Jessie Haas

Last stanza--

And this one hopes
the judge did not see that.
If the mistake was overlooked
she'll win.

Thanks to Wikipedia for the image of the British sentry.

This rider
sits
motionless
in a tall
narrow
sentry box
outside
the palace,
pretending
not to hear
what people say.

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 

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.

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 

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