Category: Poetriness

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How to Fix Your Horse Problems

If he won’t get in the trailer, it might be because he’s worried about the shaky footing, or because he hated the last trailer ride he went on, or because he’s ignoring you, or because his friends are back in the paddock, or because you’re not being firm enough, or because you never taught him to mind you in the first place, or because you just don’t have what it takes. 

            If he wiggles while you saddle him, it might be because he’s uncomfortable with the cinch, or because there’s a sticker in the saddle blanket, or because he’s distracted by the dogs over there, or because he’s bored, or because his back hurts, or because he doesn’t respect you, or because you just can’t get there with him. 

            If he won’t pick up the canter, it might be because he’s out of balance in his hind end, or because he’s too heavy on his front end, or because he’s lazy, or because you haven’t got his attention, or because you’re out of position, or because your legs say go but your seat says stay, or because you really don’t belong here.

            You can fix it by doing more by doing less, or by being his leader while being his friend, or by moving faster without rushing, or by moving slower without dawdling, or by driving him into a stop, or by working him harder without drilling him, or by finding and filling in all the secret holes in your character.

            And you can fix it by being sure, being flexible, being confident, being relaxed, being fair, being firm, being brave, being humble, being bigger than you are, being smaller than you are, being what you always wanted to be and never were.

            Just don’t be emotional, don’t be cold, don’t wait too long, don’t come in too soon, don’t chicken out, don’t push too hard, don’t nag at him, don’t coddle him, don’t think too much, don’t forget, don’t rush him, don’t get sucked into the existential chasm in the corner. 

You’ll know you’ve got it when he’s content and willing and snappy and relaxed and bright and forward and balanced. 

You’ll know it’s good when you’re in harmony, in synch, partners in a dance. 

His legs will be as your legs, your bodies will move as one. 

And the nights will pass quicker and the shadows in the corners will grow quiet.

You’ll know.

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Sunlight

 

ponderosas

 

If sunlight falls on the meadow and nobody is there to feel it,

is it hot?

We know this: the brain cobbles together images from scattered data,

makes movement from a series of stills.

We know this: memories are rewritten every time we look at them.

So what can we trust?

My cat follows the sun, my horse retreats under a tree.

I mark the light’s angle and think of the clock.

Every thing under the sun has its own story to tell.

We know only this: sunlight falls.

 

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How to find out who you really are

 

woman-alone-at-the-top-of-the-mountain

 

I dreamed I was buried.

A massive rock, oh so slowly,

settled over me, pinning me to the ground,

preserved in a crevice the size of a coffin.

I thought, “I will die here.”

I thought, “it will take days to die.”

I thought, “I can spend my time panicking or meditating.”

I thought, “no one will ever know which I chose.”

And that last was the worst.

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Can the Salmon Explain?

 

 

Alister-Kemp-FB-Msg-Image

What does the salmon feel

just before she starts her death trek home?

Is she pulled by dull aching for a home she’s never known?

Is it a restless burn, driving her from behind?

I feel it, too!

Can the salmon explain what is to be done?

She unerringly thrusts herself up the right

impossible stream.

Me, I don’t know which one to climb.

She shows me

— move! leap! to the death!

I stand below

— which way? when? how fast?

I lose sight of her as she rises.

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The Horse’s Eye

 

 

IMG_0114

 

It is awful to be seen by a horse.

[awful: creating a sensation of awe]

You’ll see, if you care to look,

how he knows everything that matters.

Your weakness, your hope,

Your fear and self-deception,

Your intentions, or lack thereof.

He turns his head, knowing all.

And you know so little,

of him,

of yourself.

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Noisy Silence

 

 

I came to the woods seeking     Owl

quiet,

gentle moments of insight,

the meaning of a bird.

Instead I found clamor,

relentless chatter and clanging:

self-doubt,

fear,

          refrains of the past,

dark imaginings.

Am I a hopeless kind of monk,

or do all those brethren

live with it, too?

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A primal exchange

I milk my cow.

I buy and bring her hay,

grain and special minerals.

I give her safety and a dry bed,

I leave her in her peace.

She lets me catch her, tie her,

grab her teats and squeeze them.

She lets me take her body’s product.

She sniffs and licks her calf,

nose to tail, shoulder to belly.

I don’t interfere,

She lets me look on.

To make a contract, you need:

An offer,

and acceptance.