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Below are poems written by poet Robert Ludden. Click the Next or Previous links below the poem to navigate between poems. Remember, Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth. Thank you.

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It's Harvest Time

Behind the reaper, glistening beneath
the fading rays of light,
crude elements of happenstance
lie in its wake, passed over
and awaiting those who glean
the afterbirth.

Yes, there is that querulous
persistence of the poor,
that stubborn cadre of the prescient,
who will peer into our souls
and find us bankrupt, 
mind and consciousness already unaware.
It is a curious, stolid procession 
passing by--these ghosts 
on their ironic quest into tomorrow. 
No one may cheer them on; no one
may find a voice to hold them back.

There is no choice, for
we must be content to find ourselves
among the gleaners, though it is we
who sang our welcome to the reapers--
we, who watched the harvest come,                              
and hungered after it.

And it was we who faced the disillusionment
of barren fields with gleaming bits
of paper bibelot
to laugh and mock us
as we ploughed them underneath.

But fullness too, lurked there
in silent modesty behind the plough.
Patient gleaners know
that down the long, slow hall of history
there is a single echo: 
Truth is unchanging...paradox!

There was triumph in the air, 
and no man was a slave to it.
I deeply sighed and took a breath
and opened up my eyes.
And it was good.


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  1. Date: 7/23/2014 12:35:00 PM

    thanks Eileen---my usual obscurity--I could have been more clear. Still learning, here.
  1. Date: 7/23/2014 12:15:00 PM

    Robert...there are many layers to this that I won't even pretend to understand, but as usual...I'm taken with your writes. To call to the harvester...and be left behind, to be gleaned by others...Hmmmmm...when you are ripe, must be a difficult thing...However, all is well that ends well...For it was good.