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Poetry Magnum Opus

The Real World


fdelano
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The Real World

 

At the quarter mile point, a white

rock rests against the base of a

sycamore, having tumbled years

before from the ancient quarry.

 

The flat spot on top of the three-

foot tall stone, I claim for my first

rest on a two-mile walk along my

river, Daughter of the Stars.

 

Under the shade, even in the midst

of summer, the air cools my brow

as I allow my heart to slow its beat.

The pleasure surrounds me.

 

A gentle slope leads to the slow

current of the river below, its surface

slick in the reflected light from a

rising brass sun behind me.

 

I dig into the damp soil with my

walking stick and uncover two small

red wrigglers that squirm rapidly in

the unexpected nascent heat growing.

 

A quick flick with my dogwood stick

sends the natural lures arcing into

the water world where other creatures

wait for just such culinary pleasures.

 

Bluegills vie for each small bite and

skitter away with their prizes, soon

inhaled before they turn back in memory

to the place of their manna from above.

 

Reluctantly, I heft my weight from the

solid rock, back onto the two-lane

Macadam road leading to Gander's

farm, rich in smells pleasingly awful.

 

I stop again for a few minutes to sip

from the pool below the springhouse

where the watercress waits, its green

cool flavor bestowing a slow eaten gift.

 

Past the centuries-old, many red coats

barn, its sliding door open to the rich

mixture of sorghum and grain to fatten

fated black cows in the holding pen.

 

Turn around point at the tractor barn

built just to house the refurbished

collected machines, lovingly driven each

week, just to make sure they still work.

 

Two miles under my feet as I proudly

pop the cap on a sweaty bottled beer

from the cooler in the trunk of my

meticulously clean antique car.

Edited by fdelano
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Idyllic, Franklin. I liked how you used the proper names of local places and landmarks. I just don't know why you had to disturb the red wrigglers.:rolleyes:

 

The titles perfect. Thanks for keeping it real.

 

Tony

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

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I know I always tell you this, but again, Franklin, the stories of your world and your life, told in my favorite of your voices, your own, are the best. From your childhood, to VN, to yesterday, you let us in and give us more than a taste, usually a real bite, with real flavor and satisfying to the last swallow.

 

These verses are, far and away, my favorites.

 

"Reluctantly, I heft my weight from the

solid rock, back onto the two-lane

Macadam road leading to Gander's

farm, rich in smells pleasingly awful.

 

I stop again for a few minutes to sip

from the pool below the springhouse

where the watercress waits, its green

cool flavor bestowing a slow eaten gift.

 

Past the centuries-old, many red coats

barn, its sliding door open to the rich

mixture of sorghum and grain to fatten

fated black cows in the holding pen."

 

"rich in smells pleasingly awful", how I love that one.

 

Excellent. The imagery allows this piece to settle into the mind and invites it to become a memory of our own. Don't stop writing these 'color snapshots'.

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  • 2 weeks later...

Hi, Franklin. This poem is very authentic with its expressions. I loved the second stanza. Well done. Thank you for posting it.

 

Aleksandra

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

History of Macedonia

 

 

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rosschandler

great form and structure. at the end of the day craftsmanship rises to the top.

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