August is a blue haze of
ripened fields,
hurried over by swarming pickers
this year of plenty. The Rakers eye
profits with stiffened backs,
juice-stained hands their colour
of success, bodies browned by the sun.
They scoop in delight, white
and blue buckets filled
to overflowing-
In my return to this land I can
smell the burning fields and
see their scorched October attire.
Once a breezy sea of blue
fertilized by bumblebees, now
picked clean from summer marauders.
See the fire, the scent of
tortured fields. Renewal is a
flaming serenade supervised
by accountants, anxious
for this cash crop to return
in bountiful supply.
In the shadow of another season
winter's frost chases about.
A highly imaginative poem about the hard work and the joy during harvest of Blueberry farmers. A lovely piece. Thanks for sharing.
July 3/17 Merci bien. I appreciate encouraging words. Writing has sustained me through my stroke in 1999 and my recuperation continues. Blueberries are so good for you. PS I have returned to this site with new poems.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Wow great fruit picking imagery and scenes poem with fine freeverse depictions in words. Interesting way u captured it all. So nice to read u again.
July 3/17Thank you for kind words. To share ones' thoughts and feelings is such an adventure.