He felled the first log
late in the seventies
after scoring booze, drugs
and an art degree.
For the next ten years
the farmer hibernated
with 'shrooms,
the gust of a waterfall,
and dark lyrics
as the song the loon sang
muffled in his mind
eyes are red
sometimes blue
often there's a
stonier hue.
Then the loon
bloomed
into a wife.
But not long enough.
Soon the farmer was
again alone
and confused
about the loss
of ground, the
loss of sound
near his ear, the
loss of breath
and beat.
He missed the roundness
of her breasts,
her full flesh
exposed
like cream
stirred in
the early morning sun.
In the eighties,
the farmer
still had friends
but no more mary
jane. He found
the bottle on the ground,
clear and mental dreams.
He no longer cared
that her hair was
twined between
his fingers as he caressed
her neck
nor split as fine strands
jamming the zipper.
He'd found other ovarian treasure,
a scent of the earth
and a touch of quartz scattered.
Sweet hours.
He bathed daily in the creek.
Falls came.
Winters, too.
Years.
The tables swelled
and rose higher on the bank.
Sometimes he put his blood
upon the raft to float
downstream.
The nineties
knew no boundaries
and the loon once again
walked upon his wooden porch
with a new hat,
a scarred wing,
no home.
The farmer,
who had long suffered silence,
opened the door
and much to his surprise
found the loon still warm
and near.
She stayed awake
and nicked his vocal chords
until one night
he cried her name.
But nature lied,
his loon rotted
the last of his sight
into the root
of a shredding oak.
Chocolate trilliums
appeared in season
and the loon was gone
again.
The farmer lost
all reason.
Now rising just to work,
to plow, to drink
to fell himself,
prayer less and spent.
I found him there
one autumn
nearly blind,
vocals gone,
closer to the heavens
cloaked with dew
in a field
of lush green clippings
where for twenty years
he'd long sown rows and rows
of perennial hearts.
Scupper, © May, 2009
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Ashley Holt
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The Songbird
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Comments
"I found him there
one autumn
nearly blind,
vocals gone,
closer to the heavens
cloaked with dew
in a field
of lush green clippings
where for twenty years
he'd long sown rows and rows
of perennial hearts. "
Peece
for looking into my mirror.
david J
"solitude, land, green, growth, rot, simplicity, earth, life, time, hands, nature"
and so beautifully put together. like OES said, just, wow.
I'll hand carry that to the Sec. at the USDA.
After reading that, I'm lost in a parking lot.
You made me feel like I'm semi-demented.
I forget where I hitched my long-ear mule.
I will be thinking about this one for a while.
Beautiful post.
I worked for many farmers growing up, and i know the difficulties they face, the sacrifices they make......either for a silent GOD, or for joy in the fast-fading sun, on a warm plain....
Allow you? I would be so honored. Thank you and more.
Wordsmith - thank you. I value your insight.
Not-good to see you again, my friend.
You have an exquisite soul.
Does it just keep getting better? Please tell me it does.
Five Stars!
I was pushing computer buttons.
I was at another blog site. wow.
Then, I ended up here. Confused?
No really.
Thanks.
soon there will be acres of sunflowers
in bloom, flowers brighten dirt roads
again:` a beautiful poem expression
I love the flow of the words and the feel of this.
Please write more. Many more. We all need poems.
I love 'em and this place could use 'em.
A+++rated
Hey, I'm doing them a favor
I am new to your page, and so glad the direction is going both ways. Thank you for the visit.
Thank You for this
cool beans
Thank you for the stops and feedback today. I've visited your space and feel like I've met kindred hearts, both.
`
You know`
Judy rated`
She's cute.
`
I wear a brown hat too.
We no need theology.
We sense the time.
`
Not all is wholly bad.
We no advance bad.
We adore the`good.
`
I wandered off.
We share age.
This age era.
`
Glory unfolds.
No be gloomy.
I just grin`gin.
`
How we get here?
Ma & Pa 'do it`
in corn patch.
`
Corn has ears.
Corn see you.
Corn soups.
`
You Grand Ma.
No pierce ears,
a belly-button,
or cute-snout.
`
No flatulence.
No flatteries.
Ay, fun reads.