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A collection of poetry from a small farm on the Colorado prairie; tiny stories in simple words, praise for the beautiful fragile land, and love poems to horses. This is a 106-page book of poetry and full-color photography, a softcover mini-coffee table book.
Some heartfelt, some humorous, these poems are a howl to the prairie wind. I’m a woman on a farm, wonderstruck by this simple life with its plain beauty; the comfort of daily chores and bittersweet sunsets. Even my words can’t look away.
And the horses. This old gray mare isn’t over that girlish phase. None of us are, so I write love poems to horses, putting words to this equine passion that powers a central part of our lives. What is it that pulls us so fiercely to horses?
Horse Prayers is poetry but this love affair with brevity doesn’t threaten my long-term relationship with writing non-fiction. It’s more like an inky menage a trois.
Wish
We felt them close
before we had skin;
from an infinite prairie
the vibration began.
A slow rolling nicker
rumbled, more felt
than heard. Horses
called to us, before
we were born, so we
would remember their
warm breath when we
first saw fairy-tale images
in children’s books. We
were theirs long before
we called them our own.
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A collection of poetry from a small farm on the Colorado prairie; tiny stories in simple words, praise for the beautiful fragile land, and love poems to horses. This is a 106-page book of poetry and full-color photography, a softcover mini-coffee table book.
Some heartfelt, some humorous, these poems are a howl to the prairie wind. I’m a woman on a farm, wonderstruck by this simple life with its plain beauty; the comfort of daily chores and bittersweet sunsets. Even my words can’t look away.
And the horses. This old gray mare isn’t over that girlish phase. None of us are, so I write love poems to horses, putting words to this equine passion that powers a central part of our lives. What is it that pulls us so fiercely to horses?
Horse Prayers is poetry but this love affair with brevity doesn’t threaten my long-term relationship with writing non-fiction. It’s more like an inky menage a trois.
Wish
We felt them close
before we had skin;
from an infinite prairie
the vibration began.
A slow rolling nicker
rumbled, more felt
than heard. Horses
called to us, before
we were born, so we
would remember their
warm breath when we
first saw fairy-tale images
in children’s books. We
were theirs long before
we called them our own.