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Benjamin

Scarecrow

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Benjamin

High among the rooftop cables

And the red-brick farm-house gables,

Blackbirds sing a formidable

Welcome to the summer day.

 

Far below them in the kitchen,

Farmer's wife is busy switching

Hot loaves from the oven; twitching

Them on to a cooling tray.

 

When her hands reach for a napkin

She peers out across the way,

Senses something there astray.

 

By the barn all weather-blackened,

Limbs now from his pole unfastened;

Scarecrow sits where someone left him,

Dressed in rags with pumpkin head.

 

Is the posture slightly different?

Nose upturned seeking a new scent?

She shrugged--- musing as her back bent

Once more to the morning's bread.

 

"Roll on dinner time!" she muttered,

Thinking of the chores ahead,

And a husband to be fed.

 

Some time later, cogitating

While elevenses were waiting;

She looked to the barn observing

That the 'eerie thing' had gone.

 

"Good, they've got it out and working!

Sick of seeing it there shirking.

Always felt that it was smirking;

Gaping mouth all ragg'd and torn.

 

Like some vagabond intruding,

Ruining a summers morn,

Skiving-- from the ripened corn!"

 

Farmer-- coming home quite early

From the morning's hurley-burley,

Found his rotund wife expired,

Prone upon the kitchen floor.

 

On her face a ghastly pallor:

Eyes fixed in a look of terror,

Fingers outstretched as she lay there,

Pointing at the kitchen door.

 

"Loaves have gone!" He faintly muttered,

In their place though--- plainly saw

On the table-- wisps of straw.

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moonqueen
High among the rooftop cables

And the red-brick farm-house gables,

Blackbirds sing a formidable

Welcome to the summer day.

 

Far below them in the kitchen,

Farmer's wife is busy switching

Hot loaves from the oven; twitching

Them on to a cooling tray.

 

When her hands reach for a napkin

She peers out across the way,

Senses something there astray.

 

By the barn all weather-blackened,

Limbs now from his pole unfastened;

Scarecrow sits where someone left him,

Dressed in rags with pumpkin head.

 

Is the posture slightly different?

Nose upturned seeking a new scent?

She shrugged--- musing as her back bent

Once more to the morning's bread.

 

"Roll on dinner time!" she muttered,

Thinking of the chores ahead,

And a husband to be fed.

 

Some time later, cogitating

While elevenses were waiting;

She looked to the barn observing

That the 'eerie thing' had gone.

 

"Good, they've got it out and working!

Sick of seeing it there shirking.

Always felt that it was smirking;

Gaping mouth all ragg'd and torn.

 

Like some vagabond intruding,

Ruining a summers morn,

Skiving-- from the ripened corn!"

 

Farmer-- coming home quite early

From the morning's hurley-burley,

Found his rotund wife expired,

Prone upon the kitchen floor.

 

On her face a ghastly pallor:

Eyes fixed in a look of terror,

Fingers outstretched as she lay there,

Pointing at the kitchen door.

 

"Loaves have gone!" He faintly muttered,

In their place though--- plainly saw

On the table-- wisps of straw.

 

Geoff, this is just SO good. I love rhyme, as you know and you always do such a lovely job with it. Then the twist ending! Love it. I'm reading along, trying to figure what may have happened to her, never putting together the missing scarecrow, even with her noticed clues, and her untimely(?) death. And no wonder! Excellent, G.

Edited by moonqueen

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fdelano
High among the rooftop cables

And the red-brick farm-house gables,

Blackbirds sing a formidable

Welcome to the summer day.

 

Far below them in the kitchen,

Farmer's wife is busy switching

Hot loaves from the oven; twitching

Them on to a cooling tray.

 

When her hands reach for a napkin

She peers out across the way,

Senses something there astray.

 

By the barn all weather-blackened,

Limbs now from his pole unfastened;

Scarecrow sits where someone left him,

Dressed in rags with pumpkin head.

 

Is the posture slightly different?

Nose upturned seeking a new scent?

She shrugged--- musing as her back bent

Once more to the morning's bread.

 

"Roll on dinner time!" she muttered,

Thinking of the chores ahead,

And a husband to be fed.

 

Some time later, cogitating

While elevenses were waiting;

She looked to the barn observing

That the 'eerie thing' had gone.

 

"Good, they've got it out and working!

Sick of seeing it there shirking.

Always felt that it was smirking;

Gaping mouth all ragg'd and torn.

 

Like some vagabond intruding,

Ruining a summers morn,

Skiving-- from the ripened corn!"

 

Farmer-- coming home quite early

From the morning's hurley-burley,

Found his rotund wife expired,

Prone upon the kitchen floor.

 

On her face a ghastly pallor:

Eyes fixed in a look of terror,

Fingers outstretched as she lay there,

Pointing at the kitchen door.

 

"Loaves have gone!" He faintly muttered,

In their place though--- plainly saw

On the table-- wisps of straw.

 

Hi Geoff. This reads--to me--like folklore. Great imagery. I can feel the blast-furnace heat in this summer kitchen, the woman pushing herself to finish chores. I think you had lots of fun with this one. Seems the perp left a vital clue to his theft and murder. Enjoyed a lot.

fdh

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tonyv

Very entertaining, Geoff. I recently saw some not-so-nice scarecrows in a horror movie I watched. Pretty frightening. I like and agree with Franklin's "folklore" characterization of this poem.

 

Tony


Here is a link to an index of my works on this site: tonyv's Member Archive topic

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Frank E Gibbard

Just a brief comment, I expressed approbation before (elsewhere).

How about a British superlative for you iro this one Geoff, beezer! Frank

Edited by Frank E Gibbard

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Benjamin

My thanks to Tammi, Franklin, Tony and Frank for reading and leaving comment. Time is tight for me just now but I will do some catching up a.s.a.p.

Lots of traditional themes convert into song and verse. It depends how you want to depict them. I've tried to use a form here which I believe entertains and has a tongue in cheek humour about it. I considered The Reaper (who crossed the hayfield as set the blood red sun) but felt it rather dated. Scarecrows it seems however, are still able to scare more than just crows. :icon_cyclops: Geoff

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Aleksandra

Very interesting poem, Geoff. I am not so familiar with this type of poem, but I enjoyed reading this one :). Good job.

 

Aleksandra


The poet is a liar who always speaks the truth - Jean Cocteau

History of Macedonia

 

 

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rosschandler

touche! with your rhyming skills and artfully metered structure. i write in tetrameter. i will concur with you and say that the skill required to rhyme and keep meter is a lost art. i thank the post modernists like TS Eliot Ezra Pound EE Cummings. now many poems read as journal entries and prose scrunched into a structure to mask as a poem. i really do not get the snobbery. to each their own. i suspect however a hint of sour grapes from theose who try to downplay this kind of craftsmanship. it naturally is a more complex way of saying what a piece of prose says. or free verse. to be able to express oneself is one thing but to express oneself just as effectively with more constrictions is truly admirable.

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Tinker

Hi Goeff, This will not just be enjoyed by children but by anyone who enjoys a good yarn. As Tony says, it has a folksy tone and the frame with which you chose to present the content provides a traditional yet outside of the box feel.

 

It was a fun read. I loved the twist at the end. The stanzaic structure alternating 2 quatrains with 1 tercet kind of finished off a thought like mini chapters and the variable rhyme pattern was unpredictable. I like it!

 

~~Tink


~~ © ~~ Poems by Judi Van Gorder ~~

For permission to use this work you can write to Tinker1111@icloud.com

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Benjamin

Ross. The values of a modern world have changed. It seems that rhyming rappers with media clout, are more likely to be heeded than all the intellectual giants of yester-year.

 

Tink.. Thanks. If my self-indulgence gives a little pleasure to a few people I am well satisfied.

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Gatekeeper

Well done!

Really enjoyed the way you put this together.

Would likely have enjoyed it even more as a kid, not to mention the poetic skills behind it.

You should entertain other ideas along this folklore line while you have the sense of it in mind and do a series.

There are new childrens books being published, you might get in line.


from the black desert

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