Seven Dark Horses Ride

July 3 

7WS

soft snores float in a quiet house

in the between time

in the between time when our
talk is awkward and eyes dart
and we appear to cower 
at the concept much less art
of crafting relation from
acquaint a ship floats apart
sails grab the wind ignore scum
and glides following no chart
ripples on surface become
a point on which focus part
hope more fear then waves crash
beauty and bare honesty
fill in the between time now

July 4

The dark horse will gallop
The cold wind will howl

Thunder roll and lightning flash
Red clouds boil across the sky
Heat and chill will meet then clash
Chattering calls of mad magpie

Keening cry in dead of night
Laments of empty day brought
Feed the endless appetite
Always seeking never caught

From the dragons goblet drink
Chase the magic from the day
Teeters oh so close the brink
Far from meadows of the fae

Ride that dark horse long and hard
Past that river of blue ice
Howling you greet yon graveyard
Once this journey will suffice

The dark horse will gallop
The cold wind will howl

writing prompt Howl at the Dark Horse

I apologize for my tardiness in reading the posts since the prompt went up yesterday. I wanted to write as my mind flew around the words, unencumbered by the images all of your words would surely invoke. Having been reading just now of your offerings, I see my wisdom, for had I read your eloquence, I surely would have stilled the clattering of these laptop keys posthaste, and watched a cooking show on television instead.

July 5

All his life he would howl at the dark horse. He would cry out at the pain, and run from the raw reality of what he had been, become. He turned to the warmth, the love, time and again. But the lure of the midnight frenzy pulled him away. In the end, the sharp and unforgiving hooves of that malicious steed ground him one last time into the earth, and he never howled again. He was just shy of 60, and that was a sort of miracle in itself.

July 6 

Howl at the Dark Horse

Laugh at the Pink Fish

Dance with the Spotted Pig

Make a Second Wish

Cry for the Teeming Horde

Whisper to the Sacred Tome

Build a cairn for the Small Stones

Love your way Home

July 7

Shots fired in the night, and at least one life lost. News from my region this morning ... 

and once more, 

random acts of violence (seem to) 

trump random acts of kindness. 

So the call goes forth, 

from a muted voice in an empty room, 

echoing across the barren landscapes 

and rocky peaks ... 

howl at the dark horse ... 

howl until strength lags then renews ... 

howl through the blistering heat and driving rain 

howl, 

and howl again. 

For the lives lost, 

for the hearts shattered, 

for the hope that must not wither.

July 8

Will you hold space for my mother? 

Her name is Jan, and she is in hospital with head injuries sustained in a fall that occurred when she suffered a heart attack yesterday.  

update: the fall preceded the heart attack, which was mild. Small Mercies 

Thank You. 

I have yet another Dark Horse at which to howl, and my voice is growing weak.

July 9

Who hugs the one who always has

A hug for the aching soul

Who catches the tears that never fall

From the deep and lonely eyes

Who offers rest to the swollen feet

That pace in the darkest hours

Who howls at the dark horse

When the voice is frozen still

Who comforts the comforter

That is all I want to know

I have a vision of Earth, healed 

Be kind, it costs nothing 

and means everything

~ Ellen Apple 7/9/2016