Dennis Greene

Western Australia
Australia

The White Horses

Somebody’s
dream of Spain
died here,
made space
among
the eucalypts

and left its bones
piled high
beside the road,
to fade to bone
white, white
like the summer sun.

Horses once
danced here, grey
Spanish horses
white as their bones;
high stepping
dancers,

playing war games
at weekends;
while the ants ate
their crumbs
and we ate our
cream teas.

The ants
picked them
clean,
the white bones, the
white dreams,
the white horses,

they have
crawled on the
summer sun,
and picked
clean
the white horses.



Copyright © Dennis Greene 2001

Send private comments to author: dennisg@iinet.net.au

Learn more about author at: http://members.networx.net.au/~dennisg/


Comments: Shelley could scarcely have said it better. It's very telling and all too true.

Name: RhymeMaster
EMail: rhyme_master@yahoo.com


Comments: Dennis, you rock! you are an absolute genius. Superb, superb, superb poem.
Can I say Poem of the month twice, well heng I just did!!-ml Doug Poole

Name: Doug
EMail: Doug@visual.co.nz


Ah Doug. If only it were true-- but thanks for saying so.

Dennis


Comments: A spectacle, in verses of bleached bones.

Name: phattkat


Comments: Simultaneously beautiful and disturbingly macabre, Dennis; like a landscape by Salvador Dali..

Name: rob walker
EMail: walker5@one.net.au


Comments: For me, memories of times past at El Cabello Blanco. Excellent poem!

Name: Helen Hagemann
EMail: hagemann_helen@hotmail.com


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