Saturday, 20 May 2017

NEW POEM: BEING AN APACHE...

The Apache Was Shot From His Horse

Rifle gripped, arm held high,
I leap-frogged off my right palm
Onto the blanket of an unsaddled pony,
My Apache scream piercing the calm…

Bare heels dug into my horse’s girth,
From my rifle I fired off a round
But was soon hit by an accurate bullet
From Davy Crockett, lying on the ground…

I arched with a cry, my rifle dropped,
I was unseated and thrown backwards awry
Into a partial back somersault onto the trail,
Landing prone and bled out to die…

My rifle was a toy, the trail a carpet,
The arm of mum’s sofa was my horse;
The blanket was a hand-towel, my enemy invented:
I was a child and a gymnast, of course… 

Pete Ray
May 2017

Loved watching the old cowboy shows on TV, mostly to see American Native Indian braves fall spectacularly from their mounts. 

I simply had to do that when mum was out at the shops, throwing myself around the lounge and getting some good grounding for gymnastics and some decent diving practice for being a wicketkeeper in cricket teams…

Loved it.

Whilst teaching at Birmingham Museum, I demonstrated being the Lone Ranger and Davy Crockett for the visiting classes of children in ‘Old Toys’ sessions…


Never was given an American Native Indian costume to wear though…








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