Best Plow Poems
A well-water pump cranks out its iron-water
crooked wire remains -- once, sturdy chicken coops
The brackish, muddy area over there, the cowshed
some withered trees dot the hills, bereft now of their fruit
A few young lads herd goats, or perhaps they are living skeletons?
cows with ribs exposed, horses with manes as limp as rags ...
Some day they'll come again, the strong, determined youth
to bale the hay, to turn the rocks over, to plow and seed relentlessly ...
alone he stands behind the plow
in footrace with the lengthened dawn
a shadow figure in the now
pursues the where and when and how
of unseen reins so slowly drawn
alone he stands behind the plow
each furrow’s end a prayerful bow
an homage paid – dark soil turned fawn
a shadow figure in the now
a twisted plowmans daily prowl
his dream - horizon’s distant pawn
alone he stands behind the plow
as rutted field and furrowed brow
leave in the mist the endless song
a shadow figure in the now
in answer to where, when, and how
sweet memories dark furrows spawn
alone he stands behind the plow
a shadow figure in the now
©1/16/2018
Contest: Villanelle Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Nina Parmenter
Winter sun is yellow gold
Making mud run of melting snow
And Carolina clay is frozen hill
Where kids sled and play at will
Frosted sky with cotton cloud
In the eye of guy driving snow plow
He’s hard at work while we all play
All school kids search for snowy days
The roadside implement left without attendant,
an objective lesson of technology progression.
Long lacking use, should be rot and rust.
Yet is anything but, even years without digging rut.
A hand once guided, a horse once dragged.
Hung up like the harness, and the feed bag.
So roadside it sits, repainted and new.
A plow, a tool of a past we honor, that men would use.
Historic and remembered, now a monument,
to the hard working farmer and time that he spent.
My head rested on my arms atop the wooden ledge.
A basement window I peered through covered with packed snow.
My mind wandered to the fridge where a carton of milk
Sat empty on the door inside my fridge.
‘I can’t go out.’
A mortal existence against a relentless cold reality.
I imagined a world where there was no sunshine
No light or life, like the dull gray quiet blanket of
Death outside my window.
Apprehensive eyes gazed through the icy pane when
Amber flashes danced across the fallen panels of bleached snow.
Then from out of the grey dismal quiet I saw him pull in,
Inside his heated cabin atop a massive metal frame.
He drops his blade.
A sound so deep it shook the very brickwork around me.
He begins his work with utmost skill, flicking salt and sand.
Dragging back a heavy blade, then powering forward
Pushing layers of the heavy shroud back with ease.
With surgical precision and a 4-wheel dance of turns
He gathers mounds of encroaching doom quickly
As light pushes back the darkness,
Lining the parking lot just outside my window.
His wheels now caked in pressed ice and snow
I watch him as he shifted gears, grinding sounds of rock and salt.
Amber lights spin and dance atop as if a lighthouse beacon.
He lifts his blade once more to exit towards the street.
‘A thankless job.’
He said to himself, alone in the middle of the raging storm.
In solitude, I watched as he turns onto the empty street
Dropping his blade once more and clearing a path till he was gone.
A winter superhero wearing a 1-ton costume.
‘Thank you.’
My lips mouth silently as I remove my arms from the ledge
With a swift movement I open the fridge door removing the empty carton.
Slip on my jacket and move towards my front door, shutting it behind me.
Now able to go pick up milk.
Part I – Plow’s New Home
He was squiggly and fat with dark round eyes.
The auctioneer held him up, but no ayes!
HE MUST HAVE BEEN ABLE TO READ MY MIND.
Five dollars, do I hear $10? …. A real find!
“He won’t get much bigger than he is now.”
My ticker was beating faster and how!
I held up my card; my heart did a jig.
Before I knew it, I had bought the pig.
Ruth had a cage; so we brought the boy home.
He was so much fun and he loved to roam.
Each morning, Plow would follow me around.
Rooting under bushes where snacks were found.
Plow worked in the garden everyday.
But then one day, the boy ran away.
Part II – Plow’s First Adventure
My heart was sunken and my fear took flight.
He was growing bigger, a yummy sight.
Suppose he had wondered deep in the woods.
Or worse yet, plundering the neighborhoods.
I loved that pig and his little pig snout.
Apple in my hand; Plow would take it out.
Sometimes the dog would race him for the find.
The pig and the dog seemed to share one mind.
What would Ginger do without her pig friend?
After three days gone, would our sad hearts mend?
He had grown so fat, safer if thinner.
I prayed to God he would not be dinner.
Riding to town down the winding dirt road,
We saw Plow confined; good fortune bestowed.
Part III - Courting the Sow
Down the way, there lived a pretty pink sow.
She must have been shocked when she first saw Plow.
He was eighteen inches long, not at all tall.
Yet, there he was flirting her in her stall.
The sow was huge, ready for the slaughter.
My piglet had roamed and become a squatter.
The landowner said his sow was in heat.
And there stood Plow with his head at her feet.
High ambitions for a pot-bellied pig,
He went half a mile for his courtship gig.
Running through the woods, he wanted to stay.
But we caught him and took him home that day.
We had to build him a special pigpen.
His days of free roaming came to an end.
November 13, 2014
P.S. Thanks for the Contest! I've finally started my book, today. This is a true story...and there is much more to come. Big Smiles.
Snow
Cold and white
Like clouds in a sky
Lots of it on the ground
Surrounding me
As I go
For my morning walk
I see an Amish man go by
On his snow plow
Pulled by horses
With a dog following
On the ground
And soon a path
Is being made
So that people
Can get to and from town
In the Amish community
Emily Krauss
I have managed to muddle through life somehow.
It seems I have constantly pulled a plow.
Tilling the soil to plant some seed,
I have had many an obligation and need.
I share the same burdens with my neighbor.
What happened to the fruits of my labor?
They were all harvested, consumed, and spent.
Sometimes I wonder where it all went
.
Simple were the things that brought me so much joy,
Growin' up on the farm as a Hoosier country boy!
Barefoot, straw hat, patched overalls and summer tanned,
As free as a soarin' eagle as I roamed that prairie land!
Dad farmed the old homestead with teams of horses and mules.
He had a Massey-Harris tractor he used to tow heavier tools.
But to turn the sod he used his mules, old faithful Fred and Joe,
Who understood Dad's subtle commands of "gee, haw and whoa!"
He sat upon the brutal steel seat of his John Deere sulky plow,
Turnin' ten acres of soil a day, and now I wonder how!
Ah, what a pleasure to trot in that cool, fresh-turned furrow,
And wiggle my toes in the loam the shiny moldboard would burrow!
My old pal, Spooks, bounded hither and yon a-chasin' rabbits,
Of which there was a multitude, due to their promiscuous habits!
As the sulky plow turned the soil, I'd poke around with a stick,
To collect wiggly worms for feeshin' later in the ripplin' "crick".
Anon, Fred and Joe and the sulky plow were all retired,
Replaced by a Farmall tractor, shiny red and rubber tired.
Dad reluctantly gave up his sulky plow and bid it a sad adieu.
Alas, it was conscripted for scrap to aid in World War Two!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Plow a new field for yourself
Then plant your best seeds of righteousness
In harvest season thou shall harvest riches
Let the blessing from heaven fall like the rain of God
All for the good farmer of righteousness
Driving along steel on the road
look in the mirror
salt falls from my load
Moving just as swift as I can
Look at me
I'm the snow plow man
Snow piles high as it moves off my plow
push back corners
the kids scream WOW
working round the clock all through the night
Clearing the roads
With determination an might
Road to road as fast as I can
Look at me
I'm the snow plow man
I look down the hill and see the plague in the valley
Ravaging farmer, field and crop alike
Where the bundles are stored and young children are carried
Every motion they take, they go farther from light
All that can help them is the plow of compassion
It too has a memory, it too can yield
May it help them cross rivers of poisonous passion
May its fair irrigation revive every field
I look in the news for one sign of improvement
A chance that conditions have stabilized
The faithful and hopeful are all-too-human
They seed their land to adapt and survive
All that can help them is the plow of compassion
It too has a memory, it too can yield
May it help them cross rivers of poisonous passion
May its fair irrigation revive every field
I check in on the children before my own nightly struggle
Their faces untarnished by the slightest corruption
What weapons have I to protect them from trouble?
What lessons have I to teach them life’s repercussions?
All that can help them is the plow of compassion
It too has a memory, it too can yield
May it help them cross rivers of poisonous passion
May its fair irrigation revive every field.
Divorced and tossed aside
The kittens dragged along
for a very bumpy ride.
You've lost some weight but still sinking.
2 days a week seeing a secondhand shrink.
They paint so slowly, over roughened stones.
A hundred bucks an hour for the green sideshow.
You bought an E-bike -a bright Nike running suit.
You're beginning to primp and purr.
You're on the prowl, once again.
Shiny crimson stilettos for stepping out...
While Game Boy is babysitting the kittens.
A half dozen ogres later...
you've decided the whole scene
was a carousel of sugared desperation.
Show horses without any virtue or soul.
Snake eyes rattling at three in the morning.
Where did all those plain plow horses go?
Alone isn't so bad, you whisper to yourself.
You've survived both opaque and glitter.
Love songs rotting in the shallows.
Shallow words over cold T.V. dinners.
High tide may block some paths
but it always refreshes the journey.
You've gained the weight back...and then some.
But shed the shrinks and learned so much.
You're wiser, earned an associate's degree in living.
It's been five years since you were slung aside.
This new-age wisdom forgot to mention.
To pay more attention to your kittens.
You hadn't noticed that while you chased show horses:
One kitten earned a degree in deep cutting.
The other has a PHD in methamphetamines....
And you thought your life was such a mess...
You're still asking Where did all those plain plow horses go? "
.
Don’t wait for that perfect poem
to appear
It lives in the seeds of your
imperfection
Waiting for new furrows of wonder
and strife
To flower in soil you have yet
to plow
(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2016)
Can't you see the big snow flakes coming down The wind is blowing the snow on frozen ground Sitting at the door are you wanting to go out How loud the word no do you want me to shout
It's piling up real fast making big snow banks Staying in this warm house you should give thanks One paw out that door and you would quickly disappear Wait until the Mr. plows a path to make the way clear
Please stop fussing while I wrap you in this warm sweater And you may not like it but this hat makes it even better Your the one snow cat that wants to go out in this blizzard It sure would make me happy if you would just reconsider
Author Eileen Clark 2022