Buying the Farm

Photo: The mid winter remains of last summers spiral.

We will make another acre wide labyrinth of grass again this Summer. This time a triple spiral in the manner of of the sacred Celtic design found in the passage tomb of New Grange, Ireland. Feel free to contact me anytime this Summer if you would like to walk within the singing grasses of the land.

I have also created a small chapbook of poems called Buying the Farm, A summer of Poems.
I'd be happy to share a copy with you. Just contact me at ricksfarm@yahoo.com.
Here are a few excerpts:

Holy Things

Holy things show
themselves through surprise.

Like the island rising
over the shoulder of the road
when I was lost

Your glowing
face at the airport
curb

This white farmhouse
I’d passed by
for years

A poem tipping over
the edge of dawn, before
the newspaper hit the driveway

The perfume of the river
as we flew our open
windows across the bridge

Sunlight spearing
the crystal through
our breakfast table

A covey of quail
in the quivering
snowberry

The foghorn
I heard two hundred
miles from the sea.

The home I dreamed
of moments before
I woke in your arms.


And One More:



At the Dance in the City Without You

The dancing was a writhing sweat.
So many women
watching and searching.
One looks like you,
though younger.
Her desert eyes
deep and lonely
meeting my oceanic glances.

I turn away from her,
remembering that you’re home
with the children while I dance
free, a man all in black
pretending to be
of the city,
while the country claims me
now with coveralls and sawdust,
sickles in alfalfa,
roosters at dawn,
a scarred cat scratching
at the barn door.

The city eyes must
turn north, drinking in starry nights
as we sip beer on the back porch.

You and I are
the dancers in the dark mantle
that hovers above our orchard,
we the committed,
we the field
and the freeway home.

(c) R. Sievers 2009

Thanks
See you in the spiral.

Rick