At Rainbow’s End
At rainbow’s end,
I looked for gold;
And still I search,
Alone and cold:
The rainbow’s gone
And now I’m old.
The Hooves that Thundered
The hooves that thundered on the roof,
An awful sound to hear;
And when the mighty steeds arrived,
My heart was gripped with fear.
The horses black as ebony,
A chariot in tow,
A fearsome rider held the reins;
I had no place to go.
The horseman’s face a scowling mask,
So clearly in command;
But racked with pain, I smiled relief
And gladly took his hand.
I will not see the light again;
But here with Death, I feel no pain.
They Say That Taste Will Change with Age
They say that taste will change with age –
Indeed, I cannot disagree:
I surely wouldn’t want you now;
But now perhaps you’d fall for me…
Jack Horne is married and lives in Plymouth, England. A number of his poems have been published and read out on the radio. A collection of poetry, co written with two friends, has just been accepted for publication.
These poems are among the entries for the Society of Classical Poets’ 2012 Poetry Competition.
Jack,
I read your poems with my first cup of coffee on a day of gratitude here in the U.S., Thanksgiving. All good poems from you here, but “Hooves” thundered in my imagination, so today I give thanks to you in Plymouth, England. At our dinner table today shared with my wife and her mother is displayed a postcard showing Pilgrims landing on Plymouth Rock. It is dated 11 / 24 / 09. That is NINETEEN o nine! While I am thanking you for your three poems, I hope you do not mind my sending well-wishes to all SCP poets who might be on the website today. May I recommend to you and to them that a poem easily found on the Internet, “The Ox Cart Man” by Donald Hall is a good poem to read at the dinner table. You and fellow guests might read it as an optimistic or or a pessimistic story. Don is an old friend and he told me he had one side in mind, but learned in public recital that there are two kinds of people. Let me add that this morning I read out loud your thundering poem and tip my hat to you for matching meter and rhyme to what the poem says. Where some poems go wrong (only speaking for me) is when the form used does not go with what is being said in the poem.
Peace at home and around the world,
Neal Whitman