Today is World Poetry Day. Our readers and volunteers work on many projects to work toward protecting and preserving our wild horses. The work is hard and often sad. It is a requirement at WHE that all in field volunteers journal, it helps with sorting out how you feel and to evaluate your insights over time as an advocate. We even give required assignments for the journal, tailored to the situation and surroundings.
“Cowboy Poetry” has a long tradition in the American West. Like most things the poetry has tall tales about how it became such a tradition. Like the “bards” of Europe it became a way to tell history, deal with deep thoughts and relay humorous takes.
As we work on some deep dives to expose the corruption of the politics that are set to throw our wild horse herds into a spiral of large scale removals, and a goal of 80% permanent sterilization, we thought we might indulge in a bit of poetry. (Art, poetry, laughter and dance; tools to be able to deal with the reality of what you are facing and then refocus your energy.)
Try your hand at painting or poetry. If you want to share you can send submissions for publish to: WHEAdvocates@gmail.com
World Poetry Day would not be complete without a “nod” to Edward Abbey
How strange and wonderful is our home, our earth,
With its swirling vaporous atmosphere
Its flowing and frozen climbing creatures,
The croaking things with wings that hang on rocks
And soar through fog, the furry grass, the scaly seas. . .
How utterly rich and wild. . .
Yet some among us have the nerve,
The insolence, the brass, the gall to whine
About the limitations of our earthbound fate
And yearn for some more perfect world beyond the sky.
We are none of us good enough
For the world we have.
The last day of the roundup, of the last of the true Sheldon herds
When I Die (by Laura Leigh)
“When I die take me to the Sheldon range” I would say. Prop me up facing East near the waterhole on that day.
Leave a cup o’ Joe and a smoke in my hand. I’ll watch each sunrise forever in that beautiful land.
Each mornin’ the wild horses that I love… Will bring me a blessing from the great man above.
Heaven would be complete for me in that spot. Might not seem like I’m askin’ alot.
But things have changed and man has had his way. It makes my heart ache to have to say:
No more shall the wild horses run free. They say they are a pest and that aint fine with me.
The soul of this place is now lost in the dust. But those with the power keep sayin they “must.”
Now I guess I need to stay around in this world a little bit longer. I must continue to toil and keep getting stronger.
Power brings greed and a loss of heart. Just make them see the sins of their ways, now that would be a real start.
But if I die before my work is done. Burn my body then lay those ashes in the sun.
Say a prayer before you scatter them across these wide open plains… that from each speck of my dust one miracle could remain.
May the souls of each betrayed wild horse… Those wild spirits removed and killed from ignorance and greed, of course…
Rise up from my ashes and fill every valley and every hillside… with eyes of fire that can tear a mans mind open wide.
Come near them if you carry evil in your soul? not one stallion, one mare, one tiny little foal…
You will fall to your knees for the deeds you have sown, the weight of their anguish will be yours to be known.
You will rise up forever a changed man. Only goodness and kind deeds will come from your hand.
As I Ride the Western range, with the grit and the dust… one things for sure, all things die, they must.
Our aging bodies will trap still working minds… all people must die in their allotted time.
Maybe heaven is no longer a place for rest? Maybe heaven is where we get a chance to become our very best?
So now forget the smoke and the cup o’ Joe… in my time scatter my ashes and put up a sign so all will know.
Write in big red letters if you please, the kind people use to create some unease,
“Beware to those that travel this way, seeds of change were planted this day.”
(originally published in 2014)
When Angels Sang (by Pam Chandler)
Choirs of angels sang when you were born
a creation of God by His hand was beautifully formed.
On wobbly legs in the still of the night
heaven looked down upon you in joy and delight.
The warmth and love of family kept you safe and sound
in the freeze of the night with snow on the ground.
Angels hovered and covered you with their wings
hiding you from predators that death could bring.
And when you ran on your range the angels flew
close by your side protecting you.
Angelic choirs danced and sang in praise
as bright stars twinkled to show you the way.
And as you grew and as you played
you learned from your family and grew wise in their ways.
Born a gift to the world to be wild and live free
you were part of earth’s beauty for generations to see.
Born in holding pen
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Our summer webinar series and volunteers training schedule will be sent out soon.
We are gathering data to push back against the politic players working for profit lines that intend to remove larger numbers of wild horses in 2020 with a goal of surgically sterilizing 80% of those on the range.
Refocus, forward.
Wild horses are public lands management. The same political games that shrunk Bears Ears are running this agenda.
BLM Press Release creating subsidy, including BLM PR contact info: download https://wildhorseeducation.org/wp-content/uploads/2019/03/031219-AIP-Press-Release.docx pdf
pdf reader 031219 AIP Press Release
BLM Internet Wild Horse “Adoption” Garage Sale: https://wildhorseeducation.org/2019/02/24/editorial-blm-internet-adoption-and-adoption-events/
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Categories: Wild Horse Education
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