Thanks to Teresa of MindLoveMisery’s Menagerie for hosting Saturday Mix. Saturday’s prompt was to write pasturel poetry (Fiction/no fiction) which is essentially poetry written about nature in an idyllic way.
The beauty of my love is sweet, divinely prized.
Through fields of wildflower I follow her steps,
Her milk white skin, soft, supple; she knows best,
How tiny goat kids, and dog’s pups will thrive.
They bleet, whimper, for her hands petting coats,
Feeding them drops of milk reviving life’s hope.
So they wil live glorious in pastures kind;
Become adults frolic, following my queen.
The beauty of my love is sweet, divinely prized.
The beauty of my love is sweet, divinely prized,
She gathers the chickens eggs to feed,
Those who grace her kitchen with smiles pleased.
Finds the dairy cows, milks them all beguiling.
She’s a feminist, believes we never stop learning.
She chose to farm, grows organic food, serves —
Customers desiring; at market they find hers first;
My love works hard, adores our life, she’s pleased.
It was difficult living on the farm, being cutt-off from other people when there was a blinding snow storm for days. Marion felt the numbing loneliness deeply and her husband James only amplified her sense of isolation.
They were still a relatively young couple but James made her feel as if she were old, dull, and boring. He barely acknowledged Marion except when he wanted food. He hadn’t actually conversed with Marion for what felt like years.
She observed as James lived alone in his head, always ignoring her attempts to talk. As the harsh winds and snow isolated them in the farmhouse, James isolated Marion in their marriage.
When the blizzard ended, Marion had had enough. She peered at James one last time and left. She drove to the nearest city and caught a flight home.
“Overnight, giant snowballs of hay appeared in the field.” Ed was absolutely shocked. There had been little snow last winter and summer and fall had been abnormally dry.
Martha’s blue eyes were huge when Ed came into the house. “Eddy what’s wrong? I don’t think I’ve ever seen such an expression on your face. Did something happen?”
Ed gazed at his young wife, noticing how pretty she was. He hadn’t told her so in many months.”You’re a beautiful woman Martha. I knew I was lucky when I married you. You are my miracle.”
“Eddy, what’s come over you?” Martha said pleased.
“Hay, giant snowballs of hay all over the barren fields. More than enough to feed the animals so we don’t have to remortgage the farm.”
Martha peeked out the door and gasped at the sight of hundreds of hay bails in every direction. Then, as of life couldn’t get any better, it began to rain. It rained every second day for two-months. Then as December approached, the rain became snow and it snowed until April.
Everyone else in the area, including in the nearby city, were appalled by the weather and constant precipitation. But all the farmers who had mysterious bails of hay in their fields celebrated because next harvest there would be plentiful crops.
Ed attributed these continued miracles to Martha; she was his first miracle.
1.A tired day dawns; I rose early so I could start mowing the fields, making hay before the sun shines; the morning air is crisp and there is a slight breeze wafting from the house, apple pie; how can I smell such a scrumptious flavour out in the fields?
2. In late morning, my stomach hungers for pie and for more food, something filling and some coffee; I find myself lost in my head, tired and eyes drooping from waking up at 4:00 am; there are still more fields to mow; shading my eyes, I observe the sky, such a clear brilliant blue; the beautiful sky illuminated by bright sunlight shock me, and I feel awake again.
3. It’s near the end of the day and my body is weary from mowing and all my other chores on the farm; I plan and ensure next year their is a bountiful harvest and more cows for milk and beef; yet I sigh, I dream a career change in my future ; but what does a lifetime farmer do? A man who didn’t graduate high school, how does he start a new?
Thank you to K.L. Caley from new2writing for hosting #Maydays prompts. Today’s prompt is beauty, something or someone beautiful. I’m reposting a poem I wrote for my Great-Godmother. She is a special person to me and doing well past her mid-nineties in age.
There is beauty in your wrinkles,
A deep timely beauty, that took experience to make.
You are more than classic; you are infinitely lovely and gorgeouse.
No twenty-two year old in all her youthful vigor is so pretty,
That she can have more knowledge than your reflective eyes.
Or more inspiration then your smiles give,
More thoughts racing through her mind, of a life both hard and incredible.
Your beauty is eternal, a flame that won’t die out.
You shall carry it to heaven with you because you loved a child in a manger and your faith made your life well.
You are more exotic and enchanting then any woman in the land;
You are the light of home to many.
When your presence fades there shall be a void felt by all those who loved your luminescence;
A beauty which was internal and spread to your warm skin.
A beauty that inhabits everyone of your loved ones and friends.
You are simply marvellous, a dame that no one can compare with.
You had husbands, boyfriends, and partners with which you shared your life and your beauty with delight.
You out-lived them all with your smile and a bounce in your step.
Your wrinkles are truly beautiful because they tell your story.
A story growing up on a farm, a story of loss, a house in the city, a story of love, and fond memories.
And through it all shone your pretty face.
Those bright eyes and your laughing mouth; your wonderful hugs, good wishes —
And your many roles throughout your life.
Beauty lies in everything those roles made you; you were unstoppable.
In your stylish shoes and upbeat attitude.
You are lovely, and will always be to me a Grandma, a Great-Godmother, and a friend.
Such wisdom you hold, your wisdom you cooked into pies, soups, trifles, lasagna;
Your hospitality made you beautiful.
You are the rarest rose in the garden;
Loved by so many and so many you have met.
This is why I say your wrinkles make you beautiful,
For you are incredible, a gem in a pile of fakes.
A fantastic woman and every year as you age your beauty is much deeper.
Joshua saw his Papa going out to the brick shed. He saw that Papa left the door ajar. He knew Papa and Nana would be mad at him for taking a look inside the shed, but Joshua couldn’t help but peek.
Joshua gazed in awe in the shed. There was an elephant inside, chained up by his leg.
Terrified brown eyes stared down at Joshua as Joshua placed his hands gently on the elephants trunk and started to pet him. The elephant closed his eyes in delight. Joshua whispered to the elephant that he would come back and set it free. He also named the elephant George.
Later, when Nana and Papa thought he was asleep, Joshua went on his phone and called his Dad, who was in disbelief. Everyone went out to the shed the next morning, Papa laughing at Joshua’s suggestion that he was keeping an elephant locked inside.
Papa hesitated opening the door and Joshua’s Dad took the key from Papa. To Joshua’s Dad’s surprise when he opened the shed, a great elephant stared down at him sadly. Joshua went and hugged George before his Dad could stop him.
The police and a special vet from the zoo were called out to Papa and Nana’s farm and George was set free. Once his chain had been cut off, George trumpeted and began to flap his ears. He waved his head joyfully.
“How could you do this, Dad?” Joshua’s Dad asked Papa.
“It was something beautiful that I could keep.” Papa admitted. “I never wanted him to leave and I could never let him free because someone would know.”
Joshua’s Dad shook his head at Papa. “Dad, an elephant isn’t meant to be held captive and he needs to be with other elephants.”
Later, Joshua’s parents took him to visit George at the zoo. “Is George free?” Joshua asked his Dad. “Yes, unlike Papa and Nana,” Joshua’s Dad replied. ” George will never be a wild elephant but he’ll be happier at the zoo with other elephants around.”
Joshua watched George play, happy George had elephant friends.
I knew there was a prompt I forgot about this week! How could I forget the wonderful Jacqueline’sEchoes of My Neighbourhood? So, I haven’t taken any recent pictures lately but I have some more pictures looking back to the past.
This wonderful warm women was my Great Grandma Kendal. She lived in Church Bridge, Saskatchewan, where my Grandma grew up. I don’t remember exactly how old she was when she died but she was in her early to mid-nineties. I have longevity in my genes. I remember visiting my Great-Grandma’s house a couple of times as a child and teenager. When I was 5-years-old and My Great Grandpa Kendal was still around, my Great Grandma Molly sang to me How Much is That Doggy in the Window and gave me some fabric and buttons to sew little pillows with, for my Barbie dolls.
When I was about thirteen-years-old, we visited Great Grandma (her name was Molly) again. One time on the visit when everyone else was gone she told me to come and sit with her. She told me when my Grandpa Willard Eifert married my Grandma, my Grandpa had a bit of an attitude. He thought my Grandma’s farm family was a bit beneath his own family who were all highly-educated pastors and nurses. She told me it took time for my Grandpa to get over this. She also told me my Great Grandpa Phillip Kendal had a dream about heaven shortly before he died; in his dream God showed him heaven and it was beautiful in a way he could barely describe. The last thing she told me was not to cry for her when she died because she would be in heaven and happy. I didn’t cry for her, I knew better when she passed away.
This is my other Great Grandma on my Dad’s side, her name was Ida and she was an interesting woman. She liked to dress well, and would save up for one expensive suit, rather than buy a few cheap suites. She married my Great-Grandpa Carl Eifert who came from around Leipzig, Germany when he was a little child. Carl became a Lutheran Pastor and Ida gave birth to many children, sons who also became Lutheran Pastors and daughters who married Lutheran Pastors or became Nurses. My parents helped Great Grandma Eifert out a great deal when she still lived in her house in my home city. Later, her children moved Ida to White Rock, BC, closer to her daughters,and we visited Great Grandma Eifert there when I was a young girl. I have a memory baking cookies with her when I was three or four-years-old too.
Ida lived a long life, into her nineties as well. In fact, she passed away when I was almos fourteen-years-old, in July. When she died my family viewed her body at the funeral home. It was disconcerting to see that our hands looked exactly alike. So, I know who I inherited my hands from.
Two-weeks later, after Ida’s death, her son, my Grandpa Willard Eifert passed away exactly on my Birthday. It was a terrible birthday spent at the funeral home, helping Grandma pick out caskets (etc.) My Grandpa Eifert was young when he died, seventy-three-years old. I miss him so much to this day. I think his funeral was the first funeral I openly cried at.
I was close to my Grandpa. I often slept over at his and Grandma’s house in the city. I spent time out at their parsonage near Wataskiwen when my Grandpa was still a Pastor, before he retired. My Grandpa smoked a lot until he quit in his fifties but the damage had been done. On the Eifert’s side, we have bad lungs and my Grandpa had emphysema which resulted in him having an oxygen tank eventually. When he died it was due to his smoking. His heart had been beating at a runner’s pace for twenty-years and it finally gave out. It still makes me sad because you never think the last time you see someone alive, is the last time you’ll see them. Last time I saw Grandpa he was in hospital and he said he wasn’t doing to well. We didn’t stay long.
What I remember with my Grandpa the most is all the time we spent playing chess and cribbage. I learned cribbage when I was seven-years-old and only beat my Grandpa three times at Chess ever. Twice he was tired so I don’t count those times. We played Yahtzee and Uno and deciphered cryptograms and crossword puzzles. In the mornings when I was over, I would wake up early and help Grandpa make breakfast. At the parsonage, there was tractor rides and VBS to go to at Grandpa’s Church in the summer. When Grandpa died my Godfather told me the greatest gift I could have received was my Gandpa going to heaven on my Birthday because he was no longer in pain and with his Lord.
My Grandma also pictured here, is a special lady. She is about eight-six and slowing down but doing well. I played games with her when I was younger. We also did all these fun crafts such as making our own Christmas ornaments. I helped her bake items such as Apple stroudal and homemade donuts. She was in her house until recently and is in a seniors place now. She is a kind person who loves to talk and be social. She was a great Pastor’s wife and is involved in Church to a great degree still. I need to visit her soon, she came back from a vacation seeing her sister with my Dad. Having an adult relationship with my Grandma is different from having a relationship as a kid. I wish my Grandpa hadn’t smoked so he could be here too, and I could have an adult relationship with both my Grandparents.