The Horseman – Poem

This is one of a series of poems, written by my Grandmother, that represent a portrait of her childhood in Thomas Hardy’s Wessex, places and people she loved who are, for the most part, no longer with us. She dedicates each and every poem to her daughters, and has kindly given me permission to share them with you all, enjoy…

 

The Horseman

 

No knight in shining armour, but arrayed

In black, immaculate, like a Black Prince;

Easy in the saddle, whip raised aloft

Acknowledging the courtesy

Of slowing to avoid distress to skittish horse,

Seamlessly fitted to him, like a Frink,

But lighter, more attractive, though both grown

From the same countryside.

Age and knowledge could not subdue

The involuntary flutter.

 

The call to hounds, fleet-footed race across

The open landscape, blood in the afternoon,

A stain, spreading through soft bright coat,

A severed brush – no trace of these.

Only the paradox of lust and blood,

Primeval stirrings, enhanced as ever,

Confronted by the imminence of death.

 

© Dorothy Davis-Sellick 1998 onwards

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Filed under Meet The Family, Other Folks Writings That I Like, Poem Of The Week, Poetry

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