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!
There is a special, magical place. An oak and linden tree forest on the north side of a ridge. Autumn leaf softly swirl down to the ground from the tall trees. Dry leafs on the ground rustle around your feet as you walk. In the crown of the majestic trees, the south west wind makes a whooshing sound.
On the ground it is silent and still, so silent you can touch it. Smell it. Feel it. There under green blankets of moss the trolls sleeps until night comes. A woodpecker makes a knocking sound trying to find food in a dead oak branch. All is well and your soul is renewed.
Listen to the sound of silence, 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!
Which witch thought the toughest thought. With her wand cast a spell over the writer so he could no longer spell. Did he steal the steel! Some words are just to alike. Sounds alike but spells differently. A challenge for school kids and foreigners.
Yesterday I accidentally accused Götaverken for criminal activities. Of coarse they did not steal constructions, the made STEEL constructions. Ships, bridges and lock gates. They went out of business 2015 but I hope no former employee was offended. My father was actually one of them in the 1970:ties.
Sometimes I wonder if there is an academy of sorcerers and witches sitting there in a dark chamber deciding spelling and spells. Can you hear the laughter when they decide how to spell wit and with. How they choke for air and slapping themselves on their knees when someone throws in whit also. What a marvelous stew in the kettle of books!
Of and away with, wit, whit my broom, he he he he, 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!
This weekend was the start of the moose hunting season. Better stay out of the forest for a while. My father-in-law told me there was a veterans tractor day not far from home. I grabbed the camera and joined him.
It was a pleasant surprise to see all the tractor models from my childhood. Some in mint condition and some very much in daily use. There was the Volvo BM 230 with its characteristic sound from its two cylinder diesel engine, “ti-to, ti-to. Hence it got the nickname “Tisdag-Torsdag”, Tuesday-Thursday, but it doesn’t make any sense in English, sorry.
There was also Volvo BM 430 and Volvo BM 350. The 350 was also called Boxer from its three cylinder boxer diesel engine. I remember the acrobatic struggle to get in and out of the Boxer. The smell of wet soil and diesel filled the air in the mild autumn weather as the sound of strong diesels rang in my ears.
Grounded in dirt, 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!
Popping out in the lawn like umbrellas in a rainy outdoor concert. The Ink Cap “Coprinopsis atramentaria“. In Swedish “Bläcksvamp”, that translates to “ink mushroom”. It’s edible but don’t mix it with alcohol, then it becomes poisons. Because of this effect it is sometimes called Tippler’s bane. So make sure what’s in that mushroom stew before washing it down with beer or wine.
Just remember there is always a non alcoholic alternative, 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 on an old oak pole it hangs, the old rusty horseshoe. Was it dropped by a horse passing on the road to Havstenssund? Perhaps it was simply removed by the blacksmith and replaced with a new one. Tossed away in the corner of the stone fence in a pile with other scrap metal. Was it made in the blacksmith’s workshop I found in december. (Find the story here). Somebody much later picked it up and hanged it on the pole. Now from history to the future it goes on to the world wide web.
Ride on, pilgrim, ha de Gött!
UlleHaddock 