The white horse
I was born to curses, my hooves
headed the wrong way and I know
I will die to the sound of blessings
the way I was broken with both.
So many once believed in me,
they all backed me. I was worthy
of their faith because I never
arrived or ever proved myself.
To be a white horse lost in snow,
the snow which I love, for it falls
with such a sure fresh sense that
it is needed somewhere on earth.
Back for Christmas
All over Christmas, I think on how central
the tree is to us all, and how rootless too.
I walk along the river, in a hawthorn hollow
I see a wreath for a dead angler and feel
a sudden, sharp tug that doesn’t let me go.
I was born in this village, yet even now
I’m not sure which path will take me home
Richie McCaffery lives in Gent, Belgium but is from Warkworth in Northumberland. He is the author of two poetry pamphlets as well as the collection Cairn from Nine Arches Press, 2014. His next pamphlet is forthcoming in 2017 and his is busy working on a manuscript of poems on specifically ‘Belgian’ themes.
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