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

I lay in fields of green as my day is almost done
My skin is radiated by warmth
And distant rays one by one
Envelope me in heat
finally touching the sun

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

I first saw the wheat in the morning,
smelled the wind blustering forth--
Wondered that it must taste like
that very morning, in what complex way crops do.

And when the bear-locusts eat them,
what they would say
if they bled pans of gold to romance their amber,
if only then
would they be jubilant
if only on their death beds!

"Don't admire the fields," says Agricoltore.
Why?
"Because they like--they don't change."

The lizards crawl
on the walls,
and the crow caws,
like the cow
that bows
to the crowed
the queen being crowned
cry’s out
to the plight
and the fight
for the knight
continues on
till the break of dawn
don’t stop,
don’t ponder,
continue to wander
through the fields
nothing yields
the words that you feel
so carry on
till the break of dawn.

The days are long and arduous,
the drawn out afternoons
smoldering slowly in the expansive heat,
as the sweet taste of breathy breezes
sweep laboriously across the sky,
sinking deeply into the rich brown earth.
The sweat-soaked fields
sway wearily in the extravagant heat;
the golden grains glinting in the graceful rays
of the warm, mellow sunlight.
The trring-trring of bicycles ring all around,
the flashing metal brilliant in the noon day light.
Rivers sparkle,
teeming with life so overjoyed
at the return of better days,
better ways.
Dawn gives way to dusk,
the precious light fading at the corners now,
wiping the clouds down
with deep plums,
and dark blues,
until only night is left.
The star wink and shimmer,
casting silvery light onto solemn rooftops,
shrouding and holding their slumbering contents
in a Mid-summer's night dream.
As the season draws to its close-
its fading glory resplendent
in all the wonders of such a comforting season,
the world breaths in-
quietly content
to put the day
to rest.

when i think of you
i feel life trapped.
when i think of you
i feel one hundred years of melancholy
lusting after the sun,
but being unable to look upwards
at it
because of how easily and effortlessly
it can burn a hole through the dark
that has become home.

when i think of you
the single time we met
i feel forgotten fields
the color of mint,
a body of love idling
left to rot,
lilies thrown in the dirt
because your hands have forgotten how to hold them,
the first page of a novel scanned
and then discarded,
like the obituary of an old friend
you could have called back
(but didn't).

but see, that's all just silly
because, truthfully, i know nothing (about you)
aside from your name;
aside from the ocean being too deep and wide and blue
to find comfort
or peace from the earth,
though the earth will not move
because she herself holds many fearless, crazed oceans
within her
that have yet to be named.