The Other Dog

The Other Dog

The stud dog was a mangey mongrel
crawled under his fence in the middle of the night
caught the bitch in heat
who had slipped her leash
when they weren’t looking.

They should have drown the pup at birth
but it wagged its tail and breathed
on them with puppy breath
so they let it stay
scratched it behind the ears
rubbed its belly and
gave it chew toys
and good kibble
that made the bitch boil.

They taught it tricks
that thrilled onlookers
sit pretty
retrieve
roll over
heel
just don’t do it better
than the bitch herself
don’t make her lift her lip
if she snaps there will be hell to pay
play dead.

Then it happened
the cuteness wore off
it started chewing up
the toys they bought it
peed on the rug where
the bitch took her naps
ate too much
barked too loud
got too stinky to pet
wagged its tail and broke the lamp.

So they bought a choke chain
and a crate
and fenced the yard
and taught the pup how
to be a bad dog
let her feel the sting of the boot
and when that didn’t work
they spayed her passion
bought a log chain
and tied her out
the weight so heavy around her neck.

Bite down on your needs
choke on your love
shallow your talents
lick your own wounds
dig a big hole
at the far reach of your bond
and strangle as you fold yourself into it.

If they can’t find you
they can’t hurt you
hide
under the sofa
under the bed
don’t ask to be petted
or the bitch will bite you
pin you by the neck
with her jaws
she’ll use her teeth
but she won’t have to sleep in the backyard
she’ll climb in the bed
while you sit on the porch of your doghouse
in the rain
not allowed on the good furniture.

Don’t howl or you’ll be banished to the barn.
Don’t whine or you’ll be called
a traitor to your breed.

So you try
to be obedient
follow the bitch at her heels
but no closer
and only when she asks

You become 
house broke
trained
not to ruin rugs
not to roll in shit
to be unseen
to be unheard
good enough to lie at her feet
belly exposed
waiting for the snarl to turn
to the bite that draws blood.

Mane

Mane

by Kimberly Beer

The revelation to
your deepest secrets
can be found
in the mane
of a horse,
each tangle
an unraveling
of a question
you didn’t even know
how to ask.

Making Hay

Making Hay

by Kimberly Beer

When summer finally
steals July breathless
and the shade holds
every living being hostage,
it will be the time for
farmers to go to the field
and make hay.

First comes the cutting.
The severing of the grass
from its mother earth.
This parting makes
the sweetest perfume
that hangs about
the field like a
new lover over
morning coffee.

Then there is the raking.
The tossing and spinning
of the shorn grass
with the hot air.
When it’s done,
you can stand
knee deep
in fluffy rows of
clover,
lespedeza,
timothy,
orchard grass,
and fescue.

The baler follows,
swallowing the windrows
one deep row
after the next
until it becomes
too full and stops to
bind and wrap,
to release the bale
back onto the
freshly swept
carpet of green.

Stacked in rows,
aged to gold
the bales will wait,
patiently,
quietly, until
winter’s eventuality
removes the last
of autumn’s warmth
and the deepest of snow
paints the world white.
Then it will be time
for the farmer to break
open the bales, to
release to the cows
a precious taste of the
summer sun’s love.

Unhinged

Unhinged

hinges don’t mean
a thing until
they break
and let the
closet door swing
wide
let the
front gate droop
warning visitors
of the disrepair
within
then the barn door
falls open
freeing the horse
to run about crazy
in the yard
so you go to
the Jeep for
a halter
and just then
the hatch fails
down striking
you on the head
reminding
you of where
you are
falling apart

Be a Better Procrastinator

Be a Better Procrastinator

make it a practice to:
wander
amble
saunter
dawdle
meander
roam
drift

at every opportunity:
take time to digress
revel in getting sidetracked
stray from the appointed
deviate from the common
mosey away from structure

allow yourself to:
veer into passion
rove toward jubilation
prowl after pleasure
swerve around happiness
stroll with delight

do not ever be guilty in your:
bliss
glee
euphoria
felicity
elation
rapture

The Prince Behind Me

The Prince Behind Me

All my life I’ve waited for just one prince
the one in stories
the charming one
the one who will save the day.

All my life I’ve waited for just one moment
the one that changes everything
the magic one
the one that will make it all worth while.

All my life I’ve waited for just one word
the one that means the most
the simple one
the one that means I am loved.

Today, as I walk in a simple circle
I’ve found the one
within myself
in that one moment
the one word
walked behind me
his name was Horse.


There is an interesting story to go with this poem.

I wrote it on January 18, 2014.

IMG_5396On November 22, 2014, the guy in the picture came into my life from a neighbor. He was billed as just a horse. That’s all I was looking for … a horse. A horse that I could ride and feel comfortable on. I agreed to “try” him weeks before he was delivered. During that time, there was poor communication between his seller and myself and just before he came to me, there was a moment when it appeared he would be delivered to another home. I was fine with that, because I knew if he were the horse that belonged with me, he’d find his way here.

He did. In the middle of the craziness of selling one farm, putting together a temporary place to live, and dealing with a world of real estate closing hell. He showed up in my round pen. I met him. I rode him. I fell in love.

Since, Prince has proven he is more than “just a horse.” (They all are, really). He has proven to be a healer — for me and for others. He is EGCMethod Coach Vicki Jurica’s go-to guy on the ranch when a client needs a healing experience. He is truly amazing.

Call it prophecy. Call it fate. Call it a wish made to the universe. He is my Prince.