*** (Written 6/25/04) The other day when I was running barrels I kept getting the feeling that I needed to write a poem about it. So today, being bored, I decided I should go ahead and write the thing. And then I thought I should share it, because some of you horse lovers I know might be able to appreciate it. Anyway, this poem is dedicated both to Lady and to Morsul, who both love(d) to run the barrels: ***
“Your Race”
When you walk through that gate,
The whole world fades,
This is your coliseum,
Your battleground.
And the crowd falls silent
It’s finally your turn
The horse quivers beneath you
He’s ready to run
A ticking time bomb
Ready to explode
Held in check
Waiting for your sign.
Deep breath
Flutters of adrenaline
Coursing through your body
This is your race
Your time
Your battleground.
Set yourself firmly
Into the saddle
Grip the reins
Face the front
Give the signal.
The horse launches forward
Gathering speed
Things become a blur
Only one thing is clear
Your aim, your target
The first barrel is there
You guide him for it
He spins around it
Surefooted limbs
Throwing up dirt
Flying for the second barrel.
Grip the horn
Pull the reins
Lift his shoulder
Pivot around
Nostrils flaring
He stretches out
He knows where he’s going
You let him take you there.
Now the third, the last
Coming up fast
One more turn…
Haunches bracing
Forelegs reaching
Now you’re clear
Home free
But he needs no coaxing
Leaning forward
Over streaming mane
Dirt flying in your face
Wind whipping past your ears
Deafening drumming hooves
You soar for the gate unmatched
Pass the timer at reckless speed
Turning before the fence
At last you slow
To catch your breath.
But the horse tosses his head
Bright eyes shining
He knows…
You listen for your time
And grin
This was your race
His race
Your fourteen seconds
And as you prance away
He knows
You’ll win again
Next time.
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