horses

Autumn Love


Yeats


Yeats in his epitah does say,

 

chiseled in stone of gray

 

 

“If there is one left to cry,

 

horseman pass me by.”

 

 

Trojan men, painted clone,

 

equestrian power, chiseled stone.

 

 

Oh, steed the poet’s cry,

 

witness to the final sigh.

 

 

The pen, the ride, united quest,

 

invites you near, as their guest.

 

 

But when the final blow does come,

 

please leave by in open run.

 

 

I will in spirit lope to see,

 

all the poets following me.

 

 

copyright: CMM

Running with the Horses


I love running,
I love more the eloquent run of a horse…

Ride


The Ride


I look into his face,
the eyes of steely black,
knowing for him to survive,
I must mount his back.
It is now him and me
at the bottom of the incline.
This sturdy force, this muscled mass,
must take upon his climb.
I cross over his strengthen barren back,
one I’ve known so well,
together we will climb this cliff,
the cliff from where he fell.
I lay my head on his hair,smelling the sweat of the day.
I tilt forward in his lead,
as he surely leads the way.Insignificant and frail I feel,
a difference of his strength and me,
the power harbored in his will,
the struggle that sets us free.

His body welcomes me,
I lean into it, shouldering me he tows.
He pulls his hoofs against the stones
his step is strong but slow.

Blending as one in determination
motion of the trial we meet,
sound of his hoofs, his labored breath,
tropical winds bring the heat.

WE finally reach this upward climb,
and once again we are still.
Silent trust, this twosome ride
from the power of his will.

I slide and leave this gallant hero,
with his challenge met.
A euphoric morning, the power of the ride,
the ride I will never forget.

Copyrighted: CMM 1996