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.

27 thoughts on “Plowing”

  10. 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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  12. 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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  13. 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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  16. … 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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  19. 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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    1. 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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