this land is my land,
this land is your land
I stand on these acres of history, long fallow fields of tears forgotten and brittle reminders of years blown by, remembering how once we grew green shoots of conflict and the next spring plowed them under, making food for the forest of memory we drive through with broken blade, always turning earth, always searching for what we’ve buried. But the worm always works alone, adding air and rich casting to this hard-baked, clay-caked soil, choked with rock and seed and ancient bone. This is my home, this place where dinner is served at noon and the sky is always hungry. I pose on one foot in the shade of a tree that neither of us ever mentions, a scarecrow of deliverance for the red cardinal who lands on my shoulder and feeds me the coldest hour. Our nests have become identical, and you laugh as you toss broken frame and bent missive in a fit of tidy redemption. There are no berries here, no reward for existing. There is only wind and the silence of everything, whistle warning us through each night.
my skin crackles with
growth and tick tocking question
unanswered roots entwine
.
.
.
Joining in over at dVersePoets for Haibun Monday.
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November 3rd, 2015 at 10:52 am
Very beautiful. Filled with lovely metaphors!
November 3rd, 2015 at 12:22 pm
You haibun is beautifully written Kelly ~ This part really moved me:
There are no berries here, no reward for existing. There is only wind and the silence of everything, whistle warning us through each night.
November 3rd, 2015 at 2:48 pm
To use the soil as the metaphor, the companionship of three and earth, of seasons and the green shots of conflict. There is beauty in the mere existence.
November 3rd, 2015 at 3:32 pm
Unique take on the prompt. Well written.
November 3rd, 2015 at 4:12 pm
Yowza–this is one powerful extended metaphor, Kelly. Such an undertone of melancholia for me that seems so appropriate for this prompt.
November 3rd, 2015 at 5:04 pm
‘wind and the silence of everything’ — I really like your vivid descriptions….invokes a scene of western USA desert in my mind….
November 3rd, 2015 at 10:13 pm
This gave me the shivers – in a good way. Your writing is anything but mediocre
November 4th, 2015 at 3:01 am
Such a rich prose with metaphors bringing nature to life like how a farmer who has worked the earth for decades appreciates it. Beautifully written!
November 4th, 2015 at 2:05 pm
This reminds me of the small town where one of my sisters lives. The wind is always whistling through, blowing and blowing. I really enjoyed this…a slice of Americana in my eyes…wonderfully portrayed.
November 4th, 2015 at 7:04 pm
“This is my home, this place where dinner is served at noon and the sky is always hungry. I pose on one foot in the shade of a tree that neither of us ever mentions, a scarecrow of deliverance for the red cardinal who lands on my shoulder and feeds me the coldest hour.”
I LOVE this portion!! Wow…truly, the entirety is wonderful and I really love the mysterious feeling in the closing line. Excellent write!
November 4th, 2015 at 9:00 pm
This is an excellent haibun..feeds me the coldest hour…great wordplay here!
November 5th, 2015 at 11:39 am
What brilliant poetry. I am in complete awe.
November 9th, 2015 at 2:27 am
What a fascinating take on the prompt … I find this haibun particularly peaceful and beautifully written.
November 11th, 2015 at 10:44 pm
Beautiful writing using Van Gogh’s images as a springboard for your own placement.