This poem is regarding my horse. Yes I had a horse. A long time ago. His name was Wild Rock. He was my apple baby. He used to be wild. I tamed him myself. With help from my trainer of course. Okay, I tried. He never WAS tame in the end... Wild Rock was poisoned in the end. With 162 other horses.
I look into his eyes, surmise. He
summons me closer to him with a kind
of longing in his stare. As I step closer,
I expect my heart to be racing – either
With fear or excitement – but it’s not.
I’m as calm as a summer’s breeze.
Walking slowly, I reach out my hand
and I touch him. I feel his muscles
relaxing under my hand. He’s at peace
with my presence. Suddenly he
nudges me, softly at first, to touch and
caress him. Then he turns persistent,
pulling on the reigns I’m holding in my
I give him his apple and silently slip it
over his head and fasten the buckle.
Quickly, and without hesitation, I get on
his bare back. He doesn’t fight me, but
helps me to get on by bowing low. Is
this for real?
As the first person in ages to come
close to this ‘wild creature’, I have an
audience of onlookers. Standing still,
finding our feet together, I talk to him
softly. Slowly, he starts walking, then
trotting, and as one, we gallop away,
leaving everyone and everything
We understand each others wild streak
and calmness. And finally – we’re
Author: Maryke Pretorius