Corn Thoughts

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Push through dry soil with a curving blade,
The Red Turkey would work, traders said.
After the rain, dropped dust to hold it in
My brow, hotter with the growing sun
May’s slender arms begin to brown, cornflower irises.
Sweet is dug inside, cow goes on the out
Bandits stole it, so we keep the best inside.
Last of the winter showers, water our newling crop.
I will go when these are planted, and my work is done.


Days grow full and old, my father’s whitening beard,
The sun grows stronger still, we work, woven, under it.
May has grown like the golden stalks, bright and true,
I turn the last of the soil ever quicker under her eyes.
Coarse grass braided by my sister, hangs in the kitchen.
Mother asks my bartering mind, the market will be here,
And I do know them best.
May’s soft eyes in the prairie run, her hand,
Her bonnet-sun smile, endless. This is a forever-summer.
My sack cornered, half packed,
I will go when the market leaves town, then my work will be done.


Slightest chill, the harvest is come.
Work all day, in rustles of corn, sickle a steady heartbeat.
May’s back grows and falls with bundles she ties,
She binds stalks together, and binds me too, tight in the mottled sun.
Threshers give us a good price, they beat and move on.
Like I will, after,
Pack the planks with wheat, rye, corn and malted barley,
And empty the darkest for the barn.
We sell sweet, dark spice that makes me heady as I dance,
The last of the warm nights full with May’s syrup kiss.
I will go with her, when the festival is done.


My sickle lays cold, air cooled,
May’s sharp fear crooking my shoulder, while winds battle outside.
We pack hemp and crates for the winter,
My mother wraps dough, to rise with the falling sun-heat.
The storms break wood, father’s thinning fingers rest on his chin.
New doors need time; we’ll oil them after they’ve stretched.
I will go, with May when the fixing is done.
My mother’s ankles begin to crack, my sister soothes with herbal heal
I will go, with May, when the healing is done.
My father’s hands stiff with shakes,
I will go, with May, when all my work is done.









i did quite a lot of research for this, and i am sort of pleased with the result, that said i really think it could be more subtle and definitly more succint so please give me harsh critique. =) Also the name leaves much to be desired but i guess thats up to me.
Last edited by scribblingquill on Wed Jun 17, 2009 10:01 am, edited 2 times in total.
Is this bass REALLY strong enough?




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[quote="
My mother’s ankles begin to crack, my sister soothes with herbal heal
I will go, with May, when the healing is done.
My father’s hands stiff with shakes,
I will go, with May, when my work is done.

[/quote]

awesome quote. i really like this piece because of the amount of description put into it. i think there were some areas where you could've used better word choice, but all the same you did a really good job for what you did do. i the end i think pretty much sums up the cycle and is more powerful because of what you used to build up to it.




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I like this also, even though long poems are not really my thing.

Keep Writing

-Flower-
My reality comes to a close as I once again realize that you don't love me, and even if I love you with my everything you will never care.




Find a place inside where there's joy, and the joy will burn out the pain.
— Joseph Campbell