This week the writing prompt is 'harvest.' I could talk about pumpkins and corn and wheat, but why do that when I can wax morose?
In the autumn
I gather my sorrows
Until the field is empty
Exhausted
I wipe my forehead
With the back of my hand
And look at the stubble
All around me
I smell dirt and
Barrenness
My shoulders stoop
Under the weight
Of my bitter harvest.
Downcast,
I draw no comfort
From the thought that
Come spring
I will once again
Sew my field
With regret
Sad words, but true of the labors of harvest time. Nicely written.
ReplyDeleteI could really feel the burden on your narrator's shoulders. The weight of repeating the same things over and over..very powerful..thanks for visiting..Jae
ReplyDeleteI see the ruts made by a wagon rollng across fields of sorrow and grief. interesting...provoking...I will chew on this like a piece of straw
ReplyDeleteOnce again we see here the accurate depiction of the trials of farming; the endless work to put food on our table that we think comes from the supermarket. A sad and reflective piece that shows the circle of life for some is not that easy. Loved it.
ReplyDeletesew with regret,
ReplyDeletesorry to hear that.
powerful piece.
There have been many days that I've felt like this. Your poem has definitely captured that sad, introspective mood.
ReplyDeleteWhy indeed speak of pumpkins when you can be morose! You do it so well. There is no hope here - so sad.
ReplyDeleteOh, I meant in your poem, not you. You are very talented. Hope that came across right. :)
ReplyDeleteThank you. And, @ anacronk, yes, got that, lol. I actually love fall and pumpkins and all that stuff.
ReplyDelete