This early in the year it probably behooves me to be positive, but it’s been a bit of a grey day and I’m saddled with updating the blog, although I’m bridling at the thought.
The big hitch is that my head seems to be mane-ly stuffed with sawdust – the ideas are hardly jockeying for position in the race to be written. Indeed, progress has completely stalled for the last few hours and I’m beginning to think wild horses couldn’t drag a blog post out of me today.
Still, I’m no hack, so I’ve cobbled something together, which I’ll dedicate to the small equine I met in the street yesterday, as it was his photo that spurred me into action.
And now I might as well tack a little poetry on to the post.
I quoted an extract from Lovesong last weekend, which is one of the very few poems I have with horses in; so here’s another fragment:
How did it all begin?
Did we presume that there were games that we could win,
not realising two paths that merge could yet diverge?
When we walked along the beach listening for mermaids,
they never sang for us; the underwater church bells never
rang for us. Though we caught sight in the moonlight
of white horses in the crests of tumbling waves, they were always
out of reach. […]
(I won’t post the whole poem as, although it’s very old and I’ve written and re-written it a dozen times, it’s never found a stable form and remains a draft.)
don't confuse the narrator 
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