The road didn’t run so close then
When dreams shaved trees
Misshapen mass, a blink of memory
Time-worn tale so frequently told
Stable hands, fallow fields
Harsh winter bout with malaria
Prosperity torn from the furrows
Children lost to disease, progress
Ever the beating heart returned
To wrestle the birthing calf
Over-used tools as sentinels
Tin roof reflecting evening storm
Newborn hooves pounded time’s cadence
And passage through wrinkles of
Experience, misfortune, joy
Stain these structures
Beyond recall
A contest entry
- ~Image Prompt~ # 2 by -Ink Artist-.
525 points, ended May 9, 2007, 16 entries
Honorable winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 7 of 7
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such strength in both the underlying concept of this Rich - and with the imagery. I like imagining the old structures, the lives within them and beyond them - both so varied.
as for that line connecting "disease" to "progress" - there is that irony of how developed our world has become, yet simple cures are far from found. That, in spite of growth of the world in so many ways - we at our most basic level can be overwrought by the smallest "thing". Perhaps "disease" is on more than several levels as a metaphor in this poem. Myself - I see how we fight to become so strong in general instead of living the simple life - then what is left adapts itself to still show us how small we may be.
(goodness... I think I even just confused myself.. but I'm leaving critiques at late hours when I should just be saying - "great write Rich! give me more!!"
Well done as always - one of your strongest I think. I know I respected this piece for so many reasons.
Kim
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A brutally potent message you've derived within these lines. I am awed at the direction this image prompt took your thoughts. You've designed this piece with sincerity and created some truly compelling imagery. Emotionally expressive with a well crafted flow to your symbol of suffering. Excellent work! Thanks for your entry!
~Lori
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Lori, Thanks so much for such a glowing comment.
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I've been gone for a few days but I saw this the morning I left and it gave me a strange kind of strength to think you had written about an old barn. The hopeful image of a birth under the watchful eyes of the tools and the brim of tin in the second stanza contrasts well with the sorrow in the first; I really like what the title expresses on its own as well. There's a steadfastness here that I appreciate.
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Thanks. This, like the contest with the abandoned building in the desert, really spoke to me about time, life and change. I've always had a fascination with old buildings in disrepair, their history and the history of their people.
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for me, the summation of this is wrapped up in one line and all the rest sort of fades away because i have latched onto this one aspect. this one concept:
Prosperity torn from the furrows
Children lost to disease, progress
disease. progress. disease, progress. i have always believed that the measures of progress are meant to deceive. because "progress" often seems to be like a one way propulsion to self-destruction rather than a real, progressive moving forward.
ahhhh this is well done. the title alone conveys much meaning. i haven't looked at the picture, but the truth is i don't need to. this very much stands alone.
enjoyed. good luck in the contest. -
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Thanks for the thoughtful comment. It was my intention, with that line, to imply that both good and bad took the children. They grew or they didn't, but left in either case. I fully agree with your concerns with the word "progress". Moving forward doesn't always mean moving forward, though we usually think it does.
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