From which the horses drive

In the darkest hour
From which the Horses drive
Through the tunnels
Where time does not see.

From which the horses drive
I cannot tell;
Through the tunnels
The maze continues.

I cannot tell:
Through the tunnels
The Maze continues
In the darkest hour.

The Wisdom of Children

I saw across the landscape
A truly antique ruin of a kingdom.
The golden strands of tape
Laid across the wisdom of children
And my conscious did stir
When it appeared that one did move
However, when I was near,
I did see that there was no love present
Or that any did approve.
The look of true fear
And the lack of stony grooves
Only did steer
Me away on quick hooves.

Day Will be Here?

I: Don't know
What I: will do
Sitting across the wing
Off the hall.

Nothing is natural
Except for the Primal
Instinct to reach out
Towards what we don't have

With the knowledge
That soon after dark
We will feel the sun
Touch upon our skins.

But nothing is natural;
The nature is less than natural-
Divided among our tone
And sheathed swords.

I: Don't know
What we do-
Staring straight
Through the abyss

A darkness we all know
Encroaches as we stand.
Before long, nothing is there;
The desire to feel the Sun having faded.

The ease to stand
Alone in the darkness
Is much too desirable
And so we leave.

Night has lifted
The Earthly hues
Behind a mask and
The truth is beyond present:
The Deceiver clear.

And so we stood;
Alone in the darkness
With our swords sheathed
And the ever present reminder:

Nothing is Natural.
At least Day will be here soon?

A Basic Expose on the History of Horses

Dear readers,

Today I was informed by my Human Origins Professor that I will be giving a presentation on the history of the evolution of horses sometime this semester and so I would like to use this post as a starting point in order to get thoughts together on the issue.

First, my credentials: I rode horses in competition over the course of about three or four years and I have done barn work when I fed, watered and cleaned the horses and the stables. Over the course of this time I made a point of learning horse morphology and its origins and how we are effecting the horse today.

The sum total of what I know so far is that horses started as smaller, multi toed creatures. Over time they grew and kept only one toe, which is now called a hoof. The major issues of their morphology are that their eyes are on the side of their head (meaning that they have two blind spots; One directly in front of them and one directly behind them) and a delicate digestive system.

Perhaps the larger problem is the digestive system, although the ramifications of the blind spots will be touched upon next. The largest problem for a horse posed by its digestive tract is known as colic. Colic is an upset stomach which is a problem that is exacerbated by an inability for the horse to vomit. Colic can be caused by things as simple as overfeeding or missing a few meals so great care must go into making sure the horse eats the right amount.

On topic of the blind spots, they must be kept in mind when handling a horse. If you were to create a disturbance directly in front or behind a horse with out the horse knowing that you are there the horse may get spooked which will be trouble in close quarters as a kick will easily land you in a hospital.

As to what I know of our selective breeding of horses is that a lot of it has been for racing. The Thoroughbred, one of the most popular horse breeds, was bred to be good at racing. Race horses are characterized by lighter leg bones, which allow them to run faster at the price that they are susceptible to injury.

Before I close, I wish to give a safety note: Horses, ponies and miniature horses are not dogs. I know many people who seem to think that they are like dogs, although this seems to go for ponies in particular as not many people are savvy as to what a miniature horse is. All three of the animals I just mentioned are smarter and more dangerous than a dog. Dogs can bite you but so can horses. Horses can also kick you. People are often wary of this around horses but I will vouch from experience that all caution is thrown aside once a person is near a pony.

The problem this causes is that the pony to become spoiled and makes it more likely to act up. Anything a horse can do, so can a pony. As such, to prevent any accidents, I'd like to ask my readers to treat all varieties of horses as horses and not as dogs.

I hope I didn't bore you,

Michael Hand

Shadow in the Dark

I am a Shadow

In the Dark-

Clumsily waiting-

To see where I am

In the light.

The shadowy air

Shows in my breath

Which pulsates heavily

As our eyes lock.

What is less

Than myself,

I am forced to ask,

Than a Shadow?

If I’m a Shadow

Then what is less?

What is it that

I see in this darkness

And which sees me?

Then the great being

His endless shadow

Turns and gleams its teeth

Like scythes across a void.

They rip through the darkness

As more darkness rises

And all shadows eaten.

It smiles at me

And in those scythes

-Beady Eyes

Which show understanding.

Then I know what I am:

I am a Shadow

In the Light.

End of Hiatus

Dear readers,

As my nineteenth birthday approaches I find it appropriate to restart old projects of mine; namely this blog. The blog died because of the amount of work I had, and while I have no doubt that that will happen again, I wish to try again.

My original purpose on this blog was to share and discuss my work with my readers, however I haven't written much recently and my readership had dropped dramatically by the time I went on hiatus. These facts make me want to discuss them so that I can be past, and beyond, them.

In regards to my writing, I haven't had a clear head in the past few months and I swamped myself with projects. Between trying to write two or three tanka a day, a chapter a day and a drawing a day I fear I pushed myself over with what I could handle. I could conceptualize it all so clearly but that amounted to nothing in the end.

My current goal on this front is a tanka a day and both a chapter and drawing a week (maybe now I can finish more than three chapters to any form of satisfaction).

In regards to my readership drop, I can think of two things. The first reality is that all my followers come from the same pool of people who read blogs as they have to, at least for the most part. As my blog no longer counts as a blog that can be read for an assignment it is natural that readership would drop off. The second reality is a lack of good content. My most recent content has been terrible, which has gone along with my head not being clear at the time. I wasn't focusing on the quality but rather the quantity and with my new goals in place I hope to keep my head clearer.

To all reading this: Thank you,

Michael Hand

Poem post

Explorations to-

For a lack of a better word-

Unknown to ones mind

Leaves no stretch to be desired.

Nothing here is to be normal:

The wooden table

Through its endless circular

Dimension. Trembles…

As if a waking frontier

In a mother bear’s dark den.

The exit lights up;

Breaking through the dark of night.

The sprinting- Burning-

Shakes as he breaks for it:

“A few more steps; A few more”.

The flames do dies down

After the end of the night.

The bear awakens

In the wars dank aftermath

And marches on for her cub.

Marching; marching; March

The days pass onwards to months.

The leaves keep falling

As if nothing happened

And is fine in the world.

It is in regards

To matters of peace and war.

Love? In days dark dies

Like the rest which bears cherished;

Like the rest which man forget.

The collapsing cloud

Spread across the landing point.

Forever hungry

Its stomach growled and roared and

Ate. Its stomach roared and ate.

The burning man turns

A cold finger to walkers.

The sensational timing

Which man often do brag of

Does sting; Especially now.

The arrhythmic beat

Surrounds the aura of wood.

The throbbing hands land

Creating a deafening

For all the forest ears.

The lonely bear: Lost

In a search for those long gone.

The sound; attractive.

So the bear marches onwards

To find a wooden table.

All that is left now

Is a circular tree stump.

A sickening cry

Of mourning emerges and

The last piece of hope is gone.