Manifesto: Riding my own broncs

Saddle your own broncs

 

Riding my own Broncs

I will write. My poetry. My own way. For me. Sometimes, for an audience of one, or maybe none. Sometimes for more. And to them who come to read, to share, I say, “Thank you”

I have written in the dark of the night. Through the tears. Laughing with utter joy. And those times of the greatest hurt awaken my muse to words.

I will keep alive the story telling legacy of the cowboy poets, the romantics. T.S. Eliot the cats. All those who stood at the cross roads and took the road less trod. And those who took the well worn road and made it their own. And those who stood at the cross roads, grabbed a machete, a pack of matches or a strawberry roan bronc and blazed a new trail.

I will respect the muse, and I will also lure, bait, promise and chase her down when the words are shying away. I will ride my own broncs, and ask only that those who also ride to come along on the wide roads, and the narrow mountain trails. We need to write, it is to our spirits the breath of life. I need to write, the words speak to my soul as my eyes see poetry everywhere. My hands feel it. My heart beats for it. I dream it, and will never forsake it.  Like the breath of my beloved, the heartbeat of our child – it is part of me.

I will not succumb to the threats of busy-ness, boredom, harsh critics, lazy readers and those who won’t try to see the poetry that breathes right in front of them.

I am a poet. I will write. I am a poet. I will breathe, bleed and sweat poetry. I am a poet.

Gay has us writing our Manifesto for dVerse. This is mine. Trying to keep it within the criteria given, and yet taking it on my own ride. Come on over!

Remain calm

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Remain calm. The best advice.

Life is fragile. Handle with prayer.

Dancing on the edge of panic.

And a stillness holds me back.

Be still. Be still. Breathe. In. Out.

Running in place doesn’t make miles.

It’s a fast getaway on a rocking horse.

Feed goes in poop comes out.

Life is what goes in during the between.

Mind, body, spirit. Praying. Hoping.

Knowing what has to be done,

just not knowing how to the when.

Wishing I could sleep in the sun

with the cats and the dogs instead.

Hunting down elusive things and

doing work. Wondering at the

view ahead. Snowy roads.

Rainy days. Stormy maybe.

One step. Just one. Left or right?

God doesn’t count the steps

forward or back, He sees the heart.

He counts the tears. Not the fears.

He counts the scars that tell

we survived another bout.

He steps in His own time.

We walk, humbly at best,

and often kicking, screaming

being dragged by our stubborn

hands, heels dug in holding on.

I want place of ‘okay’ because

I know it. I don’t want the risk.

The unknown can be amazing.

But it is unknown and therefore

we are taught to fear it. Only the

reckless or crazy seek it wildly.

We leave limbo behind, boldly.

Dancing down an ice covered

highway, left or right turn?

Go. Just go. Get going.

Remain calm. Be still.

God’s got this. Breathe.

Live. Love. Laugh.

Pray. Pray first. Pray.

Prayer is

 

He spat a tobacco plug.

Prayin’ oughta be done first girl.

No sense askin’ for savin’ in a hurricane.

I nod. Listening. Knowing more was to come.

Pick yer horse. Saddle up. Give God the reins.

You gotta ride with God, prayerin first, not last.

He nods at a wild mare, she comes running but dashes away.

She’s got the devil in her. Praying won’t save ya from a wreck.

Prayer woulda told ya to ride the sorrel tho, she’s steady and true.

How often, do we grab the pretty bronc, saddle up and pray as we fly?

Gettin’ bucked off don’t mean the end, but why pray after the ground hits?

Prayin is first thing ya do before yer eyes open, an at the last as they close.

Be thankful for whatcha have, whatcha missed and what makes ya stronger.

Even a quiet horse will hop ya around, but that makes ya a better horseman.

I rub the ears of a sweet old mare, kid’s horse, and give her a treat. I nod. I hear.

 

 for Open Link Night