Friday, March 21, 2014


To ride away on a fine steed
might be all I really need

to gallop onward at high speed. 

Anything, anything for a fine steed.

A woman met at the clinic, where I waited for my yearly physical, gave me her March National Geographic when her name was called.

She had no horse.
"Now the daily litany of common losses goes like this:
Do you have your wallet, keys, glasses, gloves, giraffe?
Oh dear, I forgot my giraffe--that's the preferred response,
but no: it's usually the glasses, the gloves, the wallet.
The keys I've hidden."

A small piece of the longer poem "Losing It"
by Margaret Gibson
” This reality is an “infinite, arbitrary, pointless reality, like champagne frothing out of the bottle endlessly. A vast universe with small pockets of charm and peace.”
Jim Holt
Found cloth on the street at night
Lavender really, but
purple in the folds.
More material that knows not why.
Once again I've been waiting the whole day for the new stove to be installed.  It's not here.
I can fry, and I can sigh.

Or drift off to Dreamland


Mo Crow said...

loving the horse dreaming running through the web in celebration of this Year of the Horse!

deemallon said...

still no stove?! this blog is a pocket of charm and peace (even if the frustrations are expressed)... like how I saw the goat and lady in a book at Grace's and the horse and woman here...

Nancy said... the horses and their women. In my heart, that is me too.