PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

 Yesterday I was loved

 today I am crammed 

 crammed into a trailer

there are others here 

 others that were loved

 like I used to be

 I hear nickers and neighs

 I see a sign that says Mexico

 we arrive to a beat up building 

where it reeks of blood

*

VICTIMS OF THE NAZI GOVERNMENT

*

THOSE KILLED FOR THEIR RACE
1. Gypsies*
2. Jews
3. Slavs
THOSE KILLED FOR POLITICS
4. Communists
5. Other opponents of the Nazi regime
6. Catholic and other Christian pacifists
THOSE KILLED FOR LIFESTYLE
7. Homosexuals
THOSE CONSIDERED IMPERFECT
8. The mentally challenged
9. Those diagnosed as mentally ill
10. The physically handicapped

VICTIMS OF WAR
11, Soldiers of the Allies
12. German soldiers (3 million)
13. Civilian victims of bombing, torpedoes, tanks
VICTIMS OF RESEARCH
14. There were many studies in
  which human beings were maimed,
  given pain, or killed in research
  studies
*
-saiom shriver-

*
Footnote:
*Gypsies as well as Catholics,
Quakers, and others were tortured,
burned at the stake, drawn and
quartered by Queen Elizabeth I

http://ayay.co.uk/backgrounds/historical/german_world_war_2_colour/A-Nuremberg-rally.jpg

She is a vision of geometric beauty
placed upon a canvas with no restrictions
painted with honey and cotton

A beautiful image portrayed in oil
her lines are cut like Pegasus
perfect armor to compel any artist

a mane flowing with imagination
in a field of unbeaten floras
her reverie is now immortal

Alice walks with
the thin maid
to the stables, holding
the thin hand with

red knuckles, the
mild limp crossing
the narrow path like
a wounded ship. Do

you like the horses,
then? the maid asks,
bringing the eyes
upon the child,

holding tight the
pale pink hand.
Alice nods, yes,
I like the black one,

like its dark eyes
and coat. The maid
eyes the pinafore,
the hair tidy and neat,

the shiny shoes, the
tiny hand in hers.
Have you ridden
any yet? the maid

asks. No, not allowed
as yet, Alice says,
feeling the red thumb
rub the back of her

hand. Shame, the maid
says, perhaps soon.
Alice doesn't think so,
neither her father nor

the new nanny will
permit that; her mother
says she may, but that
amounts to little, in

the motions of things.
She can smell the
horses, hay and dung.
The red hand lets her

loose. The stable master
stares at her, his thick
brows bordering his
dark brown eyes,

conker like in their
hardness and colour.
Have you come to
look at the horses?

he says, holding a
horse near to her.
She nods, stares
at the horse, brown,

tall, sweating,
loudly snorting.
The maid stares
at the horse, stands

next to the child,
hand on the arm.
You're not to ride
them yet, he says,

but you can view,
I'm told. Alice runs
her small palm down
the horse's leg and

belly, warm, smooth,
the horse indifferent,
snorting, moving the
groom master aside.

The maid holds the
child close to her.
Be all right, he won't

harm, he says, smiling.

He leads the horse away,
the horse swaying to
a secret music, clip-
clop-clip-clop. Alice

watches the departing
horse. Come on, the
maid says, let's see
the others and lifts

the child up to view
the other horse in the
stable over the half
open door, then along

to see others in other
half doors. Alice smiles
at the sight and smells
and sounds. She senses

the red hands holding
her up, strong yet thin,
the fingers around her
waist. Having seen them

all, the maid puts her
down gently. Ain't that
good? the maid says.
Alice smiles, yes, love

them, she  says. She
feels the thin hand, hold
her pale pink one again,
as they make their way

back to the house, the
slow trot of the limping
gait, the maid's thumb
rubbing her hand, smiling

through eyes and lips,
the morning sun blessing
their heads through the
trees and branches above.

if only, Alice thinks, looking
sidelong on at the thin
maid's smile, her father
did this, and showed such love.

Little horse,
Running through the fields,
Enjoying her freedom.

Little horse,
Grazing in the flowers,
what do they taste like?

Little horse,
Jumping over logs,
Running through her land,

Little horse,
Come to me,
become my horse,

Little horse,
I'll take care of you,
I'll be your best friend.

Little horse,
follow me,
let's be friends.

Little horse,
beautiful horse,
Little horse.

Wild horses,
Running through the fields,
leaping over whatever is in their way.

Wild horses,
they are the rulers
of this world.

Wild horses,
this land,
it's their world.

Walking
Quickly down the steps.
Calling to mom and grandma,
Saying, ‘come one! Hurry up!’
Them responding ‘just a minute!’
Bouncing impatiently in place.
They finally descend the stairs,
Seemed to me that they were angels,
Descending from heaven.
Stepping slowly, breaking twigs.
Crack, Crack, Snap went the twigs.

Seeing the stables I grab Mom’s hand
Pulling her along.
A man and woman greet us.
Asking our ages,
Weight,
And some other stuff I didn’t care to remember.
Mom tells them and pays,
I jump excitedly,
Up,
And down.

Then they bring out two horses,
I stare at them,
Pretty much star struck.
One is bigger then the other.
This is the one I get to ride.
I breathe in the smell of leather.
Poop,
And hay,
Not wincing,
Like my mother does.
I listen closely,
And I hear horses neighing,
Grunting,
And whinnying,
Mom thanks the man and woman,
And the woman hands me and my sister a helmet.
I put the helmet on,
So does my sister.
But… we both have it on backwards,
Mom laughs and bends down,
She turns the helmet around
And buckles it properly.
Grandma turns my sister’s helmet around,
Buckling it, like mom did for me.
The man adjusts the stirrups for my sister’s horse,
The woman adjusts mine.
Then mom picks me up,
And sets me on the saddle.
The man picks my sister up,
And places her on her saddle.
The woman hands mom the reigns
For the horse I’m riding.
The man hands Grandma the reigns
For the horse my sister is riding.
Mom pulls on the reigns,
The horse takes a step forward.
I grin widely,
And put my trust into the horse,
As Mom leads the horse out.
I hear the horse’s hoofs going
Clip-Clop, Clip-Clop as we move along.
I turn my head a little bit,
Making sure my Grandma,
And my Sister are able to move.
I hear their horse
Clip-Clop, Clip-Clopping behind us.
I turn my head back around,
Smiling softly,
Relaxing,
And enjoying the ride.

Beautiful black and white,
running through the fields.

A horse that has not
been taken by humans.

Running free,
as careless as can be,

No one will take
this horse's spirit away.

Beautiful black and white,
a horse that will give a fight

for its freedom,
because that belongs

to this beautiful
black and white horse.

Pick a horse and sit down

Wait a second and it begins

It’s an odd race however

Because no one ever wins

Round and round we go

And there we begin to see

Repetitions of everything

Tree, tree, tree, tree

The same routine

Time and time again

Nothing ever changes

Just like yang and yin

This is the way of life

Get used to it

Because this is one ride

That never does quit

~Chrystal

Written on

July 23, 2005