Dawn Potter
Eight horses—
heads tossing throats pulsing with sweat
bridles glinting a streak of sun black grey
pied chestnut hooves thudding clattering
a lurch quick shiver of mane
forelock tail cascade of muscle
trembled nose trembled lip
and the hot breath the wild almond eyes—
For you, says the king.
All for you.
* * *
This fairly new poem has had numerous titles. For a long time I simply called it "The Gift," but that didn't make the allusive context clear at all. I'm not satisfied with this version, but at least you have a better chance of comprehending the reference.
At some point in April, the CavanKerry Press blog will be reprinting the poem as part of its Poetry Month celebration. Today I thought I'd share it with you. I wish I could give you eight horses instead.
I love the energy in this poem--thanks for sharing it. It makes me happy to know where these new poems are coming from, and to be present--even at a distance--while they are imagined and formed in words...
ReplyDeleteSending a huge hug to you, Carlene-- Thank you for being my friend.
ReplyDeleteDawn, I especially like the verbs as they capture the drama and intensity of the battle. I got a picture instantly with the last 2 lines. Thank you for sharing.
ReplyDeleteA really visceral picture. Definitely like the title too.
ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteThanks, all, for the comments . . . especially weighing on the title. That's a big help.
ReplyDelete