Saturday, 30 July 2016

The White Horse

A reader has asked me to repeat a poem on the blog that accompanies a video on my You Tube channel. Apparently, a friend showed her on a tablet, but she has been unable to access You Tube on her own PC for some reason. Always happy to oblige, the video appears below; readers who can access You Tube might enjoy some of my other videos. (All were shot by my best friend, Graham Collett, a graphic designer by profession.):

I started my You Tube channel about five years ago. At the time, my best friend Graham and I had no idea how to insert a voice file into the video. Consequently, early videos show me reading my poems while later efforts (as in this instance) have me reading my poem (or poems) over the video; most readers prefer the latter, so do we.  Graham works full-time, and I'm no photographer so opportunities for filming are limited. To be honest, we were not expecting much of an audience for a poetry channel so are well pleased that people continue to access and contact us about it. (See my email address in the blog heading.)

This video concludes Graham's snapshots of Wiltshire and a trio of poems I wrote for the occasion. The Westbury or Bratton White Horse is a hill figure in the escarpment of Salisbury Plain where Stonehenge stands. Approximately 2.5 km (1.6 miles) east of the village of Westbury, it is located on the edge of Bratton Downs and lies just below an Iron Age hill fort; its origin obscure, it is the oldest of several white horses carved in Wiltshire and was restored in 1778.

'A dog may be man's best friend, but the horse wrote history.' - Author unknown

Just as the White Horse endures, weathering nature and human nature in all its shapes and forms, for good or, too, will love and peace endure, weathering whatever storms that nay threaten not only its survival from time to time but that innate capacity for goodness and kindness comprising the quintessential human spirit,


A white horse lay on a hill,
watching the world go by;
bold and brave, it waits there still,
and no one knows quite why

This horse will never make a fuss
as we try for a closer look,
though it's sure to put teasers to us    
like pictures in a history book

In sun, wind and pouring rain
it doesn't make a sound
as the world turns and turns again
on Time's merry-go-round

At night, it rides the Milky Way
as wild and free as it can be,
till the first cold light of a new day
wakes all we slaves to reality

In days of war and uneasy peace
the Westbury horse waits on
druids, their like, and the rest of us
making our play for salvation

A chalk horse carved on a hill,
watching the world go by,
begs the question, dare, how, will
we ever know quite why...?

Copyright R. N. Taber 2012

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