Don't Get Bitten, Don't Get Kicked

Only true gentleness can master horses.
Pull and their strength will enter your flesh like
a butcher's hook and force the joint awry.
Never tense. Your fear will balloon and mewl,
come flashing over the fields, a simple brain's
switch of horror that may destroy you both.
Keep your voice low - you are fodder for the threshing.
Think with your senses: one can be spry death
in half a second from smelling the new spring.
Balance is your handrail. Gravity the strap.
Hold that light boneless seat men find so sexy.

Always remember: on the grass you are dead meat.

Seam Poetry (Issue 5)

My horse Ianto died this week. I was away and my friend Vivienne (and Bryan and Verity, but especially Vivienne) cared for him heroically. Probably best- horses know nothing about ownership. To Ianto I was a sort of officious health visitor: enquiring into the state of his feet, dosing him, insisting he take exercise. Vivienne on the other hand was meals-on-wheels: beyond kind, calm, a giver of sweets. I know who I'd rather have.

Thanks Ianto - we had some wild times. I've never met another creature on four-legs that was a stand-up comedian.

Thanks Vivienne.