Tag Archives: western riding

sometimes I miss the horse days & someplace, by pd lyons


occasional it happens

 stray song over the kitchen radio

 old photo tucked into a book that for no reason i just picked up to thumb through

i hardly let it pause me

i usually just keep going

 

occasional it happens

 my old bones do an old ache

  glimpse that crooked clavicle in the bathroom mirror

 hardly let it pause me

 usually just keep going

 

occasional it happens

strong scent of well oiled leather maybe someones coat

packed tight on the morning train

mists trough the damp windows

shadows moving up the hills

hardly let it pause me

 usually just keep going

 

occasional it happens

but you know sometimes when it does

i just don’t feel like moving

stay right there  face the tears

yeah sometimes i miss the horse days

sometimes i just fucking do

 

Someplace

Down on the avenue
Work ’til the day is through
I just want to get away
But you know I never do.
And when the sun goes down
I’ll be sitting all alone
Watch them old cowboy shows
On some second hand video.

Wishing I was someplace
Where grass just grows n rain is clean
Where horses run and black birds sing
Someplace where the sky is big n the only cry
From an eagle on the wing.

But I’m city bound by plastic chains
Robbed to death by men with ball point pens.
My hopes gone up in Marlboro smoke
N ghosts of what used to be my dreams
Haunt me with wondering if I’ll live long enough to ever be

Someplace where grass just grows n rain is clean
Where horses run n black birds sing
Someplace where the sky is big and the only cry
From an eagle on the wing.

Someplace where I can ride for days
N never see another human being

 

pdlyonsphoto

pdlyonsphoto

pdlyonsphoto

PREPARING TO ACCEPT , from Lessons on Western Riding by pd lyons


PREPARING TO ACCEPT
(From: Lessons on Western Riding)

Crisp snow,
Sleeping village,
Almost daylight from the moon.
Thin smoke rising,
Unseen fires,
Some dogs
Heard the barn door slide.
Horses snort n nicker greetings
Inside a soft watt glow,
Seek out my bridle, saddle, and
That old Indian blanket from Mexico.

Shuddering saw dust she greets me
As if trying to erase that white blaze star n snip
From her otherwise pure liver-chestnut body.
As usual I give in, step back.
As usual I take a moment, rub her head n ears,
Lean my face against her, whisper terms of endearment
Breathe that deep sweet smotherly scent…

And find myself thinking of all the things we done together.
Not big things like times she’s broke my bones;
Waited out that all night colic;
Turned them panicked horses running away with that family from New York City, just before they made the highway.
But rather those un-thought little things,
Like how many times I groomed this horse,
Untangled mane and tail, picked feet, mixed feed,
Had her shod, filed her teeth,
Spent hours just watching her in the field,
And like I am right now, unable to sleep –
All these thoughtless motions of tacking up.

I warm the bit from my own breath
So the frozen metal won’t burn
This great beautiful creature of my heart,
Slightly she bends so I can slip the bridle on.

Down the aisle sounds, my boots heels
No match for borium studded shoes,
The click of her feet, stirs the last sleepy horses.
Each step increases their curiosity.
More whinny’s n snorts, some strike the stall doors some stomp the floor
And we both know that black gelding’s bass drum kick.

Each their own way of saying they want to go.
Each charging the air as if with electricity
As if you were watching wouldn’t you see steel blue sparks with every step crackling like spider webs? The mare and I, our connection wove with each step until muffled by snow in false dawn and moonlight, though every part is saying – go! She stands still for me.

And I swing up into that healing sensation of being whole again.
A moment to savour before she, as if in imitation of her birth, boldly yet some how gently arcs liquidly into motion.
This time we make for the west ridge,
Where for the past week, waking from a sound sleep,
A lone wolf I’ve seen from my window.
Sometimes just a glimpse. Sometimes lingering,
Head raised as if to test the air,
As if at any moment stillness shatters…
But there’s never been a sound
Only a drooping dark shape turning away.

And at the top foot prints? Signs? The creature, real or a dream…?
Sailing through winter swells we crest the ridge
Pause for a single rising sound, that for all its power
Refuses to become anything as trivial as an answer to such questions.

Steadily we zig zag down to the valley floor,
Search a spot of running water, drink.
Share the last two good apples of the year.
In the stillness I roll the first cigarette of the day,
Smoke doubled in the cold, drifts across like dancing spirits shrinking from the sun where just before the rising timber line the frozen river spreads its dare.

 

 

For: Katie, Jeanie, Mara, Jenny, Phyllis, The Bay, The Roan, Ali, Lance all my own true hearts.

DSC_2182

a ruff bit from my ruff youth –

Someplace, by pd lyons


Someplace

Down on the avenue
Work ’til the day is through
I just want to get away
But you know I never do.
And when the sun goes down
I’ll be sitting all alone
Watch them old cowboy shows
On some second hand video.

Wishing I was someplace
Where grass just grows n rain is clean
Where horses run and black birds sing
Someplace where the sky is big n the only cry
From an eagle on the wing.

But I’m city bound by plastic chains
Robbed to death by men with ball point pens.
My hopes gone up in Marlboro smoke
N ghosts of what used to be my dreams
Haunt me with wondering if I’ll live long enough to ever be

Someplace where grass just grows n rain is clean
Where horses run n black birds sing
Someplace where the sky is big and the only cry
From an eagle on the wing.

Someplace where I can ride for days
N never see another human being
DSC_1812

when he had finished covering you with kisses, by pd lyons


photo by pdlyons

photo by pd lyons

Back in my early horse days when life was mostly pure drama and mad passion – sometimes but not always self preservation would step in –

So one day when he had finished covering you with kisses

not long after you knew he’d be leaving for good

you went out on that flea bit mare

old trails just before the picnic rapids

crossed the shallows

goat trailed it up steep rock ridge

high enough to be free from cob webs and biting bugs

above the serpintine valley

restless the mare

bored with standing argues the bit

pulls the reigns

paws the rocky ground

and for a moment

you think of your own Spanish spurs

and then remember :

“never give your heart to anyone but a horse”

foolish? yes.

but still in the saddle

bend her round your leg for home

– from Lessons on Western Riding by pd lyons

Picture 011

photo by pd lyons

%d bloggers like this: