A.G.E's Joint

Recently, I was looking at a horse trainer’s Facebook page where all the King’s horses were being put through their paces. It got me thinking about something that happened when I was about six or seven years old. We lived in a subdivision and beyond our street were mostly small horse farms, with a few cows interspersed here and there. There was a creek and an abandoned rock quarry.  In other words, lots of places for a kid to get lost in and have adventures.    One morning during the Spring, my mother was cleaning up the kitchen after everyone had left the house. Given there were four kids and a husband, this was not a small task. I was home sick from school, so she had me to deal with, too. She was also seriously hungover, but that seemed to make the time go faster for her.  She was finishing up the sink when the phone rings. With a cuss, she snarches the receiver off the wall. It was the next door neighbor, Mrs. Rowan. "Teeny!” My mom had always been call...

Steeds graze contently, Watching us ride our race Switching saddles in the diaphanous light Filtering through leaves of gray Crossroads of beginning and end. Love is a temple, a higher law. Did I disappoint you? Bitter taste left in your mouth? Or is the halter pulling As I taste sweet hay? Nay, a stallion I am not. Just a plow horse furrowing the field Sometimes, I wish to share a yoke And a stall at vespers yield. You see far pastures greener Never more than a season, love Share my hay and hold my foal Let us receive the bounty from above. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Topic- Christine Wichman Pic- Dahlia Ramone Pic guesses: Steed (in blog), Plow (in blog), Saddle (in blog) race (in blog), gorgeous, mane, Stallion (in blog), happy Lyric paraphrase is from One.

I was looking at Pam Stone's Facebook page earlier this week working a young mare.  It got me thinking about something that happened when I was about six or seven years old. We lived in a subdivision in the North Buckhead area of Atlanta.  This was in the mid 1960's and beyond our street the area was mostly small horse farms, with a few cows interspersed here and there.  There was a creek and an abandoned rock quarry.  In other words, lots of places for a kid to get lost in and have adventure.    One morning during the Spring, my mother was cleaning up the kitchen after everyone had left the house.  Given there four kids and a husband living there at the time, this was not a small task. I was home sick from school, so she had me to deal with, too.  She is finishing up the sink when the phone rings.  With a cuss, she picks the receiver off the wall.  It is Mrs. Rowan, our next door neighbor. "Teeny!  Have you looked outside your ...

Troubadour and troublemaker Shillelagh at his side Into town he rode Looking for a guide He from the auld sod Not knowing the space Came right up On the barrel race Spirited contest it was Until a sorrel found A washout Hard against the ground The pony did stumble And threw the Jock With everyone wondering Would he get back to the dock? The stranger dismounted From his steed To address The Jockey’s need In a brogue he asked “Are ye hurt?” The Jockey blinked “Not at all, you Jerk” “Stand a little Out of the sun.  I can’t see The lady’s bun.” So, the Irishman Remounted his steed Knowing again it never pays To do a good deed.