02-08-2014, 01:14 AM
edit 1 Thanks AJ
Tractor diesel and cut alfalfa bring her to the edge,
surveying the field sprinkled with bales. By daddy
she stands small, hand secure in his.
For a month she's dreamed in circles: a FedEx bullet
freefalls through wispy noontime clouds at a million
miles per slow motion moment. She stands large,
appraising with daddy. The plane hits the hay,
soundlessly flashes gold and crimson. He chuckles
at the tidy carnage, gifts littering the field.
4:13 she wakes up most mornings, eyes still filled
with a checkered shirt, a worn down smile,
a heart still unattacked.
To feel his tanned farmer’s hands wrapped
around his mug she reenacts
his mornings. Coffee, milk, let out the chickens,
then head off to daily duty.
She shuts down slurred urges on the hour
to gape at the call she didn’t pick up,
red polish not yet dry.
original (kind of)
Tractor diesel and mowed alfalfa bring her to the edge
of the field sprinkled with fresh bales. She stands small,
surveying with daddy, hand enveloped by his.
For a month she's dreamed in circles: a FedEx bullet
freefalls through wispy noontime clouds at a million
miles per slow motion minute. She stands large,
appraising with daddy. The plane hits the hay,
soundlessly flashing gold and crimson. He chuckles
at the tidy carnage, gifts littering the field.
4:38 she wakes up most mornings, eyes still filled
with his checkered shirt, worn down smile,
and heart still unattacked.
To feel his tanned farmer’s hands wrapped
around his mug she reenacts
his mornings. Coffee, milk, let out the chickens,
then head off to daily duty.
Once an hour she shuts down slurred urges
to stare at her phone-- the call she didn’t pick up,
red polish not yet dry.
original poem/thread here: http://www.pigpenpoetry.com/showthread.php?tid=13367
Tractor diesel and cut alfalfa bring her to the edge,
surveying the field sprinkled with bales. By daddy
she stands small, hand secure in his.
For a month she's dreamed in circles: a FedEx bullet
freefalls through wispy noontime clouds at a million
miles per slow motion moment. She stands large,
appraising with daddy. The plane hits the hay,
soundlessly flashes gold and crimson. He chuckles
at the tidy carnage, gifts littering the field.
4:13 she wakes up most mornings, eyes still filled
with a checkered shirt, a worn down smile,
a heart still unattacked.
To feel his tanned farmer’s hands wrapped
around his mug she reenacts
his mornings. Coffee, milk, let out the chickens,
then head off to daily duty.
She shuts down slurred urges on the hour
to gape at the call she didn’t pick up,
red polish not yet dry.
original (kind of)
Tractor diesel and mowed alfalfa bring her to the edge
of the field sprinkled with fresh bales. She stands small,
surveying with daddy, hand enveloped by his.
For a month she's dreamed in circles: a FedEx bullet
freefalls through wispy noontime clouds at a million
miles per slow motion minute. She stands large,
appraising with daddy. The plane hits the hay,
soundlessly flashing gold and crimson. He chuckles
at the tidy carnage, gifts littering the field.
4:38 she wakes up most mornings, eyes still filled
with his checkered shirt, worn down smile,
and heart still unattacked.
To feel his tanned farmer’s hands wrapped
around his mug she reenacts
his mornings. Coffee, milk, let out the chickens,
then head off to daily duty.
Once an hour she shuts down slurred urges
to stare at her phone-- the call she didn’t pick up,
red polish not yet dry.
original poem/thread here: http://www.pigpenpoetry.com/showthread.php?tid=13367
_______________________________________
The howling beast is back.
The howling beast is back.