POETRY AND OTHER STUFF

They Say She Kept Horses

© Patrick J. Simons 2020

 The peoples

Of the plain say,

Long ago

An old woman

Dwelt high on a ridge,

Alone, but for her horses,

Two of the purest white,

Two of the deepest black,

Stallions all,

No one knew her name

Or from where she came,

The peoples called

Her Peace Maker,

Without rein or saddle

She would ride,

Becoming one

With the wind,

Her hair streaming

Behind her,

Across plain

And mountain,

Across the sky itself

If she so chose,

She lived there

Upon her ridge

For generations untold,

When the peoples

Threatened to make war

She would appear

Before them,

Riding around

And through them,

Shaming them,

Commanding them

To make peace

Among themselves,

The peoples feared

The Peace Maker

And her mighty horses,

And they obeyed,

Then one day

The old woman

Rode no more,

The peoples waited long,

And in vain, for her return,

Perhaps she had

Grown too weary

Of the world,

No one would

Ever know

But there was no doubt

As to her leaving,

It is said her horses

Flew away,

Each carrying

A share of her spirit,

The white horses

One each

To the north and south,

The blacks, to the

East and west,

In her absence

A darkness fell

Across the hearts

Of the peoples,

And once again

They learned

The arts of war,

They came to know

A sadness

Long forgotten.

THE WELL LOVED MYTH

© Patrick J. Simons 2023
Drink not too deeply
Of the well-loved myth,
Belief is not truth,
Reality is not the
Product of belief,
Dare to stand
Apart from
The howling mob,
Be willing to
Walk alone,
Do not expect
To be loved,
Follow truth
Where it leads,
Think not of
Saving the woarld,
Save yourself.

THEN AND NOW

© Patrick J. Simons 2021

There are moments,

When the sounds

Of the city drop away,

Moments when,

Through closed eyes

I am transported to

The vast open

Plains of my youth,

And once again

My senses are

Filled to overflowing

With the music

Of the wind,

Drifting birdsong,

And the smell of

Clean earth on

A warm day,

Above me

A hawk soars

Free and proud,

The wild flowers

At my feet,

Captives of the earth,

Bow to the wind,

What was my prison

So many years ago

Is now my solace,

And my solitude.

THEIR PLACE
©Patrick J. Simons 2024

He gazes across
The wide valley,
Deep, green,
And lovely,
Birdsong fills
The springtime air,
This was their
Favorite spot,
The place they
Walked to
Countless times,
Where they dreamed
A thousand dreams
And loved their
Life together,
He is alone now
But he sees her face
In billowing clouds,
And hears her gentle
Laughter in the wind,
When the light
Is just right
The sky is the
Very color of
Her eyes,
Overwhelming loss,
An ache that
Penetrates every
Fiber of his being,
He walks on,
His legs as heavy
As his heart,
He turns back
For a final look
And there it was,
A faint wisp
Of her favorite scent,
He knows it
Cannot be true,
But he wants
It to be.

This is the link to my book Zebediah on Amazon.

https://www.amazon.com/Zebediah-Patrick-J-Simons/dp/1483616126/ref=sr_1_1?crid=ZMK929CP51YI&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.VHqbNBvi5KHb6Pap8KbWlQ._DRGF3q1VIVWqQ-eoS0M7RJC8IMiIDqTVMf5H9KSgjI&dib_tag=se&keywords=zebediah%2C+patrick+j.+simons&qid=1784401257&sprefix=zebediah%2C+patrick+j.+simons%2Caps%2C184&sr=8-1