Greening

Green horses
are aptly named.
Even I wanted to leave
the pasture
for that verdant expanse
beckoning through
the fence.
I could see the meadow flowers,
the sun stretching its arms
in arrays
of energy,
a warmth I was drawn
toward.

And yet bask
on the soft earth I have stood
atop so much time,
admiring a glint, leaning on
the weather-beaten stall wall
as if support should have so many
splinters.

After all,
longing is a look
that is eventually met
with a reflective surface,
like the well, green
also.

I thirst when I see the silhouette
of horses leaning against the sky
knowing I have much to learn
from that which is unbroken
and such.




Image by Bethany Legg bkotynski, taken 11/2014 [CC0].

Warming up in the arena

The arena is oval
intentioanlly making

the full circle of time
longer
to come back around.

And again, there she was
propped on top 

of the highest hill
and I, as usual, 

stood down on
the slope to the sea.

We smelt smoke
simultaneously
lifted noses and sought out the source
at the same time
the lighting changed 

at once, dramatically.

The sun, abased,
hid his face,
and then ashes fell in fat white flakes
resembling a December snowfall.

The chimes rang in the festivities,
discarding suddenly
the carols for a cacaphony.
Twas an ode to Saint Ana, played
in her lowest latitiude
in lieu of Saint Nick
from the shrill Northmost pole.

And again,
it was watching the horses
that knocked the wind out of me.
I found myself suddenly breathless,
trampled and tethered to death-again
it was familiar, like a rerun of hooves

and clapping.

Under a change of directional
winds, the brittle atmosphere
carried things this way

on a warm winter day.

Amid the sea of grey, the longshot,
made a circle of gates

sent forth as smoke signals and 

red flags at the finish line.

One time we will learn
it is by noses alone
that races are won
or lost.

Photo credit by cogdogblog (https://www.flickr.com/photos/cogdog/2672008614/) [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.

Tiny terrors

It was jarring the way she hopped so quickly 
from bunnies into horses.  Just innocent

little girl wishes, her histories with a small smile
naively, she shifts her weight with

her eyes nailed to the podium

avoiding eye contact it was hard to tell
she had known danger
intimately. 

“If the rider is nuts,

the horse bolts,” they always say.

Today, she spoke of the long lean

and pressure points.

Her shoulders showed 
she had seen her share of withers shake with warning.

Her baby hairs frizzed out in agitation 
that the truth is-
size may matter.

She had seen the rippling muscles so tense
her voice quivered,

where the equines veins are forced to sit atop

and strain under pulled skin at the nodes.

She had looked into glass ball brown eyes that flash a slit

of white, not watchful but warning.

Square teeth, as green as a homeless herbivore 
human, in flashes likewise with his

ears pinned back-

Hold on or get trampled.

Such is movement

in dreams. 

Afraid of spiders, she added at the end.

When she looks away briefly,

It becomes clear,

the horses have followed her gaze-

she should be afraid.

Rabbits don't hide 

in hats, but they do leave holes

so she can keep her fears 

penned up 

in poetry. 





Painting By Edmund C. Tarbell, 'Schooling the horses' c. 1902 in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Rhetorical riddling

Do you know this one?

What is propped up like a scarecrow,
but attracts small children?
What is semi-sweet
covering up?
Don’t answer that. Let us guess,
‘x’ or N/A, or maybe D-side,
all of the above.
And if all of your friends walked into a bar,
does it guarantee
all the horses drink
some algae
grasping at straws?

One golden delicious apple lies
about where it fell from,
while one woman and one man
stand around, wondering, Who
Dropped the first fruit.

If the man in charge of expending
Energy does not spend it by the hour
is he still working at the same rate?

What is blue, but only red when emitted
erratically? Emotion.
Twenty people gathered,
All twenty wanted to be happy. They said
some were-
despite how they stood under
the influence.

How many
Left turns
did we take
to make it all Right

living in circles.

Painting by John William Waterhouse [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.