April 10th poems
Today, the poetry prompt is to write a location poem. You can write about a city, a building, a planet, etc. I suppose the poem doesn’t necessarily need to be “about” the place, but the location should play an important role in the poem.
A Horse Barn
Not any horse barn
but a good, clean one
where the sharp pitch of kiln-dried shavings
or the yeasty green of fresh-baled hay
is first to catch in your nostrils
mixed with leather and saddle soap
and neatsfoot oil.
And horses.
There’s the eye-tingling menthol of linament
and the citronella of fly spray.
Underlaying, underpinning it all
is the never-ending supply of pungent manure.
It’s just grass and water, I say, and a bit of grain.
Nothing to be afraid of.
If there’s a new load of feed,
the sticky sweet of mollasses
can lift you off your feet.
With the farrier at work, there’s the clang
of metal on metal, of shoes being shaped
and nailed.
And the resonant clip-clop of a horse
moving over concrete.
A huff and a swish of tail.
The horses.
Here is the place I want to be.
Where I live the most and breathe the best.
And never feel at odds, only even.
Where time stands still and the colors
are brightest.
And the smells stay with you forever.
They know me for who I am.
Horses.
Can’t have
a horse barn
without them.
–Candace
Lunch at Harry J’s
The old Co-op has been transformed.
Long gone are the feed sacks,
but sustenance is still offered.
A slice of small town America
served up piping hot.
Where construction workers and business men
meet over slabs of beef.
Redneck refuge.
Where flannel and camoflage
are the “new black”
and the waitress calls you Hun.
Whitebread nurishment.
Where God and guns are mentioned
in polite conversation
and no one apologizes.
–Amy
(location)
THE BIG ROCKS
That’s what the family called this place -”The Big Rocks.”
April 13th, 2008 at 7:30 pmA place of refuge and enjoyment
after a week of hard, hot farm work.
A large flat outcropping,
A limestone shelf, dimpled with tiny craters
sculpted by centuries of rain.
The shelf jutted out over the edge of the gentle river
Curving around the farm’s bottomland.
The Big Rocks.
An ideal place for picnics
And swimming,
And fishing.
Surrounded by steep forest-covered bluffs
And shaded by giant sycamores.
A nearby spring furnished clear, cold, fresh water.
The river and the Big Rocks brought the family together
To share their thoughts, to make the ties stronger.
And after dark, the only sounds
The crackling of a campfire,
The bubbling of a coffee pot,
The low murmurs of the men and womenfolk talking,
as if loud voices would corrupt the sanctity of the night,
And the quiet gurgling of the river.