Reflections of boyhood horse rides upon the farm
homeward bound when we turned the horses head
The thundering of hooves as we galloped on the flat
the joys of pretending we were jockeys on a bay mare thoroughbred
The eyes were full of water
as the horse galloped, creating rushing air
Could also feel the turbulence
as it ruffled up the hair
We are coming close to home
we're full speed up a hill
Can hear the rapid breathing of the horse
Exhilaration! Another ride, never tire of the thrill
Suddenly our destination, we dismount
remove the saddle and bridle from the mare
She is relieved as she rolls from side to side upon the earth
Many riding stories through childhood I could share
In the dark night of the jungle,
During a thunderstorm and heavy rain,
A lone fawn appears in flashes of lightning,
Separated from its mother,
Frightened by wild creatures and wilderness.
The roar of clouds
And the terrifying roar of the king
Force it to hide behind a mound.
Time stretches like years,
Yet its endurance bears fruit.
The clouds lose their fury before the fragile fawn
And drift away like a defeated army.
Stars emerge; the fawn’s hope strengthens.
The moon lights its trembling path.
After a few dreadful hours,
Guided by patience and faith,
The fawn reunites with its mother
In the silver light of the moon.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hoof-deep in twilight,
the willow braids its green hair~
slow feast of shadows.
Earth tastes of salt and thunder
when the sky leans down to watch.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They arrive before dawn~
antlers strapped to stocking caps,
felt noses safety-pinned to fleece.
Downtown Dallas exhales frost
as hooves slap pavement~
a migration of office workers,
lawyers, bankers, teachers,
students, retirees~
all briefly ungulate,
pounding
the urban tundra
while above them,
skyscrapers
turn into frozen pines.
The Finish Line smells of gingerbread
and spilled energy drinks.
No one wins, but
everyone who gallops across
the Finish Line receives a red t-shirt
proclaiming:
I ran with the herd.
America’s
faded glory
the polo field
reminds
Of years
of fleeting greatness
and hopes that lived
in kind
A child walks
the ball field
where ponies
used to tread
With memories
buried deep below
their grandeur
— all but dead
(The New Room: March, 2024)
At North Pole stables, liquid spirit flows
Down the hatch is where the brandy goes!
We bust all the moves
And raise our big hooves
That's why Rudolph has a glowing red nose!
Nov 13, 2022
Fun holiday limerick
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
Checked on rhymezone and howmanysyllables
Can I say this is a Friesian,
that one a Hereford?
I lived so long in a town
and can say I have forgotten
my recollection as I wander in streets
among cars and bikes.
And yet am I so much missing
beings with four legs,
and those hooves that clomp
when stomping in the road,
ambling from one of those green fields -
chewed down a little now -
to another;
beings with their beauty,
yes, beauty that moves with abundant grace?
(March 2022)
hooves beating
on the pavement-
drums
I taste the spring
With tongue so wicked and wry
I feel the grass between my toes
Hooves so cloven and high
If you walk beside me though the meadows
I'll assure you only the best times
But know that if you walk beside me
I'll take until you're dry
Oh the times we'll have
Dancing through days and night
Believe in me and you will fall
And warned you
I surely tried
A stone turned up
where no stones turned up
where stones turn up,
where we dug today...
A stone turned up
when no stones turned up
where stones turn up,
when we dug today...
Maybe if you saw it with
my eyes, and from my
cracking heart...Maybe if you
held it in my shaking hands,
maybe if you saw it through my
steaming tears...
Maybe if you saw it there,
where stones turn up
when, today no stones turned up.
You, too woulda seen the
heartstone I saw
as I buried the heart I buried
where stones turn up.
Pony Express Christmas Card Ride
You asked about our Christmas here.
Do reindeer pull the sleigh
to carry loads of gifts and cheer?
Hoofed beasts we have, they eat fine hay
and in the rain or snow and cold
deliver Christmas cards, as gay
and warming as the cheer of old.
You’ll hear the hoof-beats – not on roof
but Main Street paved with lamplight gold.
The Pony rides on clopping hoof
with saddlebags packed safe and tight –
good leather and quite weather-proof.
Chaps and Stetsons, what a sight,
they leave the packs of mail right here.
An Old-West sort of Yule delight.
Thundering hooves tease
Pound the distant horizon;
Wild mustangs at play.
There is a celestial movement in our blood streams. A bird of hope singing in my rib cage. Choking on Holy Ghost ashes, I carry on this journey that is my life. Onward driven. Upon cloven hooves we ran, up the mountain on our sanctified paths to absolution. Upon elder cross we bled. Shedding dead skin. Eyes illuminated. She, the guardian of my heart. Devotion rests in steady palms. I have no fear within me,… For we forge our lives together as one. Brutish savagery is my hunger for you, for your love. Yet I harness it with total control. Gently I reside beside you, with total control. Animal instincts are deafening within my mind. Yet I stay silent, and hang on your every word.
hear the rush of hooves
in the first blush of the day
I see a head trip
01.05.17
long turbulent nights
galloping horses roam the
prairies of my mind
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Contest: The Troika
Sponsor: John Lawless
© 2nd January 2017
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