"The Carousel"

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
About a carousel ran by an old man, not to long...

Submitted: August 05, 2017

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Submitted: August 05, 2017



“The Carousel”



Each one was made

out of a single block of wood

there were 13-horses in all

all hand carved, sanded and painted

by just one man

the induvial detail on each

and every horse was exquisite

each had a strikingly different


you would look at one

and know right away

it was a runner

built for speed

the lines of its body


its fluid motion while running

captured in wood

you could close your eyes

and run your hands

along its body

and you would swear

you could feel

the muscles ripple

underneath your soft touch

or maybe your drawn to

one of the mares

who’s eyes are so

sharp and bright

the soft features of her face

just make you want to

hug her around the neck

so beautiful and alluring

you can almost feel

her long flowing mane

slapping you in the face

as she runs along side

the other 12 wooden horses

some of the other favorites

are the yearlings

their youth and innocents

with those long lanky legs

paired with their bashful

turn of the head

looking back at you

in such a playful manner.

He took great care

in the up keep and maintenance

of his 13-horse carousel

the brass poles

that they rode a pond

were always polished

with great care

all the painted surfaces

looked vivid and brand new.

The carousel only ran

one day a week

every summer Saturday

from 10:00am to 2:00pm

with a short 10-minute break

every now and then

as he put it

“To feed and water the horses”

he only charged a dollar

for a 5-minute long ride

but he had a sharp eye

he could tell if a kid

or maybe their parents

might not have an extra buck

he made sure that

they always rode for free

he loved that face

a small child made

a look of amazement

as they watched the horses

run and prance past them

he knew right away

which horse each one

would pick out

their eyes following it around,

twisting their necks,

trying not to lose

visual contact

as it went behind the carousel

then seeing their eyes

get real big

as their horse

comes charging towards them

as it gallops from around the bend.

Many of the parents

say they remember the old man,

they would tell you

he was the same old man

from when they were a kid

when asked

he would just smile

and say

“Probably just the foggy”

“Memory of youth”

The summer sun

has begun it’s slow ride

towards the far horizon


not very far away

making sure no kid

gets shut out of getting

their chance for a ride

he calls out

“Last Ride of the Day!”

then he carefully takes in

the day’s last selection process

as each child

quickly interviews a horse

making sure it’s

the right horse for them

then switching over to

watch the parents,


reliving their youth

as they watch their child

ride into a fantasy

on the backs of

the wooden horses

that seem to become alive

underneath their child’s weight,

he never tires

of these faces,

no day is ever

quite the same

but the hour has struck

and the ride has to end

the summer dreams of childhood

will have to be put on hold,

till the sun

circle’s back around

pushing a new Saturday morning

out in front of it…


Tom Allen…07-31-2017…






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