Somewhere There Is A Boy

Somewhere there is a boy
Dreaming of a horse,
A horse of his own,
A part of his soul,
A horse he would ride
Through fields and meadows,
Through shadowed woods,
A horse he would greet each morning,
Spend all day with,
Kiss goodnight.
Somewhere there is a boy
Dreaming of horse,
A horse like the one I see here,
Standing in a muddy pen,
Looking wistfully out at me
As I walk by,
This horse,
Alone all day long,
Dreaming of a boy.
~ by Russ Allison Loar
~ Painting by Jessica McMahon
© All Rights Reserved
# 79:
If it lasts too long,
the poet is probably faking it.
~ Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved
Incarnation
D o I believe in reincarnation?
June 13, 1776: Had dinner with the Jones tonight. A little rain. Going to fix the wagon tomorrow.
Babies are born with a full visual capacity to see objects and colors. However, newborns are extremely nearsighted. Far away objects are blurry. Newborns can see objects about 8-15 inches away quite sharply. Newborns prefer to look at faces over other shapes and objects and at round shapes with light and dark borders.
~ Text and artwork by Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved
Easter Brunch at the Country Club
~ Text & Jesus insertion by Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved
My Light

M y earliest memory is of a large white house, something like a Southern plantation house fronted by Greek columns, blindingly white, glimpsed through the windshield of the car my mother was driving. I was about one year old. She left me there, inside this large, white house. I never saw her again.
It was a place for orphaned children. After my mother realized my father would not leave his own wife and children as he had promised, the pressure to put me up for adoption was evidently too great to resist. It was 1951 in Southern California and my mother was from a proud military family. She loved me, I was later told, but the situation was unacceptable, especially to her parents. She loved me, but everyone agreed that “a boy should have a father.” It was a solution. It did not make everything all right. Nothing could do that. After all, we’d been together every day during my first sixteen months of life. She was my mother.
My insecurity was born that day. If I could lose my mother, my home and everything I’d ever known in such an instant, then what was left? Who could I trust?
I grew up seeing the world as a threat, expecting to be rejected by everyone, expecting to lose everything. I expected abandonment. My fears were fueled by the cruel and abusive parents who adopted me.
This is my darkness.
I also grew up seeking the truth about my first year and a half of life, hidden from me for so long. In the process I learned there is much about our lives that is hidden by pretense and artifice – hidden by others; hidden by ourselves. And in this search, in finding the truth, in finding myself, I have found a healing love far stronger than the darkness of my troubled soul.
This is my light.
~ by Russ Allison Loar
© All Rights Reserved
My Writing
- I Hate Poetry.com
- Writing A Poem.com
- Writing About Sex.com
- Writing About Love.com
- Writing About Family.com
- Writing About People.com
- Writing About Work.com
- Writing About God
- Writing About Life.com
- Writing My Mind.com
- The Worst Joke In The World.com
- My Incarnation.com
- Whingy Whang.com
- Stretch Coyote.com
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