Imagery Poem

Well, I honestly can't remember whether this person wished to remain anonymous or not, but I do know that I have permission to publish, and the poem is impressive, so if she wishes to be identified, check back tomorrow for the poet's name. I love the metaphors in this poem -- see how many you can find!

Raw Riding

I sit aloft the saddle
The pound of her strong limbs below me
Beating the ground with powerful strides.
I'm the Lone Ranger,
One hand guiding her on the battered path,
Riding high on her neck,
Urging her forth,
The other dangling loosely at my side.
My feet in the stirrups
Tap her bulging barrel,
And she lunges ahead at a blinding pace.
My back's a board as I lean forward,
Her mane lashing my face.
Sheer speed blurs my vision,
My hair chasing behind me.
The only thing I can smell is the raw air,
The only thing I can see is the finish,
Beckoning me closer,
To win.