along meadows and fields pulling cutting deep in rich soil plowing sturdy and strong the red tractor seagulls land like snowflakes feast new over old fade to brown turning
Promted by a comment from John Malone to my tractor post. In relation to ‘William Carlos Williams’ poem ‘The Red Wheelbarrow’ I made this humble attempt to a ‘red tractor poem’.
What red things do you like to have a poem written to? Ha de Gött!
Handle never pressed to friendly welcome open slammed shut in anger opened gently to say sorry Handle never pressed slowly, by tiny children's hands, night before Christmas to lock teenager out after first taste of freedom to squeak after boys night out Verdigris green and rusted, left out under the blue sky Not a single time open, but never ever closed
Found this handle at the house never built that I wrote of a year ago, find it here.
Handle life with care, ha de Gött!
Pearls of water, in water
Renewal, surface tension
Yellow signal, between
Heaven and earth
A mere reflection
What was, what will
Sunday, Sunday, ha de Gött!
So mysterious it sits there in the night sky. Sunbathing, casting just a glimpse of light in the dark. So near, so far.
Poetry, songs, stories, horror, hope, longing, envy. Mind provoking since ancient times. Guiding travelers across land and sea, a friend.
Like a cheese full of holes. Knocked about and bombarded by the universe. Hide and seek in twenty eight day cycles.
Howl at the moon, it’s good for you (but not for the neighbors), ha de Gött!
Through the eye of the needle. What can you see.
Through the eye of the needle. What will fit.
Through the eye of the needle. What will thread.
Through the eye of the needle. What’s on the other side
Through the eye of the needle. Camel or man.
Sometimes better not knowing, ha de Gött!
On the lichen covered rock it waits
Waits to be tossed by the wind
become once again part of the soft soil
Carried away by an ant
Winter anthill shelter building lock
become once again part of the soft soil.
But, be careful where you place it, ha de Gött!
Alone on the beach the little Herring Gull chick. Limping on his injured leg. Deserted by his parents and kind. Looking back with fear in the eyes. To young or scared to make any sound. Unable to open its wings and fly to safety. Little Herring Gull chick stuck in the open field.
I took this picture some weeks ago walking to the boat. First I was glad I could get so close and take a picture without my zoom lens. Then I realized it was a Herring Gull chick that was hurt. Clearly the parents had given up on it as there was no gulls in the air shouting and attacking me. An hour later when I came back a couple of feathers moving in the wind revealed that nature’s taken its course.
Sometimes mother nature is harsh, ha de Gött!
There he sits on top of the hill.
Looking down on the world.
Frown and sighs over the state it’s in.
Is there hope for the coming generations.
Will the troll children ever taste a glas of beer.
Better a troll in the forest than one in cyber space, ha de Gött!
tone from green yellow and red gust chilly wind gently single down birds formation fly far away land left behind on the ground fade and dry yellow parchment wind tossed in shorter days
I wrote this to the autumn, inspired by the colorful leaf. Forming the words, I realized it was about me being left behind. Some days you just feel like a fading leaf, ha de Gött!
Free flowing water to the ocean. Just to be pushed up again.
In a wave powered by the wind. So it moves up and down.
Slowly grinding the rock. Grinding it to a smooth, bare surface.
Persistent alga holds fast. Green shelter for the ocean nursery.
We are 60% water. Pollute it, we pollute ourselves, ha de Gött!
UlleHaddock 