Poetry Index

"Mustangs Spirits of Truth"

...The Evolution...

~ Mustangs the Evolution ~

Mustangs, Wild horses running free, has long been a source of inspiration. An enchanting love affair within the hearts of man, with both domestic and the wild horses that to this day, still run free. A love, that can be traced back to the beginnings of time. Mythical magical horses, domestic horses and Mustangs, the wild ones. They capture our hearts, they capture,..our souls. They give what no other creature living or myth, can give. They give us hope, love, strength, courage, dreams, inspirations and they give, our hearts wings. Loved, sought after, for generations upon generations, they entrance on painted canvas, race the wind in the written word , and they dance, in our "Dreams" They live in our hearts, both night and day.

Horses have a magical effect on the human heart. But the Wild Ones, Mustangs, Take it a step further.

In the World of Art and Literature, there exists fact, or fiction, and or, in some cases a blend of both. What we view in the end as the finished result is, in some small way a reflection of the person that produces the piece. Their perception, and expression of a small portion of life that has touched them deeply. A part of life that had awakened from the depths of their spirit after becoming inspired by a feeling, a vision, a sound, or a word and took on life of it's own. Inspirations can come from many places, most times out of the blue from the most unexpected of sources, and most always at the most unexpected of times. Mustangs have such a life. Living legends of our pasts. Our legacy. A life of their own, Life in our Dreams, and an always evolving life that is carried to new heights by the inspirations they give.

Mustangs The Evolution ~ A True Story about such Inspirations.

Spirits Pure is the 3rd poem in the Evolution series. A collaboration between author D. Enise and Cowgirl Poet Debra Coppinger Hill. "Mustangs" is the first poem in the series written by Debra Coppinger Hill. "Mustangs is so vivid, full of imagery that you are no longer "reading", your living the life of the little girl who is there watching the horses..

Debra Hills "Mustangs" is where the inspiration came for the second poem in the series by D.Enise, "Mustangs Spirits of Truth". A second true story. reflections of childhood memories, lessons and emotions.

The series "Mustangs ~The Evolution" in turn was inspired by the 3rd poem the collaboration "Spirits Pure"

A true story of a mustang hunt, by D. Enise. With her permission, Debra formulated the story into Cowboy Poetry form. It is currently being edited and music added by Jon Messenger into a new song which will be entitled Top of the World. Their new book will be available after the first of the year.

"Spirits Pure"

I could not see them, but I knew they were there,
the ground filled with thunder, shaking my soul.
From my safe place in hiding, up on the ridge,
strange, whispered callings told me to go.

At the edge, the whole valley, stretched out below me;
I watched, blood raced with the wind.
My breath became theirs as they dashed into sight;
Wild Hearts and hoof-beats charged around the bend.

I could smell the sweat as it ran off their bodies,
sun glistening on muscle as they ran towards the sun;
Knew without words their message and meaning,
they were Freedom, Truth and Love on the run.

The earth rose to meet me as they ran at full power,
their hooves sent dirt sailing, in clouds towards the sky;
My heart pounded wildly in time with their thunder;
it filled me with joy...for with them, I could fly!

I still feel all around me, the wondrous splendor,
that took my breath as they came into sight.
The vision I witnessed, that day in the valley,
is the dream that I dream as I drift off each night.

Forever engraved on my heart and my memory;
Spirits so pure they were one with the earth;
They set me free in those magical moments,
their strength became mine in a glorious rebirth.

At Night He Dreams

In that place that lies on the horizon,
in the haziness between earth and sky,
He watches the ocean transform into tallgrass,
as back home to her he rides.

He sees her working the horses,
tending to their every need,
Scattering hay and talking to them,
saying his name as she feeds.

He knows she won’t ask for help,
because she is too proud,
The swelling in his heart presses him,
and he whispers her name out loud.

Time and space will keep them apart
until the war is finally done;
Because Freedom don’t come easy,
and liberty is always hard-won.

But he knows he’s right to be there,
as a defender of this life that they lead;
They are people tied to the land;
an entirely different kind of breed.

He takes care of what he is handed,
and he knows she’ll be alright,
‘Cause she’s the Cowgirl who captured his heart,
and who backs him at home in the fight.

She pulls herself up by the boot-straps,
‘Cause it’s the Cowgirl Way;
She’ll have home and horses waiting for him
when he rides back in one day.

He wonders if it’s just a mirage,
or if he really goes there each night,
And he watches her among the horses,
until she fades from his sight.

Then the tallgrass melts into the haze,
he’s on the ocean for one more day;
Tugging his boot-straps he faces the enemy,
‘cause that’s the Cowboy Way.

Yellow Slicker

By: Debra Coppinger Hill

She wore his yellow slicker,
Though it almost drug the ground,
It seemed to make things easier,
As if He was still around.

He’d left her some big boots,
She was gonna’ have to fill,
But his old yellow slicker,
It seemed to give her the Will.

The Will to keep on going,
The Will to be wise and strong,
The Will to make their dreams come true,
And remember, where she belonged.

She wore it to feed the cattle,
And when she cleaned the stalls,
She hung it on that high nail by the door,
And remembered He was tall.

She wore it every time,
Storm clouds came rushing in,
She even wore it sometimes,
Just so the tears would not begin.

She wore it to keep the wet out,
And to hold the cold at bay,
It eased the hardness of the ground,
Each time she knelt to pray.

She wore it to chop the tanks,
And when she mended fence,
She wore it on the best of days,
And on the ones that made no sense.

She wore it when it was ragged,
And had completely lost it’s charm,
Because, if she was inside of it,
She was back inside his arms.

It’s just an old yellow slicker,
But it made her life complete,
It reminded her what’s important,
And it kept her on her feet.

She wore it across a lifetime,
And she never felt alone,
She raised their kids, she raised their cows,
And she made their farm a home.

And when she’s gone, she tells the kids,
Just hang it on that nail in the barn,
Then look at it, and in your hearts know,
His yellow slicker, saved the farm.

The Truth

You pushed us down that dark cold trail,
where the old and young ones cried,
And said this land was forever ours,
but that was only lies.

You slew us at the Sand Creek ,
Washita and Wounded Knee,
Then gave us talking leaf promises,
that never came to be.

You tried to silence our Shamans,
but our Visions were worth the chance,
You chased us till we could not walk,
but you could not stop the dance.

You cannot kill the Power, the Earth,
no truer words were ever spoken,
For, we know if we are the Center,
the Circle of Life will not be broken.

So, when you come in search of us,
these sacred hills is where we are found,
Among the voices in the wind,
on this, our Holy Ground.

For you can slaughter our shadow-bodies,
bind our wings so we can’t fly,
But you can’t capture our Spirit,
and you can’t make us die.

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