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Poet Commentaries

Sow What

I kinda like this poem and would not change a thing.  Sometimes they just come together perfect.

Part of the inspiration for this was a course my worker and I took on lawn care.  The old guy teaching us (almost my age) taught us the trick of recognizing Blue Grass, Fescue and Rye in a bag of seed.  “Put some in hand and squeeze tight.  The Fescue will stick to your hand and of the remainder the Blue Grass is the smallest.”

—-

I chase seeds
congregating on fence
and soup lines.
Vintage seeds long forgotten
continuing their line
on the verge
of hybrid fields.
Little buttercups
shrinking violets
crazy Zinnias
caught between
wanting to hide
and seeking a patent.

It takes experience
to separate
Blue Grass and Fescue
or spot Mustard seed
vagrant on concrete
blowing in the wind
seeking good soil
or a fine crack.
It takes poetry
to pick it up
present to it a name
and so sow it
back to the earth.

I feel for poet
walking lawns planted
by each named seed.
Whispering
to every flashing blades,
revelling in the song
of a wind passing.
Inhaling deep the scent
of dewey grass.
Of turning and spying
his footprints
and the lines
of the mower.

 

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