Fields of my fathers

by Mark   Mar 11, 2018


Swayin', collidin' cornstalks
begins an orchestral opera
as a baton tapped by hush breezes,
then legato poultry moans
staccato squalking
lazy pup howls.

What a scene I witness;
written and played
by labours untold
yet melodic in fields
of my forefathers
whom graced, as wished,
to rest yonder o'er hill.

With arms a-fray I yell
'play oh Victorian scene
I also whistled this tune;
with grip of rope
sweat beating our lush grass,
seeding for newcomers
so you not perish to concrete.

Daily, no hourly I praise;
fertility of southern soil
swampy pond moistures -
creeping steadily
mulching acres of earth.
The lark even foretells in tune,
our futurist abundance!'

Why this outpouring,
unless censors unseen
are too - dancing
approving in rap style
by leafy claps
from o'er the slope
my forefathers?

4


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Latest Comments

  • 6 years ago

    by Michael

    Mark
    You are on a roll fella :)
    M.

  • 6 years ago

    by Michael

    Phew! Mark, you can certainly take your poetic mind to places other poets cannot reach :)

    Michael

  • 6 years ago

    by Kitty Cat Lady

    ooh Mark ... I can picture the farm, the fields, the animal noises, the back-breaking toil put into it all so that the future generations don't "perish to concrete" ... it's a beautiful poem full of nostalgia. :-) x
    =^.^=

  • 6 years ago

    by Ben Pickard

    Mark, it's writes like this that leave me in no doubt whatsoever that you are amongst the very best poets round these parts. A stunning piece.

    Take care

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