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Open Poetry #47
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Homestead
| Open Poetry #47 |
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Homestead |
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ice Member Elite
since 2003-05-17
Posts 3404Pennsylvania |
At the site of a homestead, That sits beside an old-road Just before mud ruts Blend into deerpaths, That become a maze, that trails Through bent-grass seem to make: . I feel the presence Of one dressed in gingham Working a kitchen garden That was planted beside- A house that has fallen Rotted into a hollow Of still-standing walls Of gathered field-stone. . A husband spirit lays Graved in the hedgerow, Where older tree growth Has smothered the staples That pinned barbed confinement. Strands of rusted steel, spurs Worn smooth by weather test Weave through the copse, Some wire still strung But mostly on the ground. . A nearby spring, is always awake, It speaks artesian, with an accent Formed by bubbles That add motion to the cress; Repeating over and over...words That explain the history of this place. . Close nearby the lick, an old stump Wears ferns as a hat; Out of line with cattle fence, perhaps The tree fell to crosscut, and ax On the day before a blizzard night When a bare bottom showed In the wood-box? . Out back, near the privy lilac That has walked away From its dead mother; Four stakes-chicken wire draped Mark the boundaries of a place Where a single daffodil-flower Nods its trumpet in a cage. . Question is, who put up this fence To mark where a jonquil in April Surveys what is left? Perhaps a great grandchild Still tends this place? . The little while she works, her mind Recalling words of stories, of bulbs In trunks, on floating ships That sailed across... stories That link her to this place, Of her only inheritance- . Her only roots that didn't fail.. Note: I posted this poem here in 2004, but have revamped it strongly.. In reality, I did come across an old homestead, while hunting wild turkeys..the spring is there, as well as the lilac and foundation... the rest is metaphor of what came into my mind as I poked around the place..I felt spirits there, ones that were disgraced by failure..and one that had accepted the failures of her kin, and still tidied up a little around the old "homestead", from time to time. [This message has been edited by ice (06-07-2011 05:20 AM).] |
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JerryPat2 Member Laureate
since 2011-02-06
Posts 16975South Louisiana |
This touched me in so many ways, man. The old home place in my memory is my grandparents place up in Arkansas. The old well was spring fed, the garden was alongside the house. There was a long pole erected in the back of the yard for calling Paw-Paw in from the fields to eat. If there was trouble they would ring it and neighbors from miles around would get into their wagons, some cars, and come see what was wrong at the Coon Powell's place. Maw-Maw, in gingham, would walk out in the yard, grab an unlucky chicken, wring its neck and throw it under a #10 washtub until it quit flopping. There was a HUGE iron pot in the front yard for boiling fresh killed hogs to make it easier to scrape the bristles off its skin. Later on, it was used to make cracklings. Across the road a two-mule syrup mill, made his own syrup. Up nearer the house was a smoke house. They lived off the land. Only went to town (in horse and wagon) to buy flour and incidentals, and to bring picked cotton to the cotton gin. Ah. Sorry. Really got me going. After they died the sisters, after bitch fighting over the most insignificant things, rented the old place to deer hunters and eventually the forest crept up and took it over. I enjoyed your poem, Ice. It did its job and made me think of old memories of a place quite similar. ~ Even if you are on the right track, you'll get run over if you just sit there.--Will Rogers ~ |
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Margherita Member Seraphic
since 2003-02-08
Posts 22236Eternity |
quote: Your sensitive perceptivity allowed you to create a very captivating poem, dear Ford. It also gives one a strong impression of the passing of time. Everything changes, everything blooms and withers ... life's performance is a non-stop performance. Great work. Love, Margherita |
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Marchmadness Member Rara Avis
since 2007-09-16
Posts 9271So. El Monte, California |
Greatly enjoyed this lovely. thoughtful write, ice, Ida |
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splashMeadow Junior Member
since 2011-06-09
Posts 20UK |
So much history in this hidden corner of earth. The Homestead has a presence and relevance that has never left it; brought to life in the imagination. Sometimes such places are all one generation has, to make a connection with previous generations; a feeling of belonging and presence in the shape of what is left behind. Told with an elegance of movement and deep perception. One to return to. |
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OwlSA Member Rara Avis
since 2005-11-07
Posts 9347Durban, South Africa |
Oh, I see this, so very clearly, Ford. Beautiful, poignant, painting of visuals and emotions of yesteryears and wondering about what was and why it is no longer. I also love the superb photo and I particularly love such stone walls. I thought I had replied to it - I think I got side-tracked about my concern for the wild turkeys and Jerry's hogs. Owl |
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ice Member Elite
since 2003-05-17
Posts 3404Pennsylvania |
These are all such wonderful reviews, I almost can't stand it. The thoughts expressed in them are very beautiful...Thank you all, for reading, and the replies. |
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Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354Listening to every heart |
We had a pasture where an old road once made the division line; along with a wall very similar to this one. I always intended to go back and take a photo and missed the opportunity... I'm glad you didn't. But I remember writing a poem about it, and children along it on their way to the one room school-house... Yes, Ford, you delved into some delightful memories and history here.  |
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