The poems on this page are in answer to prompts from dVerse, which invites poets to try different forms and word play. Come join us!
May 9, 2017: Soil Poetics
Plowing
In Amish country
six horses,
sometimes twelve,
plow the fields in April.
Farmers guide with whistles,
clucks and sweat-soaked reins,
their shirts echoing the sky.
The earth receives the blade,
sighs its musky scent,
reveals its hidden stones
and the sinew of old roots.
Sowing starts tomorrow
if the rain holds off
another day.
Photo by Leann Moses Rardin
Sarah Russell Poetry 
I flashed on Alice and the tea party, and it wrote itself. Thanks!
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Magic! 🙂
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Thanks, Grace!
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Thanks, Sanaa. (Love your name!)
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Thanks Arcadia.
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And become very, very small. Or have a very, very large teapot.
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Thanks, Sarah.
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Thanks! Grinning here. It IS a daft little rhyme, isn’t it!
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The things that made people smile a hundred years ago still make us smile today 🙂
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Oh I love the way you describe the living off the land,
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Thanks, Bjorn. We live near Amish country, and I’m always fascinated with their allegiance to their land and their faith.
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perfectly penned landscape in these lines – not a word wasted
“The earth receives the blade,
sighs its musky scent,
reveals its hidden stones
and the sinew of old roots.”
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Thanks, Laura. You wouldn’t have wanted to see those lines while I was working on them. It’s like making sausage. Better not to see the ingredients… Glad it worked!
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Such breathtaking verse! 🙂
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Thanks so much Sanaa!
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I admire those communities still tilling and harvesting the land. This is my favorite section:
The earth receives the blade,
sighs its musky scent,
reveals its hidden stones
and the sinew of old roots.
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Thanks, Grace. Like I said to Laura, who also liked that part, it took some work. At one time it had a maple tree, and was in the corner of the field, and oh dear, it was wordy. Whittling… always whittling…
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Your whittling produced a fine poem. Shirts that echo sky is a nice touch, somehow connecting the mortal with the infinite.
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Thanks, Paul.
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A humble, hard-working image exquisitely penned!
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Thanks so much, Lynn.
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… sighs its musky scent … I always loved the smell of freshly turned dirt. It’s the farmer’s daughter in me, I guess! Love your poem.
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Thanks, Bev. I love that smell too.
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Well, wow! There is so much to love here. I think the line I love best is: sighs its musky scent…beautiful.
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Thanks a lot, Sasha.
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Enjoyed this, a poem as a photo, a snippet of time. Earthy
Glad you liked my resonating quotes — yes, I prefer your type of poetry too: not hidden, not teasingly vague, not secret — instead, actually written for the reader. Nice
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Thomas Lux, a wonderful poet who recently died, said, “Poetry that you can’t understand is well, just rude.” I agree. I think that poetry should have many layers, but that you should be able to find the first layer the first time you read it. Kooser, Oliver, Bukowski all do that, and I’m cheered by their work. Thanks for the compliment, Sabio.
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