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Unshod

June 4, 2012 by Watt Childress 1 Comment

 

If only man did not tether us
we would fly widdershins,
kick up clods at the sun,
make clouds of turf swirl round our heels.

Instead we pace and crib to get high
in the sterile gold stalls of Olympus.
Here the social feed smells mean
and riders mimic predators.

Remember life’s galloping communions.
Dream back before foot-binders forged in.
On that land no Pegasus is ever broken.
In that wind our kind never fell.

Godspeed to love like thunder
on hooves of prayer.

– in memory of Pheraby Elizabeth Stricklin

Filed Under: Poetry, Spirit, ULE, Uncategorized

About Watt Childress

Watt owns Jupiter's Books in Cannon Beach, Oregon and he publishes the Upper Left Edge. He has written for HIPFiSH, The Daily Astorian, The North Coast Citizen, The Seaside Signal, The Oregonian, and The Vancouver Observer. Also Appalachian Magazine, The Kingsport Times-News, The Tennessean, The Third Eye, Farmazine, The Griot, and Presbyterian Survey. His lettered compulsion took a turn, thirty-some years ago, when he began sending odd columns to the Reverend Billy Lloyd Hults, former publisher of The Upper Left Edge. Watt lives on a tiny hill-farm perched beside the Nehalem Valley. There he and his kin care for dairy goats, chickens, ducks, dogs, newts and other critters.

Comments

  1. Sylvia Thunder Bird says

    June 6, 2012 at 4:37 pm

    Watt,
    I so appreciate your Pheraby Elizabeth Stricklin tribute poem. You have brought a loving, chain-like lemniscate of images into my heart. Through your gentle words, a winged Spirit Horse gallops free …
    Sylvia )O(

    Reply

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