Whilst out for a walk this afternoon I stopped to admire the stark beauty of a harvested field and this poem jumped into my mind, I hope you like it.
Stark
They harvested the maze
a week or so ago.
Now the field lies barren,
dried stalks flattened low
Amidst the mud and stubble
a pigeon lies in death,
its grey feathers ruffled
by the cruel wind's breath.
Atop a naked hedgerow
Corvids bicker and caw;
chill autumnal beauty
ahead of winter's maw.
John Carré Buchanan
05 October 2019
It's odd, isn't it, what "makes" us write. The trigger that brings up into words what we've been feeling for perhaps a long while without realising it, or like this, the sudden experience that inspires. I must say, I like the bleak/sparse nature of this poem. Conjures the threat of winter really well.
ReplyDeleteHi Martin, Thanks for your kind comment. It is odd, I hadn't even thought of writing when I went out for the walk. If I had I would have taken a notebook so I would not have had to tax my memory as I struggled to bring the first couple of stanzas home with me. I'm glad you liked the poem.
DeleteLiked this one, John. More please!
ReplyDeleteThank you Richard, I'm glad you liked the poem. I'm working on getting back into writing so hopefully there are more en-route.
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