Relaxed & Forward Blog

Poetry Out Loud: Impulsion

 
It’s not unusual to feel still air rush over your cheeks and past your ears. It’s...
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Poetry Out Loud: Walking the Dog

Walking the Dog There was a message on my phone. My dog...
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Poetry Out Loud: Wish

  I'm changing things up a bit. I'll be posting video of my poetry being read on Mondays. You can...
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Photo & Poem: Her Words

If her words didn’t matter, her father would lift his eyes from the television commercials and not busy his mouth...
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Photo & Poem: Weather Change

Hail blown sideways by the wind, dark clouds churning across the horizon, as the horses brace against the stinging ice...
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Photo & Poem: Forever Now

Walking past the mare, I let my hand follow the shape of her body, her hair so short it has...
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Photo & Poem: Her Place

A stick pony to start, with a wooden head and twine for a mane. The tiny girl stomped unevenly, imagining...
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Photo & Poem: Midsummer

Midsummer, the mare stands square, hooves flat and neck low, her muzzle faced into the corner of a dark stall,...
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Photo & Poem: As if Love

She declared that she loved her horse as if loving took a sort of noble skill rare to our kind....
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Photo and Poem: Three-Quarter-Ton

  Driving home from the feed store on a back road, easing my foot from the gas pedal, the three-quarter-ton...
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Photo & Poem: Sage Under-hoof

An elder red mare and her rider babysat us as we climbed in and out of ravines, my young horse...
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Photo & Poem: Words

“You’re not wearing that, are you?” Voicing her anxiety first, was my blouse revealing something more than unconventional taste? Welcoming...
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Photo & Poem: Sunset to Dark

Talking with her while I walk the farm, I say look what you’ve done with the new grass. Earth sends...
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Photo & Poem: No Gloves

The woman doesn’t make a good first impression. Her hair is dry as straw under a ball cap from Tractor...
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Photo & Poem: Slap Hands

Sit next to Jack, she said. Mother’s youngest brother on leave from the Army at our kitchen table. He pinched...
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Photo & Poem: Aged-Out

Aged-out with his horse, he said, like a sell-by date in the grocery store. We all stop riding, just a...
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Photo & Poem: Breakout

  Our horses are not young, neither are we. We negotiate with winter, bartering against the wind that our horses...
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