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Phi Kenzie Aug 2018
oooooooooooooo

I bet I could be an oak
if I tried hard enough

Extend my roots
maybe branch out a little
lead with my leaves

Reach for the sky!

Let my bark ring true
through the sea of trees
Watered by rain
Fed by sun
Raised in Earth
Chase Graham Sep 2014
Lima bean farms
are good places to forget a dream.
They grow shin-length.
Just tall enough to ignore, but still definite,
unmistakable. The soil is damp,
fed by tin planes and farmer pilots
who take pride in their acres.
A family of worms have their brunch
while buzzards circle in line.
Waiting and pointing out the roadkill doe
that stumbled here last night.
If I keep walking towards
my father's bloodstained
Ford pickup, she'll be there.
Eyes glistening
and dead, aware
of our harvest-green property.
GEORGE CARLE Sep 2014
And the farm endured
seven fields to forty acres
the days of my father
saw grass and crops rotate
his toiling obsession now spent
gave way to a bigger scale

the old house storeyed
by one and a half
the bedroom where I slept
in the shadow of an older brother

the roof of grey slate
the peak of my world
reached my childhood sky

the overgrown garden
the consequence of labours elsewhere
the sycamore tree
my view of a world outside
GEORGE CARLE Aug 2014
And the farm endured
seven fields to forty acres
the days of my father
saw grass and crops rotate
his toiling obsession now spent
gave way to a bigger scale

the old house storeyed
by one and a half
the bedroom where I slept
in the shadow of an older brother

the roof of grey slate
the peak of my world
reached my childhood sky

the overgrown garden
the consequence of labours elsewhere
the sycamore tree
my view of a world outside
the patch of monkshood remained
where I trapped bees in a jar
the fuchsia bush with flowers to pick
and **** nectar from within

the old dirt track road
the start of a jouney far beyond
the realm of a farm
and the dreams of a boy

— The End —