forecast blues

 

stuck weather pattern only brings more rain

while farmers ripe to harvest feel the strain

soybeans swell fat, cornstalks rot wet

without a crop, families grow debt

we hope and pray for sun to shine again!

 

(oh no, could that be snow?!)

 

 

 

Linking to dVerse  poets’ pub where Frank is toasting iambic pentameter…

autumn bounty

 

harvest harmonized

pheasant struts from ripe cornfield

deer leaps pumpkin patch

culmination of seasons

color life deep rich orange

 

 

photo by lynn

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


My tanka response to Ramblings of a Writer’s prompt: seasons, harmonized.

 

small enough to drown

 

harvest gathered in

crystal sky glitters invite

river of heaven

 

 

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image – pixabay

Linking to Frank J. Tassone site, where “haiku poetry matters.”

stalked by Claude

Meeting the Bar at dVerse Poets with Bjorn looking at impressionistic art


 

layers of light

flecks of colour

giant’s velvet

birthday cupcake

or thatched hut

is sunlit stack of

bovine manna

dried muffin-top

will-o-wisps in wind

dense center holds

heat of long day

gleaned stubble field

rests in cool shade

robust wet dabs

of painter’s palette

reflects sweat of

villagers’ harvest

 

monet_hay

haystack by Monet

harvesting the moon

Linking with dVerse Poets for Haibun Monday…

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November 2016 “super moon” 


 

I remember the harvest moon when we still picked corn. My husband’s father hunkered inside the tractor-mounted picker on a clear October night. He throttled ahead, pushing the machine’s snouts into the rows of dry corn, stripping off ears, spitting them into the trailing wagon and leaving bent stalks in its wake. At the end of the field, the satisfied farmer unhitched his full wagon by pulling a rope and riding ahead to wait.

Raised as city girl and college-educated, I learned to drive tractor and maneuver an empty wagon behind the picker, unhitch, then turn to back tractor in front of full wagon. It was like a mechanical dance when performed smoothly. I’d hop down and run to lift tongue of empty wagon in line as picker slowly backed to it until holes lined up and I could drop hitch pin into place. Dad turned machine back into standing corn for next pass across field where my husband met him with another empty wagon.

After hitching up full wagon, I’d climb back on tractor, and haul my load to a corn crib; one of our round wire cribs or a wooden-slat shed. I drove straight past the folded elevator; dismounted to lower heavy hopper to ground. Climbed on tractor again to back the wagon against hopper and raise wagon box with hydraulic hoist, tipping it back.  A utility tractor ran the elevator as I reached over to open/close the wagon’s small back door to allow rolling corn ears to fall into the hopper at my feet. A moving chain with metal flights carried the corn up, up, up to top of roof where it dumped ears into open crib.

I wore earplugs to deaden the noise, my skin chafed in the cold wind, my eyes protested the dust and my body fought fatigue after an already long day of harvest (switching wagon, hauling load, emptying wagon, repeat).  But to witness an abundant crop under a beautiful moon felt like God smiling his blessing on us.
 

shadow hides raccoon

full moon rises on cornfields

kernels of plenty

 

time is a friend

 

time ripens good seed

farmer waits ever patient

harvest fruit will come

autumnal graces

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fall’s fabulous

potpourri of

apple cinnamon

milkweed pods

chill mornings

pumpkin spice

ditches burning

damp leaves

hot choco-latte

indian summer

fermented silage

crisp corn husks

squirrel’s cache

windmill spinning

ripened melons

monarchs’ route

fuzzy cattails

combines’ dust

weaned calves

cold drizzle

mud on road

harvest moon