Linda Alice Fowler Poet Rhyme

Cotton Fields

The devil’s dry fields
dirt farm, not much yields
damn sun
one forlorn tree shields
Texas battlefields
the one
recline that appeals
low water reveals
not done

no reprieve day’s sun
no wind, land barren
poor crop
windmill slow to run
water still and dun
well drop
worn clothes overdone
unbleached and homespun
no fop

dry, dingy sweatshop
broken fence post prop
damn sun
blind heat nonstop
a silent eavesdrop
poor crop
bleeding fingers mop
hellish spinning top
Grandma

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Panagiota Romios March 27, 2023 at 1:14 PM Fabulous write, Linda. You make it easy to feel like it’s right before nY eyes And it has a rhythm to it that hums.. Pangie xo Linda Alice Fowler March 27, 2023 at 1:52 PM Thanks Pangie my friend. :)

Gershon Wolf March 25, 2023 at 9:10 PM Wow. This sure does rustle up the imagery for me. (My maternal grandma was from Texas). ~ Sagebrush Sam Linda Alice Fowler March 26, 2023 at 6:31 AM Tough life. This is an image I conjured from stories about my paternal grandparents, especially about my grandmother. Thanks for reading and commenting gw! :) laf

Michelle Faulkner March 24, 2023 at 12:30 PM I can see the hot dry Texas fields and the woman working in her worn out clothing, is this based on a memory? Linda Alice Fowler March 24, 2023 at 3:32 PM Thank you and yes, Michelle. I wrote about the stories I heard as a child, about my father's beginnings, and put them in this imagined form. I visited the farm many times and remember the old house, and the damp root cellar. I've a few other stories I may put in poetic form. :)