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The Poetry Warrior (c) Abigail Beaudelle - 2008.
All Poetry and artwork (c) the respective artists.
All Poetry and artwork (c) the respective artists.
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Barn Check
We dreaded it all summer
The cold, for us
Making paths to the barn.
The doors, we locked
Then the ice locked.
Inside, the horses.
It's the 9PM Barn Check.
My own heart is
Pounding against the ring of civilization
I cannot blood spit.
Then Lilly's stall.
I grope for her water bucket,
Feel it is silent, dry, easy to fill.
Lilly emerges. Her muscles add
Weight to the air.
She breathes
With nostrils larger than my eyes,
Over my face
Her best gift, her warmth.
Then deeply she drinks.
The Departure
Amelia Makinano
Before work
Before gold is burned from the forest
We creep to where the trees
Grow sideways into trunks
Three strides from three.
Tangled branches exhale
The morning mist
Ears point forward
Our breath responds
And winds gather in hindquarters
Two above and two below
Conspire with different purposes.
All is forward, the picture splits
Travels back quickly at both sides.
Deep within is the crunch of kneecaps.
The jumps are no longer there
But under flight.
Under the arc of muscle
Three hard beats into the canter
Count it once then release
Ice under the skin.
The third branch
Splits the sun
Beats before
Beats follow
Her mane is a bit
To chew To salivate To tongue for courage
Then up
Suspended
In golden dew drops
That take this forest
And mirror it into the fall
of a leaf.
Amelia Makinano
Before work
Before gold is burned from the forest
We creep to where the trees
Grow sideways into trunks
Three strides from three.
Tangled branches exhale
The morning mist
Ears point forward
Our breath responds
And winds gather in hindquarters
Two above and two below
Conspire with different purposes.
All is forward, the picture splits
Travels back quickly at both sides.
Deep within is the crunch of kneecaps.
The jumps are no longer there
But under flight.
Under the arc of muscle
Three hard beats into the canter
Count it once then release
Ice under the skin.
The third branch
Splits the sun
Beats before
Beats follow
Her mane is a bit
To chew To salivate To tongue for courage
Then up
Suspended
In golden dew drops
That take this forest
And mirror it into the fall
of a leaf.
Amelia Arcamone-Makinano is teaching at Forest Hills HS. She
studied Classical Dressage at High Hickory Farms while covering
horse shows for Horseman Yankee Peddler. Her writing career
went from a Broadway NYC closet-with-a-typewriter to crime
stories for The New York Post. Newly unpacked poems are
inspired by Duane Locke and by poets of the Superconscious
from Tampa, Florida, where the journey luckily began.
studied Classical Dressage at High Hickory Farms while covering
horse shows for Horseman Yankee Peddler. Her writing career
went from a Broadway NYC closet-with-a-typewriter to crime
stories for The New York Post. Newly unpacked poems are
inspired by Duane Locke and by poets of the Superconscious
from Tampa, Florida, where the journey luckily began.
