Swept From the Corners of my Mind….
April is Poetry Month, celebrate a poet near you! I am honoured to be a member of Sans Nom, Saskatchewan’s longest-running poetry group.
Those talented ladies are amazing, partially because they accept me. Because of them I can say that poetry does not have to be hard to understand or take hours of anguish to struggle through. Poetry can be fun.
In honour of this month, I thought I would share in the style of Western Poetry. It is not a style I use often, but I enjoy it!
Patty’s Promenade
Now I weren’t no farmborn rider,
Not saddleraised by fate,
But Patty said, “It’s easy, girl,”
And so I squeaked out, “great”.
I showed up wearin’ slipon clogs—
Wood soles, no grip at all—
The kinda shoes that guarantee
You’ll likely take a fall.
She slapped a saddle on Old Sis,
Who groaned like doom at dawn
an’ glared at me as if to say
My life choices were all wrong.
Patty chirped, “Let’s try a trot!”
Then Butler bolted free
And Sister stomped like she was tryin’
To tear the soul from me.
My teeth played rattlin’ castanets,
Those clogs took off in flight—
One skittered south to Saskatoon,
T’other, towards the Light.
I woke up in a field alone,
Askin’ clouds for my ID,
And Lee rolled up near split in half
From laughin’ hard at me.
He hollered, “Girl, you plowed a trench
Ten yards with your behind!”
And that’s the moment I accepted
That gravity ain’t kind.
But did I quit? Oh, bless my heart—
Patty offered lessons, cheap!
She’d headed East, got certified,
And came back talkin’ like a duke.
She strapped more leather on Butler’s head
Than saddle on his back,
And said, “Just do some stretches, dear.”
My courage began to crack.
I hoisted up my leg for her
To a wobble, grunt, and squeal—
And Butler launched to kingdom come
Like the devil nipped his heel.
I flew off in a perfect arc
That buzzards still admire,
Facedown in dirt, I pondered life
And every bad desire.
Patty sighed, “This one’s on me.”
I spat out half the field.
And that’s the tale of how my fate
With Patty was revealed.
So if you see me ridin’ by,
Just know I’ve made a choice—
To ride western on a calm cayuse
Not trust Patty’s reckless voice.
And should you hear a distant shriek
Or see clogs fly through the air,
That’s just this barnsour buckarette
Attemptin’ English flair.
Cathy Bendle finds humour in the quirks of everyday life, from training teachers to dodging housework. When not writing, she’s either laughing at her pets, frantically Googling for her work assignments, or playing on her iPad. Her column appears every other Wednesday.
