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From the Pasture
Contributed by
aernby
on
Friday, 19th December 2003 @ 10:47:42 AM in AEST
Topic:
StoryPoetry
|
The old pasture is rank and overgrown
the thistles and the pigweed are shoulder high
the aspens higher yet. The field needs a burn
or a mow or a plow or a herd of goats.
In the corner around a dead snag where
the last team lies stands the stone pile
the one predictable harvest of the farm-
each stone a memory of struggle and loss
I wander the field past the old spreader
across the little ruined stream where
once prize Shorthorns watered and up
past the rusted iron tired poppin john.
The old milk and meat shorthorns are
gone now, replaced by long legged
black and white milk machines
and fast growing hamburger factories,
specialists that take more inputs and land
than seventy-five acres can afford. You
could work a farm that size with a one lunger
or a team, and dual use cattle but no more.
I climb the stone pile and sit back against
the snag. I am not really thinking about
the state of agriculture I am thinking about
myself and the state that I am in
Like the old team I was bred to work and
like the team, and the shorthorns and the
iron tired John Deere I do many things:
Together we are lost in an age of specialists.
These days you need a paper to do anything,
a certificate to dig a ditch, or load a truck,
and, man, dont show a grey hair, by god!
The world worships at the shrine of
paper qualifications, specialists, and youth.
(Course if youre young and have your papers
then they want twenty-five years experience.
thats not justice; its not even funny)
So here I sit in this over grown pasture,
sorting through the stones of memory
each stone a tale of struggle and loss,
an old working man without work
Copyright ©
aernby
... [
2003-12-19 10:47:42]
(Date/Time posted on
site)
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Re: From the Pasture
(User Rating: 1 )
by jme on
Friday, 19th December 2003 @ 11:16:38 AM AEST
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| Great use of words. You painted a great picture in my mind. |
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