In the cornfield the horse drawn reaper stood steady,
the vacation crew were up and ready.
The days were long,recent clouds had gone.
Yellow beams on heavy harvest food,
the lark departing with her second brood.
Field mice scattered ,their nests torn and forlorn .
Our stooked up sheaves midst growing clover,
unbalanced and toppling over.
The clock ticked slow,the field seemed to grow,
eleveneses a dim distant view.
A working break ,to seek
a half crown for the next week,
somewhere sunny and sublime
...seemed good idea at the time.
Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2007
Categories:
stooked, childhood, work,
Form: Rhyme
If swallows scissor scarlet skies
and gather summer on their wings;
then seasons shift to autumn tones
as gnats retune the evening's song.
If apples swell with ozzing juice
that slowly drips on wooden floors
then purpled fruit release their stench
in time that slowly stretches hours.
If stubbled fields are stacked and stooked
with hay in gilded packs that sway
then harvest yields beneath the moon
reflecting fallen bronzen leaves.
A sharpened odour fills the air
as bonfires smoulder vacant lands
Categories:
stooked, 12th grade, nature,
Form: Rhyme
re-post inspired by MRose contest
Sitting here,into my daydream
drift meadows of stooked-up sheaves,
midst close growing clover,
in wind and rain toppling over.Catching
minnows with jar and net, in streams
where pooh-sticks once were raced ,
each, slip into memory's embrace;
Exploring fields across that brook;
studying in nature's real-time book;
Childhood that ebbed away on sunlit seas
return on the breeze in an eerie dayspring
light. All my yesterday's glow so bright
Categories:
stooked, dream,
Form: Verse
DAY BREAKS
By this pool of stillness its
water unforgiving,deep and
mirror flat, a blue moon
ephemeral, below white-coated
peaks,Bleak and surreal.
The transient image all too soon
dissolves and ripples into space
as water through my fingers.Then
daybreak tinges the nigrescent sky.
DAYDREAM
Sitting here,into my daydream
drift meadows of stooked-up sheaves,
midst close growing clover,
in wind and rain toppling over.Catching
minnows with jar and net, in streams
where pooh-sticks once were raced ,
each, slip into memory's embrace;
Exploring fields across that brook;
studying in nature's real-time book;
Childhood that ebbed away on sunlit seas
return on the breeze in an eerie dayspring
light. All my yesterday's glow so bright
Listen to me read these poems on youtube under name ichthyschiro
Categories:
stooked, dream,
Form: Verse
Stooked up sheaves,midst growing clover
In wind and rain,toppling over
A polished blade ,glides to and fro
Timber echos in the glade below
The hands tick around,one by one
Tedium ends,with the setting sun
Categories:
stooked, history, life
Form: Crystalline
In the cornfield the horse drawn reaper stood steady,the vacation crew were up
and ready.The days were long,recent clouds had gone.Yellow beams on heavy
harvest food,the lark departing with her second brood.Field mice scattered ,their
nests torn and forlorn .Our stooked up sheaves midst growing clover,
unbalanced and toppling over.The clock ticked slow,the field seemed to
grow,eleveneses a dim distant view.A working break ,to seek a half crown for the
week,somewhere sunny and sublime...seemed good idea at the time.
Categories:
stooked, childhood, nostalgia, on work
Form: Prose Poetry