leaves sweep songs with rustled breeze
of stalks' last tassled summer stand
before autumn's alchemy bedecks
new color and whisper sounds
nearby, coy Jomeokee attends
regal blasé hides blue mountain grin
near two months assurance before
her own tartan frock of time's turning
hunkered close to clay, bees protest invasion
their thick shade, tossed and plundered
by nimble pickers, orange-stained,
and careful of dainty threads and flower
sings soft-plucked snap of slender pods
wrested from birth shrubs to thud-
bucket percussion, as rows below
another toils louder bass drums
careful toss of heavy fruit
light-ripened luscious; her red and yellow hues
almost summer ghosts, joining ranks of others
that lay perishing in early season rows
yet harvest's hope is just beyond
as skyward crows caw toward pond
September's tendriled promise clusters
cloistered in pregnant arbors
awaits sun's kiss to blush her ripe
slip-skinned southern jewels
to gold-green, bronze, and purpled blues
scuppernong and muscadine
still, in the now of August
red laborers from hours long leaning rise
in sweat, but for God's stirring finger
survey blessings of small resurrections
in cakes of Adam's clay, baptized
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Author:
Heather T (
Offline) - Published: August 13th, 2017 13:36
- Comment from author about the poem: My grandfather has a large farm (where I was raised), and on it we have big family gardens that all of us contribute to. This piece is from our hours worth of labor Friday evening picking green beans for canning. The foothills of NC are known for our red clay. We have all toiled in it to produce tobacco, wheat, soybeans, grapes, corn, and a wide variety of other vegetables and fruits. There are three ponds on the expansive farm, and the common dirt road leads all the way down to the Yadkin River. The drone footage above was taken by a cousin visiting from Florida. This is only the front of the farm. The last house shown is my grandfather\\\'s, previously owned and built by hand by my loving great-grandparents. The rest of the farm stretches behind that house. Every inch of the footage shown is only part of where I rambled with all of my cousins as a child. Many of the other homes you see are my relatives. Side note: Jomeokee is the Cherokee name for Pilot Mountain, \\\"Great Guide\\\". Hope you enjoy this tiny taste of my home.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 63
- Users favorite of this poem: Fay Slimm., FredPeyer, HChristian74.
Offline)
Comments7
Loud applause for this glorious peep into your family farm-home Heather - - words tumble to tell out the work of harvest and fruit-stores to come when the "now of August" awaits later sun-kisses for more. Must read this gem of a write all over again - for sure a favourite.
I'm just so grateful to have you read and appraise, Fay. My youngest sister and I were gathering green beans and tomatoes for several hours late Friday. The day was (thankfully) overcast with a tiny breeze. It's such hot work, and I was happy to have a cooler time to pick. Gave me enough sense of mind for reflection instead of brow wiping! Thank you so much.
Wow - - how enormous the effort and work on a farm such as this - just breathless with awe at your large mountain home - -thanks so much for sharing Jomeokee with us.
Happy you enjoyed the footage! I hope we can film some again this fall when the leaves change. It was amazing to have a bird's eye view of what we take for granted each day.
Loved the footage and loved the poem - in awe of the size of the farm .
Glad you did, Michael! Not all of that view belongs to my family, since the drone started at the mountain. Most of grandpa's acreage spreads out left, right, and behind the last house viewed. It's right at two hundred acres.
Definitely a favorite! The video took my breath away, made me realize once again how limited everything is on our little island. You are a very gifted writer!
And btw, the earth where I live is also red. One cannot keep white running shoes white.
Gosh, Fred...that our humble home takes away the breath of one that lives in paradise just amazes me. As grandma used to say, "once in, that red mud don't come out." Thank you for the kind compliment, my dear friend. I hope we can film again so you can see more. Means much to share this with friends. Aloha from the foothills!
Very cool good interaction film and poem also like your explanation
Now you know why I fell in love with your barn painting, other than it being stunning work! Thank you much.
Very good write and wonderful insight into your life, thank you for sharing.
Thank you for giving me your time!
very descriptive, very well composed
Much appreciated!
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