Field Day by Kristina Woodhill Each winter This field welcomes Black-crowned Night Herons They stand stock still by day We count them as we walk Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen Dark shapes, short necks movement indiscernible to our impatient, always changing minds Field mates now and then Geese flocks land and share This quiet, now-plowed land Silent, restful sanctuary Migratory fly way Cars slow down as Camera lenses telescope for Close-ups Such a pleasant ritual This wistful winter scene This winter Fifteen plus pink stakes Are standing stock still, waiting Neatly all in growing rows Side by side with herons Quiet pink intrusions Wooden stiff illusions Someone thinks their portent Will pave the way for new life A farmer goes “kaching” This spring This field is going to die 01/23/2006 Posted on 01/24/2006 Copyright © 2024 Kristina Woodhill Member Comments on this Poem Posted by Elizabeth Jill on 01/28/06 at 03:38 PM The sadness - so deeply lost in the blinded acceptance of "in-the-name-of-progress" a whole world brushed aside...I think humans barely notice these things anymore. This is so brilliantly portrayed I've no breath left in my fingers on this keyboard. This - incredible poem...sitting in here so all alone...needs looking at. POTD * Posted by David Hill on 01/31/06 at 01:18 AM Very well structured, the way this devolves to a strong finish. I like the idea of the pink stakes, like tombstones. That is a nice subtle stroke. Posted by Kyle Anne Kish on 07/21/06 at 02:08 PM Kristina, the emotional levels this poem takes me through with its beautiful imagery, keeps me not on level ground ... but somewhere between highs and lows as it dips and spins me from here to there. Beautifully written, sweetie. Return to the Previous Page   pathetic.org Version 7.3.2 May 2004 Terms and Conditions of Use 0 member(s) and 2 visitor(s) online All works Copyright © 2024 their respective authors. Page Generated In 0 Second(s)