Call me cheap, but I was running seriously low on funds for my mom's birthday this year. So I wrote her a poem instead of buying her a present. I'm glad, actually, because I've been trying to write a poem for her for some time now and for some unreasonable reason it just hasn't happened. Until the day before her birthday. The only background needed for this poem is the fact that since before I was born, my family has visited the beaches of the Outer Banks, NC. It was where I got my first sunburn, ate my first picnic, screamed my first yelp of true joy, and first answered the question "Where's Waldo" in those awesome picture books from the 1990's. In short, the Outer Banks is where our family formed much of our current identity, which happens to include a passionate, undying, poetic, intrinsic, helpless, emotional, soul-deep, indescribable love for the ocean.
Oh, and there are these wild ponies that live on the far islands. These elusive creatures are mysterious and somewhat dangerous. I've never seen one.
I remember trips to stand on sand dunes
long drives out to the island's outer rim-
dustily down the one deserted highway-
straining sun-scorched eyes in hopes
of (rarely) catching (just perhaps) a glimpse
of those wild sea-born stallions through the mist.
The nobility of anarchy seized something
in your soul- enchanted you with visions
of rampant, risky glory- untamed, unrestrained
the regal symbol of a reckless beauty-
And oh, I know when I am restless
stomping in the dirt
neighing at the gate
chomping at the bit (so you say)
We both know
That you and I have never bit
nor bridle held
nor tolerated puny ends the world
calls limits.
We have always run on shoeless hooves
grinding all the gravel through our callouses
melting into mild meadows with all our hearts.
And just as I never could have
swum to shore without you-
the strength of your struggle-
at my side;
My freedom is not true without your trust.
Even wild horses live in odd complexities
of natural necessity
and limitless love.
Oh, and there are these wild ponies that live on the far islands. These elusive creatures are mysterious and somewhat dangerous. I've never seen one.
I remember trips to stand on sand dunes
long drives out to the island's outer rim-
dustily down the one deserted highway-
straining sun-scorched eyes in hopes
of (rarely) catching (just perhaps) a glimpse
of those wild sea-born stallions through the mist.
The nobility of anarchy seized something
in your soul- enchanted you with visions
of rampant, risky glory- untamed, unrestrained
the regal symbol of a reckless beauty-
And oh, I know when I am restless
stomping in the dirt
neighing at the gate
chomping at the bit (so you say)
We both know
That you and I have never bit
nor bridle held
nor tolerated puny ends the world
calls limits.
We have always run on shoeless hooves
grinding all the gravel through our callouses
melting into mild meadows with all our hearts.
And just as I never could have
swum to shore without you-
the strength of your struggle-
at my side;
My freedom is not true without your trust.
Even wild horses live in odd complexities
of natural necessity
and limitless love.
No comments:
Post a Comment