row upon row
hay waits its fate with tractor
then lays low in barn
My brain is made from a hundred gears,
but to understand and fix it could take years.
Though it might have a divot or a ding,
or suddenly launch a little spring,
because it's in that kind of shape,
I just use baling wire and duct tape.
Tilling the fields ‘neath a hot blazing sun
Removing the weeds when the rain's pouring down
Baling the hay in the heat and humidity
Breathe the dust of the chicken coop, abject humility
A farmer’s right proud of his livestock and crops
He tends them and serves them ‘till the day that he drops
calf's fed from bottles
summers of baling hay bales
playing in hayloft
BALING HAY
We three are farmer girls primarily.
named as Alice, Linda and Emily.
belonging to same peasant family
of almost same age holding simile.
All of us work hard in field merrily.
We hold skill to cut, chop and collect hay.
We are performing throughout the whole day.
Working under open sky and Sun rays.
Enjoying work staying cheerful and gay.
Panorama touching horizon gray.
Linda standing as her bundle is done.
Emily holds bunch on shoulder in fun.
Me Alice, baling to finish my turn.
Since childhood ' Baling hay', we are to learn.
Farmhouse close by: At eve, we rush, run.
We are close friends, being cousin sisters.
Not rock STAR but shine as Bailing Hay STAR.
Expert to bind bunch of hay in cluster.
We do job fast, yet try to do faster.
We enjoy festive days during Easter.
It's the big moments in life that most people remember,
But it's the moments in between which we should dwell upon.
Our lives are memories that can be very tender.
Thy only happen once and, in an instant, they're gone.
It's easy to think back to almost every birthday
Because they only came around that one time a year.
But what about the things that happened day after day,
The little things that brought so many smiles and tears?
We all remember, with pride, our graduation day
And we certainly remember the funerals and weddings.
But what about all the summers spent baling hay
And the many days on the farm we enjoyed spending?
Of course, we should remember the birth of our children
And every single anniversary celebration.
But what about when we were young and our hearts were open
Sleeping in the woods and staring at constellations?
In between the big moments is when life also happens,
So let's not remember the big moments alone.
Just remember that even the smallest of actions
Make us who we are and gives our hearts and minds a home.
Held together with baling wire
the smaller bits of life
hang like chaff
then float away
on the dawn’s whisper
of each drowning day.
Be prepared to salvage
one savored moment
amidst the fall of drops
your hurricane life provides;
slung with a force of gales
unapologetically for
the negative suck of
whirlpools you may endure.
Ride your current
like a cowboy’s bull;
the last tender filet
beneath you in
the moving beasts’ body
Underneath the breath
of all; your final
flattened mattress awaits.
Gather round while I spin a yarn
'bout a young gal, grew up in a barn
With horses and cows, she had her own stall
She loved taking care of them, most of all
She'd feed the horses and milk every cow
Nobody ever showed her quite how
She worked so hard, she rubbed her hands raw
Baling the hay and bundling the straw
Well, year after year she took care of her tasks
Secretly hoping that someone would ask
Her out on a date or some such like that
But she was afraid of men and a little bit fat
One summer day the sky turned pitch black
A tornado was brewing, there was no turning back
It stormed right on in, a-whirling and whooshing, a picture of awe
All her hay swept away, she clutched at two pieces of straw
She hung on to those straw strands with all of her might
As they swilled and swirled, and flew up out of sight
The last folks saw of her, she was high up in the sky
Singin' -- "To heck with horses! I'm a bird; I can fly!"
September 10, 2020
Clutching at Straws Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Kai Michael Neumann
BALING HAY
Rain rain Come on down Come on down
Need to Go to town Go to town
Trac-tor Keeps a bump- ing a-long
Need rain On the hot Day to-day
On rack Be-hind, it's Hard to stand
Toss-ing Hay bales on The back rack
Sky clouds Come-ing in From the west
Rain rain Come-ing down Come-ing down
Let's get Head to town Head to town
They haven’t come for many weeks
the men who mow my grass
at level 4 in lock-down too
they haven’t had the chance
to venture out,
the price too high,
their bubble they can’t break
but honestly paspalum gunk
is hard for me to take.
They haven’t come for many weeks
my pup won’t rest her butt
on grass that touches up her tush
for her it’s way too much.
She whirls and twirls
then whirls some more
most gingerly she squats
but moments later yaps and yelps
‘sif bitten on the bot.
They haven’t come for many weeks
and with each passing day
my yard a meadow has become
soon I’ll be baling hay
then when they come
the men who mow
I’ll tell them it’s okay,
my lawn became a meadow but,
I’m leaving it that way.
Sawing logs, one after another
Into two feet lengths
Just for the specific purpose
Of standing them up on the ground
Awaiting the iron axe
That will create a comforting
Roaring fire in the hearth
Come this winter’s cold
Canning fruits and vegetables
To store on the shelves
Awaiting the moment in time
When they’ll be lifted out
And opened slowly, carefully
With appreciation for the color
The scent and deliciousness
Of a homegrown and canned food
Cutting down hay in the field
Tractor moving slowly, assuredly
Taking the blade to the grass
Green and pungent scented
Covering the field with what will
Be racked up into piles for
Baling and creating a treasure
For the barn to store for cattle
He was born in the Georgia clay
drank sweet tea everyday
It was rise and shine at the crack of dawn
as the rooster sang his song
Milk the cows and bale the hay
buttermilk was on the way
Fetch the eggs from the coop
look at that chicken poop
Tend the garden and shell the peas
on the porch, feel the breeze
he butter, wring the bird
headless chicken, have you heard
Pressure cooker’s blowing steam
it's taboo to touch that thing
Canning veggies was the norm
no TV in a storm
Dry the apples for the pies
slice the taters for the fries
Work all day till the sun went down
then pass the moonshine around
Kids today can't relate
think they'd ever pull their weight
Take their phones and watch them moan
think they've had home-grown
Simple days, baling hay
catching chickens is how they played
Once a week they would all get together
that of course depended on the weather
You wouldn't believe what I've been thro' lately,
I'm supposed to be on holiday, okay
but not okay - recovering from an operation,
was not my idea of any decent elation.
Then there were other things if not enough,
sometimes I say that I'm not doing this again,
does that sound familiar - like baling out a boat,
it's one helluva job to just stay afloat.
However, look at the positives - shall we?
I'm holding back - could give you a bucketfull
of the other - so what do you want to do
mon ami - take action it seems to me.
Someone said you can cure anything with two beer,
I don't think so but anyway I'll wish you happy new year!
Rubber bands
and baling twine
hold tight; taut
from the endless pull
of raw nerves
condemned
to a gilded cage
of emptiness.
Too much silly putty
daubed in the gaping holes
of this crumbling relationship
leave polka dots everywhere.
Send in the clowns.
Emotions spring a leak
and salty tears escape
their tiny boat
and slip down
to meet the Elmer's
which has no staying power
to keep this frozen smile from cracking.
Even wood glue,
carpenter's friend
hailed for cracks and splits,
has failed the broken heart
of this fragile puppet,
and only Crazy Glue,
the seven-second miracle,
keeps trembling lips sealed.
So much for holding things together
Base can enter my spirit voice
to come out from the feet of my legs.
My artillery may sloop and head may die.
The world is about to kill myself,
It has already crown myself.
A range that amour gurgling spizzle
and wet an aura of ridding suns.
Why not meditate, who measures fruit
of our quad,
and why not it an unnecessary good?
Or who tend for tepid things.
The spirit is dead
and the sun is lumped.
Touch of the universe from ultimate
fusion, bearing the blood who swears,
and fears that drops from the mouth..
The baling eye that see darkness in the
coast of the house of sight.
Raptors faith of tomorrow’s morrow
I need thermometer,
I want to know the temp of mars,
Earth and Jupiter must know.
Do you mars, still breath in blood?
For the stars counted, where two million
and half.
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