These are beautiful. "A World Full of Horses" filled my heart. "Communion" was lifting. "Illustrated" gave me an idea for a story! "Love and Fear" was my favourite. Those closing lines did it!
"have become
the moon and sun
rising at the same time."
Dang it. My grandfather was a cowboy and farmer in the US and Canada. He loved horses. He has a scrapbook, well I have it now, filled with images of horses he collected from calendars to magazines, to postcards. He tried to instill his love of horses in me, but when we were visiting some one must have caught my sence of fear - I was young and small - and it turned and kicked out at me. It clipped my shoulder as my grandfather pushed me out of the way, taking some of the brunt himself. We dusted ourselves off but it led to a fear of horses, as well as a love of them. We moved to a street/road in rural New Hamshire where they were there horses. One was a show horse, dressage and all that and was the most bad tempered horse you ever met. The stable was built especially for him as he kicked out at everything. I would go and visit the horse, it was tall, and tried to get to know it, in it's pen. Then I would walk down the road to meet with a couple of other horses who were ridden often. Sam was my favourite. He was still a tall horse, but not as towering as the dressage horse. He would come up to the fence and I would scratch his head, nose, and ears and in return he would 'massage' my shoulders with his teeth. Sometimes he would nip a bit, but we got on really well. I would bring apples as treats. These two very different horses got over my fear of them, thirty years later!
I especially love your reading of "Love and fear", when you pause before "at the same time". There's a feeling of asense of wonder - as if - 'How can that be?"
Spaniards brought them to seek out gold. A few went wild and multiplied. Shoshones, Comanches and Nez Perce tamed them and rode them to glory then tragedy.
As a child I spent much of my life pretending to be a horse. I had plastic Breyer horses that I spent hours playing with, making corrals out of the wooden blocks. I drew horses and wrote horse stories.
We had horses. My first was a black pony, then a quarter horse weanling. I have started and trained all of my horses since I was twelve years old.
My horses now are in their early twenties. I'm in my late sixties. Hopefully, I can ride another 10 years, but it won't be on Jim and Lucy.
My daughter is a horse person, but she's also a musician and works in San Francisco. Hmmm... I'm waiting for the right situation to arrive.
Thank you. As a little girl I learned that horses feel like warm velvet. They have a aura of the earth, and and wind, not sweet, but rather intoxicating. I learned that it hurls when they step on my toes.
Thank you very much. What if horse language turns out to be listening more than speaking, receiving more than transmitting? And separately, is it possible that transcending fear can allow us to embrace unconditional love?
These are beautiful. "A World Full of Horses" filled my heart. "Communion" was lifting. "Illustrated" gave me an idea for a story! "Love and Fear" was my favourite. Those closing lines did it!
"have become
the moon and sun
rising at the same time."
Dang it. My grandfather was a cowboy and farmer in the US and Canada. He loved horses. He has a scrapbook, well I have it now, filled with images of horses he collected from calendars to magazines, to postcards. He tried to instill his love of horses in me, but when we were visiting some one must have caught my sence of fear - I was young and small - and it turned and kicked out at me. It clipped my shoulder as my grandfather pushed me out of the way, taking some of the brunt himself. We dusted ourselves off but it led to a fear of horses, as well as a love of them. We moved to a street/road in rural New Hamshire where they were there horses. One was a show horse, dressage and all that and was the most bad tempered horse you ever met. The stable was built especially for him as he kicked out at everything. I would go and visit the horse, it was tall, and tried to get to know it, in it's pen. Then I would walk down the road to meet with a couple of other horses who were ridden often. Sam was my favourite. He was still a tall horse, but not as towering as the dressage horse. He would come up to the fence and I would scratch his head, nose, and ears and in return he would 'massage' my shoulders with his teeth. Sometimes he would nip a bit, but we got on really well. I would bring apples as treats. These two very different horses got over my fear of them, thirty years later!
Ah...another beauty.
All beautiful, but this last one is just perfect.
So Beautiful!
I cannot love this enough.
I am in a brief heaven
I especially love your reading of "Love and fear", when you pause before "at the same time". There's a feeling of asense of wonder - as if - 'How can that be?"
The moon and the sun rising at the same time….🤯
Spaniards brought them to seek out gold. A few went wild and multiplied. Shoshones, Comanches and Nez Perce tamed them and rode them to glory then tragedy.
Good stuff, Sherman. Lyrical stuff. And it's not easy for a "modern" poet to be lyrical when the "human race" (ratrace) has lost its melody.
As a horse lover, and someone who has had horses for at least 20 years. I love these verses.
"As I wept,
that little horse
nuzzled me until
my father gathered
me from the dirt
then attempted
and failed yet again
to carry us both away
from the latest hurt."
A beautiful tribute to a pony.
imagery personified
As a child I spent much of my life pretending to be a horse. I had plastic Breyer horses that I spent hours playing with, making corrals out of the wooden blocks. I drew horses and wrote horse stories.
We had horses. My first was a black pony, then a quarter horse weanling. I have started and trained all of my horses since I was twelve years old.
My horses now are in their early twenties. I'm in my late sixties. Hopefully, I can ride another 10 years, but it won't be on Jim and Lucy.
My daughter is a horse person, but she's also a musician and works in San Francisco. Hmmm... I'm waiting for the right situation to arrive.
Thank you. As a little girl I learned that horses feel like warm velvet. They have a aura of the earth, and and wind, not sweet, but rather intoxicating. I learned that it hurls when they step on my toes.
Thank you very much. What if horse language turns out to be listening more than speaking, receiving more than transmitting? And separately, is it possible that transcending fear can allow us to embrace unconditional love?