**Farmers tale** Community Favorite

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Tom Watson
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**Farmers tale** Community Favorite

Post by Tom Watson » Sat Jan 03, 2004 9:24 pm

This Poem was selected as a Community Favorite on Jan 13, 2004





In traveling down these country roads, I could write a book.
Rolling over these sway back hills, I could tell of a town
Where the seasons are painted in a field of pumpkins
Where progress is not known, at least not by hands on a watch
Progress is measured by field hours, the amount of picked potatoes.
And news comes from backyard fences, and gossip they sling.

I could write of a farmer in debt, plowing with arm in a sling,
Mothers up at dawn, before preparing meals, praying from the Book
Tell tales of teen girls, working, serving hash of meat and potatoes;
While dreaming their dreams of life and love outside the small town.
And mention young boys, putting up scarecrows for their eternal watch,
And Silly contests, to lighten the hearts, of who has the largest pumpkin.

While the children run in groups, searching for the Great Pumpkin,
Young men, strapping and strong, measuring how far they sling
Tree trunks, cleared from needed land, under government watch;
Private land, yet owned by government stipend in the debtors book.
Tales of poverty, families forced away from the growing ghost town
By seasons of drought and holidays celebrated by bread and potatoes.

Stories of misery, pain; of hope no larger than the eye of a potato;
Stories of family, love; faith and courage; carved in holiday pumpkins;
Stories of Nativity scenes and colored lights across a small country town;
Stories of worshipers, in a church where a ceiling cross was slung;
Stories of broken hearts; backs and lives, but always the held Book.
Stories of worn ruts; dust and diseased soil that can only be watched

A story, to be sure, of day to day things you may watch
On the news or read about while pealing your breakfast potato.
Seeing a dusty family, in a dusty pickup, when returning a library book.
You may have seen headlines, when picking up a Halloween pumpkin;
Maybe on the internet, a news item about a new found ghost town;
Or a sad report of murder / suicide in a barn by hanging from a noose sling.

Oh I could painfully write this story and you could live it in a book,
As I lived it amid pumpkins and potatoes, and sat in dust storms to watch
My parents slowly die, and then move into the newly found ghost town.
My head bent down, pulled by the dust cloth of a guilt bearing sling;
For I walked away as my father continued plowing up rock potatoes
And mother, ever tired eyes, with loving heart, made her pies of pumpkin.

You will see in my book, destiny return me to again watch,
As beyond the barn holding guilt fresh in molded potato bags slung
On rafters, tumbling weeds and dry pumpkin seeds blow through town.
Last edited by Tom Watson on Thu Jan 08, 2004 6:41 am, edited 1 time in total.
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"Whispers of Love" a book of poetry expressing love of the heart and spirit is released worldwide on August 11, 2009. Visit my home page at
Books From Grace for more information or Amazon.com

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heinzs
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Post by heinzs » Sat Jan 03, 2004 10:17 pm

:cool:
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thief of dreams
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Post by thief of dreams » Sat Jan 03, 2004 10:25 pm

:thumbsup:
"Thoughts are the shadows of our feelings - always darker, emptier and simpler."
Friedrich Nietzsche

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Tom Watson
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Post by Tom Watson » Sat Jan 03, 2004 11:31 pm

Thanks Heinzs and Thief. I wasn't certain if you recognized it but this was my attempt at a Sestina as suggested in the Form in Poetry forum.

:roll: :?:
Tom
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"Whispers of Love" a book of poetry expressing love of the heart and spirit is released worldwide on August 11, 2009. Visit my home page at
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Post by heinzs » Sun Jan 04, 2004 2:31 am

Indeed. Only possible exception would be the internal rhymes in the last three lines... they contain 5 of the 6 end words.

But that's nit-picking! I think it is a fine example of a sestina.

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thief of dreams
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Post by thief of dreams » Sun Jan 04, 2004 2:33 am

actually i had no idea Wats.. it is Wats right? or is this Tom? sheesh, i never know with you three, or is it four now? oh my... hehe
this is an awesome poem that should be in a museum some where with all the old dust bowl photos and stories bro.. you alweays amaze me, even hen i think i have seen you best work you write anbother one that surpasses even the best of the best...
"Thoughts are the shadows of our feelings - always darker, emptier and simpler."
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Post by kuperian4ever » Sun Jan 04, 2004 4:50 pm

Comes a gift from a talented mind
Yours, to be read and reread time and again
I sit in that ghost town, eating my hash
Prepared with love for my time amongst men
working the land they will never own
for a fortune they know they will never win
except for the love
the love of family
the love of God
and the hand of faith
where time will sweep them away
to a ghost town.
And the dust shall settle in heaven.

You are a true poet, Tom, Wats, Dr. Dr. Tom Watson. :mrgreen:
Bric-a Brac

Death will be your final victory over life
Rejoice, for victory comes even as you live
Spread your arms and embrace the future

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Tom Watson
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Post by Tom Watson » Tue Jan 06, 2004 5:37 pm

HeinzS, thank you for the comment. Actually, I was trying to follow the example given in the Form forum for a Sestina, and thought it had only 5 of 6 and 1 of thress. I appreciate the clarification and now feel the challenge of creating a real sestina. :wink:

Whoa, Thief :mrgreen: , I (we) appreciate those kind words but should my works ever find their way to such auspicious surroundings, it would be following the path you had already blazed.

Kup.... :oops: Wow. Your comment is worthy of a posting all its own. You honor me greatly and beyond all that I reasonably deserve with your talented form of expression. I can only say "Thank you, my friend."
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Post by cusick » Thu Jan 08, 2004 5:50 am

I just know that it should have a final triplet. The poem is brilliant . You should lengthen it into a story Tom. Thanks for sharing. Maggie
How much can I get away with and still go to heaven.

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Tom Watson
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Now has 6 of 6 and 1 of 3

Post by Tom Watson » Thu Jan 08, 2004 6:43 am

Maggie, thank you for the comment, and you are right about adding the three. Actually I finished the sixth 6 liner and added a three liner. I hope it is okay.

:wink:

Tom
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"Whispers of Love" a book of poetry expressing love of the heart and spirit is released worldwide on August 11, 2009. Visit my home page at
Books From Grace for more information or Amazon.com

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Post by cusick » Thu Jan 08, 2004 10:10 am

It was beautiful Tom. Maggie
How much can I get away with and still go to heaven.

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Tom Watson
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Post by Tom Watson » Sat Jan 10, 2004 10:12 pm

:mrgreen:
Thank you Maggie.

Tom
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"Whispers of Love" a book of poetry expressing love of the heart and spirit is released worldwide on August 11, 2009. Visit my home page at
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Post by LadySaturn » Sat Jan 10, 2004 10:36 pm

Well the title threw me off a little there Tom or is it Wats or is it Doc or is it Doctor Watson... Dammit Tom, stop doing that... And I thought Q was bad with his superpower... Anyway, the title threw me off cause I thought for sure this was going to be one of those poems where the farmer tells the travelling salesman or whoever that he can sleep in the barn just don't mess with the daughter or else...

Anyway.... I read it and really really really liked and was glad to see that it wasn't one of those kind of poems... :wink:

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Post by jeannerené » Sat Jan 10, 2004 10:40 pm

Tom,

I must congratulate you....this is awsome....I read up on the sestina and thought that "this is way too difficult"....

I just love what you did....great topic too.....*bowing*

jeanne
... and his words purge up and outward,
expelled and onward through desert dust swallowed,
sands he says that gorge on simple sensibilities.
And, now he spits fragments, grit, extended vowels and elongated syllables
over cracked lips. Their sounds fall
piling round his boots…
~ jeannerené

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~breathe~


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jeannerené
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Post by jeannerené » Tue Jan 13, 2004 5:06 pm

Well deserved Tom.....congrats..........

jeanne
... and his words purge up and outward,
expelled and onward through desert dust swallowed,
sands he says that gorge on simple sensibilities.
And, now he spits fragments, grit, extended vowels and elongated syllables
over cracked lips. Their sounds fall
piling round his boots…
~ jeannerené

Image

~breathe~


flickr -jeannerene photostream

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