Monday, June 3, 2013

A book and boy

A book and boy in his lap, a farmer tells
his grandson how a big combine cuts the wheat,
and loaves of fresh-baked bread come out
the other end. They compare hands.

The mind — well, the mind is really just a pitchfork
full of loose hay, and frogs, and owls,
and wagon-rides, with some starlight thrown in,

and you grind it into flour somehow,
add some rain, and the sun turns it into bread.

There’s a big brick oven up there —
between the ears, that is.

And a heaven
down here.

The order doesn’t matter as much
as the tool at hand.


Jan/AutumnDreams said...

Absolutely beautiful! I loved the dreamy pictures that ran through my thoughts as I read these wonderful words that came from your heart, William~

William Michaelian said...

I’m glad, Jan. Thank you. We feel our way, and if we’re lucky a tiny bit of it is somehow expressed in a way others can feel and maybe understand. Like the farming life I grew up in, we roll with the seasons. Thank goodness for those little hearts and minds and hands, willing to believe and trust us for a while.

Jonathan Chant said...

Jan's right. Lot's of lovely images rolling along. Another fine poem, William.

William Michaelian said...

Thank you, too, Jonathan. I hope all is well with you.

L.W.Roth, said...

Not only images, but aromas and sounds too--wheat in the thresher, bread hot out of the oven, wagon wheels that need oiling. Beautiful.

William Michaelian said...

Thanks, Linda.

Each of you, in your own way, have added new dimension to the poem. I appreciate it.

vazambam (Vassilis Zambaras) said...

There is plenty of food for thought here, William--delicious!

William Michaelian said...

Great to hear, Vassilis! And astonishing, too, since the cook himself is half-baked.

Ed Baker said...

a grand-pa like that would make poets of us all,
me thinks.

nice opening rhythm ... the words up to the comma...

two of the greatest smells around here:

baking bread and cooking a wort (beer):

must be the yeast in both that does "it" ?

William Michaelian said...

Thanks, Ed. Yeast: in my alleged mind, one of the great words-symbols-smells-promises.