crouched
quiet in the crackling grasses
hidden
listening to clouds swell heavy
ready
waiting for the judgement hour
of cutting
scythed where the ears can’t hear you
running
trusting steel to complete this
sowing
now that the earth lies sanguine
sodden
drip drop rinse and release your
sinning
gather in the twisted harvest
buried
quiet in the crackling grasses
reaping
Photo courtesy of Richard Nixon of Rich Pictures
Thanks both :)
Well Ian, each line runs into the next, so 'this' isn't in isolation if you know what I mean. Although, have to say, that is the one word in the whole lot that I do think is weak, so nice one for spotting :)
great stuff Laura - I like the minimalist approach - a lot said with very little - and no spare, leftover words - 'cracking' (the only minor bit I'm not sure about is the line after 'running' - 'this' just seems a bit vague when all the rest is so pin point and threatening - not sure if there's an alternative that brings out that dormant threat more (?) but as I say, that's a very minor quibble :-)
Ian
Preeti Sinha
Wed 20th Aug 2014 14:38
What brilliant imagery.
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Cynthia Buell Thomas
Sat 30th Aug 2014 11:20
This is really engrossing. I think writing poetry is like 'harvesting', very much as you so eloquently put it right here. You know - the personal, often unintended, exposure of the conscious and unconscious. IMO, I read a fine metaphor here. But metaphors work according to experience. Someone else will read an entirely different scenario - life and death and sin and - and - and - . IMO, such versatility of meaning is the mark of a great poem.
Isn't writing absolutely glorious! Like your brain goes into gears you never dreamed of. And then, you appreciate so much more the experiences of other writers.