anyone guess

all the running you choose to do
out of the starting gate daily
is with needle and spoon

with those in the stands looking on
watching you on this muddy track
before your window is closed

running with your pack
of what started out
as all thoroughbreds

numb to the junk in the future you face
as the white horse in your veins
continues this losing race

Dressage Pearl Girl

G/ She’s the queen of bedight                                        
Em/ she side steps like a knight
C/ and tacks like a bishop
D/ at sea
                                    
F/ She can counter a canter                            
C/ walk trot and enchanter
G/ with a leg yield she changes
Am/ the lead.

G/ She can turn on her haunches                                    
Em/ traverse as she launches
C/ a transition position
D/ to please.
                                                
F/ Pirouette's on the back
C/ means give her some slack
G/ while a flying change will give her
Am/ some ease.

G/ If she makes a half pass
Em/ by cocking her ***
C/ her hind quarters are merely
D/ a tease.

F/ But before your engagement
C/ make sure the arrangement
G/ has room for a full
Am/ serpentine.

G/ Because you might regret                                    
Em/ while working up sweat
C/ she’ll free walk then bolt
D/ it’s routine.

F/ You could pull on the bit
C/ try a shoulder fore fit
G/ a renverse it will tell you
Am/ she’s keen.
                              
G/ If she tries to re-volte
Em/ time she knows you're the colt
C/ make contact and then
D/ intervene.    

F/ You can tell by her gait
C/ if she’s seeking a mate
G/ when she’ll saunter
Am/ just like a Coleen  
                                                                      
G/ It’s the covering room
Em/ she’s the bride your the groom
C/ wear blinkers
D/ she’ll know what you mean.

F/ When there's no way of knowing                                
C/ the true way of going
G/ suppleness has got to be                          
Am/ seen.
                                
G/ Thoroughness pays
Em/ in those early days          
C/ with thoroughbreds
D/ theres’s no in between.
                                                ­       ­            
F/ You’ll have made your first gaffe                                
C/ if she does a Piaffe
G/ Regrette Rien if she’s ne'er again
Am/ seen.

F/ You’ll have made your first gaffe                                
C/ if she does a Piaffe
G/ Regrette Rien if she’s ne'er again
Am/ seen.

F/ You’ll have made your first gaffe                                
C/ if she does a Piaffe
G/ Regrette Rien if she’s ne'er again
Am/ seen.
                                                           ­            
                 Chorus

F/ She don’t need no reason
C/ she’s always in season
G/ the world is her oyster
Am/ dressage pearl girl.

F/ She don’t need no reason
C/ she’s always in season
G/ the world is her oyster
Am/ dressage pearl girl.
                                  
F/ She don’t need no reason
C/ she’s always in season
G/ the world is her oyster
Am/ dressage pearl girl.



Ryan O'Leary ©

                                                        
    ­                <>                

Ps.

Original chess piece was a Ship not a
Bishop, (this is why it tacks). Hence
the reference in first verse.

This song uses all the terminology of dressage.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3uXXW8_NMOs

Composed for Charlotte DuJardin of Valegro fame.

She’s the queen of bedight, she
side steps like a knight and tacks
like a bishop at sea.

She can counter a canter, walk
trot an enchanter, with a leg
yield she changes the lead.

She can turn on her haunches
traverse as she launches, a
transition position to please.

A pirouette on the back means
give her some slack while a flying
change will give her some ease.

If she makes a half pass, by
cocking her ***, her hind
quarters a merely a tease.

But before your engagement
make sure the arrangement
has room for a full serpentine.

Because you might just regret
while working up sweat she’ll free
walk, and then bolt, it’s routine.

You could pull on the bit, try a
shoulder fore fit, a renverse
will tell you she’s keen.

If she tries to re-volte, time she
knows your the colt, make contact
and then intervene.

It’s the covering room, she’s the
bride your the groom wear blinkers
then she’ll know what you mean.

When there's no way of knowing,
the true way of going, suppleness
has got to be seen.

Thoroughness pays, in those early
days, because with thoroughbreds,
theres’s no in between.

You’ll have made your first gaffe, if
she does a Piaffe, “ Regrett-e-Rien "
if she’s never again seen.

Capo 1st fret

G/ She’s the queen of bedight                                        
Em/ she side steps like a knight
C/ and tacks like a bishop
D/ at sea
                                    
G/ She can counter a canter                            
Em/ walk trot and enchanter
C/ with a leg yield she changes
D/ the lead.

G/ She can turn on her haunches                                    
Em/ traverse as she launches
C/ a transition position
D/ to please.
                                                
G/ Pirouette's on the back
Em/ means give her some slack
C/ while a flying change will give her
D/ some ease.

G/ If she makes a half pass
Em/ by cocking her ***
C/ her hind quarters are merely
D/ a tease.

G/ But before your engagement
Em/ make sure the arrangement
C/ has room for a full
D/ serpentine.

G/ Because you might regret                                    
Em/ while working up sweat
C/ she’ll free walk then bolt
D/ it’s routine.

G/ You could pull on the bit
Em/ try a shoulder fore fit
C/ a renverse it will tell you
D/ she’s keen.
                               
G/ If she tries to re-volte
Em/ time she knows you're the colt
C/ make contact and then
D/ intervene.   

G/ You can tell by her gait
Em/ when she's seeking a mate
C/ she will saunter
D. just like a Coleen 
                                    
G/ It’s the covering room
Em/ she’s the bride your the groom
C/ wear blinkers
D/ she’ll know what you mean.

G/ When there's no way of knowing                                
Em/ the true way of going
C/ suppleness has got to be                          
D/ seen.
                                
G/ Thoroughness pays
Em/ in those early days          
C/ because with thoroughbreds
D/ theres’s no in between.
                                                ­       ­             
G/ You’ll have made your first gaffe                                
Em/ if she does a Piaffe
C/ Regrette Rien if she’s ne'er again
D/ seen.
                                                           ­            
                 Chorus

F/ She don’t need no reason
C/ she’s always in season
G/ the world is her oyster
Am/ dressage pearl girl.

F/ She don’t need no reason
C/ she’s always in season
G/ the world is her oyster
Am/ dressage pearl girl.
                                  
F/ She don’t need no reason
C/ she’s always in season
G/ the world is her oyster
Am/ dressage pearl girl.



Ryan O'Leary ©

                                                         
    ­                <>                

Ps.

Original chess piece was a Ship not a
Bishop, (this is why it tacks). Hence
the reference in first verse.

This song uses terminology of dressage.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3uXXW8_NMOs

Composed for Charlotte DuJardin of Valegro fame.

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