deepundergroundpoetry.com
Tears Salted The Earth
He was from a farm which promised much and delivered little
It sat in the low hills inland from the coast,
all shadows and bullrush and dripping gullies
A four-room home –
two at the back, two in the front and hardly a chair on which to sit
They were, he said, poor in all but spirit
They worked until they bent or broke
It made him, he said
He got out when he could because he did not want
to waste a life thrusting posts into soggy ground
He shore and fenced and built
All the while he saved
When the bank
dropped its rate he went for shares
Then he bought good land – land a man could farm
He walked its silty plain and sunlit rises,
remembered how his father’s tears salted the earth
It made his throat tighten
It sat in the low hills inland from the coast,
all shadows and bullrush and dripping gullies
A four-room home –
two at the back, two in the front and hardly a chair on which to sit
They were, he said, poor in all but spirit
They worked until they bent or broke
It made him, he said
He got out when he could because he did not want
to waste a life thrusting posts into soggy ground
He shore and fenced and built
All the while he saved
When the bank
dropped its rate he went for shares
Then he bought good land – land a man could farm
He walked its silty plain and sunlit rises,
remembered how his father’s tears salted the earth
It made his throat tighten
Published 19th Aug 2019
| Edited 20th Aug 2019
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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30th Aug 2019 1:39pm
Wondrous story telling. I really enjoyed reading this poem, but this line really stuck:
They were, he said, poor in all but spirit
I remember those shacks and the wealth of family amid the poverty of surroundings.
They were, he said, poor in all but spirit
I remember those shacks and the wealth of family amid the poverty of surroundings.
You are very kind. The man concerned is someone I know. He is very old and he likes nothing more than to reminisce, so I listen.
I love listening to old people (I'm not so young myself). We can learn a lot if we take the time. Enjoying your work, too.
Oh, and speaking of being poor in all but spirit, I was speaking to an old lady as part of my job recently and she told me how poor her grandparents were, and their neighbours.
One Christmas, she said, the children were each given a wrapped cooked potato.
They said nothing as they unwrapped them, but ate them nevertheless.
God, we don't know we are alive.
I love listening to old people (I'm not so young myself). We can learn a lot if we take the time. Enjoying your work, too.
Oh, and speaking of being poor in all but spirit, I was speaking to an old lady as part of my job recently and she told me how poor her grandparents were, and their neighbours.
One Christmas, she said, the children were each given a wrapped cooked potato.
They said nothing as they unwrapped them, but ate them nevertheless.
God, we don't know we are alive.
3rd Sep 2019 5:03am
You are very kind. The man concerned is someone I know. He is very old and he likes nothing more than to reminisce, so I listen.
I love listening to old people (I'm not so young myself). We can learn a lot if we take the time. Enjoying your work, too.
I love listening to old people (I'm not so young myself). We can learn a lot if we take the time. Enjoying your work, too.
