This city is too sterile for me
I won’t live with my head in a cloud
I gladly give up creature comforts
I gladly give up creature comforts
to walk in the dirt barefoot and proud
Now happy in my new agrarian life
The effluent of your burn out life drops
Into our river see how thoroughly cleansed
to nourish our bountiful crops
Into our river see how thoroughly cleansed
to nourish our bountiful crops
Although our vibrant life
lies easily in your view
Your sight is too myopic
to have any kind of clue
We once worshipped cave shaman’s
totemic figures fired in clay
Now our women gathering the herbs
create the natural way
Surrounded by our loved ones
and babes in tow
How we glory in the bonfire
soothing warm glow
Agrarian state of the art
Every person doing their part
This city is too sterile for me
I won’t live with my head in a cloud
I gladly give up creature comforts
to walk in the dirt barefoot and proud
loved these lines,,,,
By: Pratibha on July 1, 2008
at 4:34 pm
I haven’t read this one before, but the imagery you described lead me to reminisce about the laid back life in the farm… in parallel to your more primitive agrarian life…
I was born in a sugarcane farm, more commonly known here as hacienda… We transferred to the city when I was five. But summer always leads me home to my birthplace… And for the first few days of being there, I always find it hard to sleep early… I am sharing an ouput of one of those rainy summer nights…
————–
Nocturnal
The night has enveloped with darkness
The earth which now seems void.
The cool air sways the minute tongue
Of flame emanating from a dying lamp,
Which is apparently the only source
Of light in that sheath of black.
Raindrops came crushing,
And in sheer joy, laughed
As they slid through the roof of the hut.
The frogs joined while the nearby
Brook murmurs of being short of slumber.
The thunder quieted them for a few moments.
For miles around, only one is awake to listen,
Sitting on a chair, with the dying lamp.
15 April 1999
By: coolwaterworks on July 28, 2008
at 10:56 am
Thank you for posting your wonderful poem with your comment Mark. Also I very much identify with your background. I lived on a small rancho in Northern California when I was young. We moved to the city when I was 11. My poem “New Buds” is an autobiographical tale of my childhood on the fram.
By: post4apocalypse on July 29, 2008
at 12:38 am