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Spring, horses, and magnesium

The farm in spring

It's spring, and this year, this horse owner's thoughts lightly turn toward thoughts of . . . magnesium.
One of the great pleasures of writing horse books is how much I learn. Fiction and poetry ask me to go deep and explore things I know that I'm not aware of yet. Nonfiction sends me  Read More 
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This Rider--stanza six

Last stanza--

And this one hopes
the judge did not see that.
If the mistake was overlooked
she'll win.
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This Rider--stanza five

Patient as the stone around him.
Thanks to Wikipedia for the image of the British sentry.

This rider
in a tall
sentry box
the palace,
not to hear
what people say.
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This Rider--stanza four

Yes, I ride her. But I keep my wits about me.
The fourth stanza of a horse poem from Hoofprints. The accompanying picture captures the spirit of spring in Vermont--muddy and explosive. Spring is here but the grass isn't greening up yet, and we all have a bit of cabin fever.

This rider stays on
--that's all--
eight seconds.
Legs fly loose,
spurs scratch fore and aft,
and then at last the whistle blows.
Let go!
 Read More 
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This Rider--stanza three

This rider goes as fast as fast can go
for less than three minutes.
Ideally, she doesn't get killed.
Ideally, she'll do it again,
three or four times an afternoon,
ending as often as possible
ahead of the others.
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Second stanza from the poem, This Rider

Here is the second stanza. They will eventually appear in inverse order in the blog, correct order on the Hoofprints page.

This rider slouches.
In each direction
he sees miles and miles
of miles and miles.
Get over the ground,
look at fences,
look at cattle,
then eat, sleep,
do it again tomorrow.
Let the horse shuffle
any old how,
as long as
it doesn't
raise a blister. Read More 
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A horse poem by installments

This horse poem, from Hoofprints, will appear in installments over the next few days. Hoofprints is available again through Open Road Integrated Media.

This rider,
in black jacket, white breeches,
is accountable for each step taken.
Each hoof touches earth
precisely to her bidding.
Cadence, elasticity,
metronomic rhythm,
even the ears,
even if the  Read More 
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Mud Season in Vermont

It's mud season here, and that makes me think of my grandfather, Emmannuel Trevorrow, and his good work horses, Chub and Sailor. This poem is from Hoofprints, available as an e-book from Open Road Integrated Media.

The car is
Up to the axles in mud.
It's nineteen forty-eight, most roads are paved,
But this  Read More 
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Trouble in our "Sport"?

I've been following and admiring the Facebook posts of Olympian (and fellow-Vermonter) Denny Emerson, as he tries to get his sport, eventing, to stop killing horses. Not my circus, though, as a sedate backyard rider. Not my monkeys.
But I'm starting to wonder if something similar is happening in my circus. Wondering today as  Read More 
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Spooky Season

Fall is a spooky season for horses and riders, with leaves crunching, squirrels behaving in a sinister fashion, the wind stirring things up--and if our horses aren't jazzed enough by all that, it's time to decorate our yards with terrifying effigies and put frightening costumes on ourselves and them.
I had a ball playing  Read More 
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