Monday, June 14, 2010

Hammering the Hour

This week's Flying Poetry Bus is driven by Jeanne.
and one of the themes is What's in a Name. Here we go.


Toiling in the fields backs straining,

hands calloused
cutting hay
planting beets
the sun weak on the midsummer plain not far from Hamburg
and the cold sea
They bent to their work
the unending work
their bodies strained automatically in the long-known rhythm
their minds wandered, focused on nothing
they were at one with the oxen pulling the plow
at one with the ponies turning the thresher
And then
A bell rang out
and the people stood
put aside their tools
became human again
and smiled at each other as they headed for dinner

happy the Ringer of the Hour had released them.


shabby girl said...

their bodies strained automatically in the long-known rhythm...
I love that line!

Karen said...

This is nicely done! Your description of their work had me with them in that field.

Totalfeckineejit said...

Great evocative descriptive poem, NanU. You have the knack of transporting the reader.I'd love to hear you read it!?

The Bug said...

I enjoyed how visual this was - I could see the men working & then I could see them relaxing. Well done!

Titus said...

I have a clear, almost indelible, impression, and yet no idea.