Lindsay Smith Poems
|4.||Where Is Your Place?||8/2/2012|
|10.||Wall Street Blues||7/30/2012|
|12.||Opulent Riddles For The Fairies||7/30/2012|
|13.||Landscape & A Girl||8/2/2012|
|14.||The Don & 951||8/2/2012|
|17.||Accordian In The Metro||8/2/2012|
|19.||To My Grand Daughter||8/2/2012|
We stumbled often on the stubble from sunrise until dusk
grabbing fescue sheaves under each arm
standing back to the wind
to thrust the stalk butts into the earth
six, eight, ten, even twelve together
to dry out for a few days.
Periodically we raised our heads
looking out for the farm truck
& Auntie May with the stacks of
buttered scones, tomato sandwiches
mugs of hot tea with many repeats
& as many spoonfuls of honey as you like
ducking off thru the fence afterward
for a leak or a bog.
Then long back breaking days
dedicated to Bill Robinson
because he would have smiled.
When I was a kid in a country
the inspector of schools came to visit.
He called our sweet lady teacher
an excellent unit.
She didn't smile at that..
He called the girls Mary & the boys Horace.