Prey animal

Riding horses is just nuts and bolts,

you know

if the rider is nuts, the horse bolts. 

it's true.

He knew I loved horses

from the start.

In the end,

maybe it was that 

and not the snake in the bushes,

the elephant in the room,

what hides in plain sight,

what appears intimidating.

As old as time,

Human with beast,

Human with Nature.

Perhaps animals are so content 

because they don't fight their own lives.

Accepting everything 

In a sense

as is.

The slightest shift of weight

changes the direction.

Intention 

is the lead.

Analogy or metaphor

for or against

more or less,

supposedly a poem 

can be both or either...

Fight or Flight-

An awareness that carried us. 

Painting by Joaquín Sorolla y Bastida (1863-1923) 'The Horse’s Bath' c. 1909 in Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons. 

Duck, duck, & Goose

I see you ducking & hiding

as if this could keep you safe

of course, most enjoy a good game

of hide & seek-

except when there is no-

body looking

for you

the pain sets in,

nesting in the corners

where you have stashed secrets.

Fleeing from danger

is both fight & flight

instead of planting ones

self in the belief of growth & resilience

where you are

is never where you choose to be

there is disregard

for the hidden

wanting to be found

under a shroud of a woven

textiles you gathered,

that felt like encryption,

yet your secrets strobe across

all of our four heads

illuminating the dark valleys

spreading across your scape. 

Painting by Carel Fabritius, 'Hera hiding during the battle between the gods and the giants' c. 1643 in [Public domain].

dead end

Like Darwin's finches,
would we know why our beaks are shaped this way?

Poetry, like mathematical sentences,
cage the pigeon, momentarily truth can be contained
in theorem.

History was written to expel,
revise, adapt and to forget the way it happened
in order to make story from time with a line.

A plot never seems to develop
or hold
what was expected.

I do repeat myself,
I say things I often don't recognize
as mine, I smell fear in my atmosphere
and wish flight was my choice.


Artist Jacques Callot (1592-1635) 'Traveler' early 17th century, in Public Domain.