Flashes From Childhood 1. The Clydesdales. Poem by Margery Rehman

Margery Rehman

Glasgow, Scotland but living in Karachi, Pakistan.

Flashes From Childhood 1. The Clydesdales.

Rating: 5.0


How we loved them.
In an otherwise grey world
These blinkered, patient creatures
Gave us such delight as
Massive, sinewy strong, they pulled the carts
Piled high with metal parts
Over the cobbled streets
To the docks and back.

Gentle giants, with gleaming coats
Friendly, allowing us to stroke them and call their names.
These huge horses trudging along
Proud, strong workers.

Once each year-the annual fair-
They came in procession,
Bedecked in leather, silver and brass.
Garlands and roses entwined in their hair.
Like the war-horses of old
They stood stately and proud
Caparaisoned in all their finery,
Heads high, knightly in bearing,
Magnificent to behold.

One day they were gone.
The shipyards closed-
Orders gone to Japan.
They had become 'economically unviable',
An anachronism in our brave new post-war world.
But we children missed them;
They'd been our friends.
And when our eyes met theirs
We had understood each other.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Danny Reynolds 23 February 2007

Fond memories indeed, Margery. Thanks for sharing. There is something special in the eyes of all the heavy horses, which enamours those who choose to look in. Danny

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Alison Cassidy 23 February 2007

This is beautiful Margery - there is so much love in your words of remembrance of these gentle giants with their furry feet and blinkered eyes. Yes, the irony of 'progress'. Might I suggest you leave out the last stanza. I think the poem is stronger without it. I love this one. Allie xxxx

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Ivor Hogg 29 April 2007

My Lady you conjured up my childhood brilliantly Sometimes I was allowed to drive the dustcart pulled by one of these magnificent creatures. I would not have changed places with the king. Horses can capture and hold your heart in a way no mechanical contrivance ever can I am particularly fond of the elizabethan poets writing in an age when every educated man was expected to be able to write poetry. I still prefer the discipline of formal rhymed and metered verse. Although very ocasionally I read a free verse poem written by someone who understands what they are writing and applaud. I have no time for random thoughts however poetical which are disjointed scribblings

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Francesca Johnson 17 March 2007

Wonderful poem, Margery. Takes me right back to childhood when our sacks of coal were delivered on carts pulled by these magnificent beasts. They knew their routes and at which houses to stop....I can hear the clip, clop of their hooves.....and yes, the anuual fair, when we could have a ride atop one of these powerful horses. I don't like living in the past but some memories are well worth hanging onto... I enjoyed this immensely. Love, Fran xx

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Magda Graf 04 March 2007

Hello Margery, I really enjoyed reading your childhood memory of those giant carthorses. How much has been lost with 'progress' and economic considerations taking precedence everywhere. Your richly evocative words bring back a whole world which was rather bleak at times, but which also had this sense of pride and (although I'm a bit wary of that word) dignity. I think the last stanza has a lot to say at least to me. Magda

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Martin Zarrop 25 February 2007

Margery, Beautiful! Wonderful images. Love, Martin

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Jerry Hughes 24 February 2007

Indeed Margery, you've painted a wonderful word-picture of these lovely gentle giants. It's lovely to remember them as you've done here, thank you...

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Margery Rehman

Glasgow, Scotland but living in Karachi, Pakistan.
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