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November 2009 
A Wind Disorder
Posted on Jan 14th, 2008
by 
Ron
Ron
My back is pressing against a
Stone wall, low and crusted like
Bread. Occasionally I rise up,
My hair moves about, I smell horses
Off in the distance. They will ride
Through me long before I will
Ever mount them. But now I look
Again. The tall grass is moving.
There were no horses, only this
Pale wavering, the wind. There is
No saddle for the wind; if anything,
I am that saddle, gritting my
Leathery teeth. I wait here for
The shifting weight of a rider:
As light as the weather, cotton,
As heavy as a thought seems, wool.
There I am now, moving across
The lumpy pasture, the wall
Receding,
The light, noticeably clearer.
Stone wall, low and crusted like
Bread. Occasionally I rise up,
My hair moves about, I smell horses
Off in the distance. They will ride
Through me long before I will
Ever mount them. But now I look
Again. The tall grass is moving.
There were no horses, only this
Pale wavering, the wind. There is
No saddle for the wind; if anything,
I am that saddle, gritting my
Leathery teeth. I wait here for
The shifting weight of a rider:
As light as the weather, cotton,
As heavy as a thought seems, wool.
There I am now, moving across
The lumpy pasture, the wall
Receding,
The light, noticeably clearer.
Access: Public
I love this poem Ron,My favorite parts, the whole thing but I like the stone wall crushed like bread. I like the horses that you smell in the distance, but, there are no horses. the shifting weight of the rider, the heavy, the light and then the light clearer. I really felt everything. I really like it.
love, jen
Hey Ron, Good to see you “back in the saddle again.”
“No saddle for the wind; if anything,
I am that saddle, gritting my
Leathery teeth. I wait here for
The shifting weight of a rider:”
This rings the most “true” for me today, and most days lately. It speaks of the unpredictability of our times, and of the resistance our egos hanging on, and on and on, despite “getting” the fact intellectually that we are supposed to “let go.” The “leathery teeth” still grit on and on and on, even if the weight of the rider is only an “illusion.” Brilliant, Ron. Quite the tonic for what ails me.
We ride together…..
Gee, Jenni, thanks for your remarks. I'm glad you liked it. Otter, as always, your interpretative comments give me pause to consider. And kcidybom, yes. Thank you all for lifting me up, each in your own way.
for some reason I wanted to revisit this, and I am struck by its haunted beauty all over again. you are such a fine, fine poet.