I've also been delighted by so many of the prompts, and the sense of community. That's rare.
Anyway, here are today's early crop. I might come back and do a Roundel as per Shanna's prompt, if I get time.
me by the wrist,
treasure. Before I knew it
I was rolled into a tight embrace
from behind, one hand round my throat,
tightening over the pulsebeat
one great dirty fist over my mouth,
smelling of earth and yesterday’s
sunburn, calamine lotion, ragged
fingernails, laments, river pearls, spit,
blood, rust and dandelions,
a voice in my ear
whispering hard and urgent
‘start speaking. Keep
And now one for Patti Smith:
I went to sleep thinking of Peter,
thrown from his daughter’s horse,
neck snapped like a door slam
to the face, one which would not open
for a year.
How hospital light
leaks and bounces over
squeaky, scraped-clean floors. If there’s nothing
else, we can look at agitated
air, faces hung in racks, the thin flickering stories
racing across a tv, like waves.
My neighbour, limping home with shattered hips and
a rearing piebald. The woman further north,
paralysed from the neck down. I picture
her splayed on the grass, helmet bumped,
limbs made into a jigsaw puzzle with
missing pieces. Permanently
Yesterday I saw a stallion on the back road,
fluid calligraphy against the green page
of the field.
Suddenly understood the long dark inky poem of a horse,
the neck bent to back braced to legs which are
frozen running flowing to the paintbrush
tail, flicking capricious grace at the sky. It was
a perfect victor, a dancing tableaux, the prettiest
threat I ever saw.
I slept and dreamed, of course
of being on horseback, of riding
into battle, of being carried so high and tall I might even
try to win.