Musing Maize

What if Shakespeare had a cornfield? Birth, life and tragedy...in a cornfield.

 

Warm is the splash of radiance that shines bright from thy sun-                     
'Tis wakened my spirit; I, stretching, reach for the glory.                              
Waves of warmth piercing thy abyss, the darkness bitter lanced,                               

Thy spirit no longer controls, springs of life overflow!         

 

Labor awaits the birthing - the fruits of life I shall bear;                                
Look! Seest thou thy countenance?  I seize that which seizes me!

Undaunted, pushing and grasping thy satisfying warmth,                               
Light enters, thy seeking soul then exhales, burgeoning forth.                      

 

Strokes the Master’s brush against thy canvas - tis e’er changing!                  
Hues of joy stain the portrait evidence of thy infancy.                                  
Father Time reveals the unfurled bosom - horn of plenty -                           
A fortnight will pass, thy labor over, the basket heavy.                                 

 

Oh, how breezes caress and with a taste of the morn dew,

Lingering days yield to thy passing youth from age to age.                            
Tall am I, soaring over the abyss from where I came;         
Made strong and ready for the labor thy bosom provides.                            

 

Storm nor wind cannot assail, they press hard but still I am.             
And lo, the moments of thy calling resound to my ears!                               
I feel thy worth lain heavy in the heat and the still air;                                 
Arched now not from wind or hail, alas! The bounty is near!                        

 

Come they, those that take, their vessel moored an acre away-                    
Done am I, from age to age, my worth in a basket lay!                                
Anguish says I, kissing the dew, breeze, and sun goodbye-                           
Bowed and broken, the abyss has won, thy tired soul returns.                                  
 

 

Author's Note

I'm a really a country boy at heart.

Reviews

[Constance]

This is a beautiful calling to the masters of old... though those below me got here first and already told you that. :) It's always a gift when one can make the mundane seem magical and glorious, and you certainly did so. I, your poetic hero? You said that once. Non, non... You are mine. :) I wonder what this poem would be like in a second version without the thy's. I enjoyed the old fashioned style, but I thought of young people, who may one day read this piece in a book (yes sir, it is that freaking magnificent) and wondered what it would be like if there were a second, less old-fashioned version, just for them? I'm weird. I just think of things like that when I am pretty much speechless and don't know what else to say because a work is so freaking fabulous that words have been lost... BRAVO!!!

[Stu. T.H.]

This was an incredible poem and a masterful write, each word and verse, none are wasted. And most importantly, the poem successfully painted a canvas of the country life so pleasant and tender yet wildly lively, if only one is sensitive enough to hear what nature says.
I admire the hands of those who can pen down life itself onto the papers, just as this one.
Thank you for the amazing read, author C.T. Bailey.

[Yellow Snake]

You don't belong here.

I read some of your writings, and it feels like I'm sitting in a corner at the library, and my head is all a-swamped with good things.

I especially admire your ability to share your deep faith with such grace.

[HoorayForUnderdog]

Me thinketh you art talented, yeah verily !

ps...you rocketh!

[Tammy]

Excellent write.

[Nancy Lee Shrader]

Well done CT


I loved the ending


Storm nor wind cannot assail, they press hard but still I am.
Ah, but now the moments of thy calling resound to my ears!
I feel thy worth being laid heavy in the heat and still air;
Arched now not from wind or hail, alas! The bounty is near!



Come they, those that take, their vessel moored an acre away-
Done am I, from age to age, my worth in a basket lay!
Anguish says I, kissing the dew, breeze, and sun goodbye-
Bent and broken, the abyss has won, my soul returns.




Great job!

[Lena M. P.]

Wonderful similes of birth to death, from one basket to the last one. This was heart felt and passionate. The struggle to be born and the anguish to grow old. Very well written.

[Gandré]

Oh this is amazingly beautiful. I adored it. it is wonderful... you are a storyteller within a poem.. your words are classical, suprising, harmonizing, kept me in awe, engaged my imagination in unconventional way. Great poet you are! It was like a feeling like reading American classic masters.

[Jason Henry]

soo picturesque...so very vivid, and intelligent to boot! this poem has all the elements of a classic...such a sad ending though, but it makes it all the more real...an excellent write!

[Emily Rose]

The imagery in this is very clear and wonderful - hurrah for nature poetry! I really like the metaphors in this - it's really intriguing and well done; a story told in imagery. Great concept!

Unfortunately I happen to be one of the Cafe's most infamous punctuation enthusiasts so I do have a comment to make about that: I think you could do without a lot of the punctuation in this poem. Some of the semicolons, for example, are unnecessary and a little repetitive. Commas would work just as well, since most of the time you're not seperating complete sentences, but rather just little thoughts. You could really free the poem up by releasing it from such strict punctuation - right now the words seem choked by the markings. Try mixing it up with some dashes, colons and ellipses!

I have some minor grammatical things to point out as well: the apostrophe in "'tis" goes before the "t" not after the "s" since it's an abbrevation for "it is" and the apostorphe stands in place of the missing "i" in "it." The apostorphe in "ere" is misplaced too: to abbreviate the word ever it's written like this: "e'er" - the apostorphe stands in for the missing "v." ("ere" (without any apostrophe at all) is also a word - it's an old, outdated preposition meaning "early" or "soon.") "Hast" shouldn't have any apostorphe at all. I'm not quite sure why that is - my guess is because there are no missing letters since it doesn't mean "has it," but rather it's an archaic tense of "to have." Either way I'm not sure the word fits your purposes right there.

I hope you don't think that my nitpicking means I didn't like it - I did! The words are well chosen and the poem itself is very well-wrought. Well done!

[Promiss]

an awesome picture of simpler times. It reminds me of my growing up yerars when we homesteaded the wilderness area of Skwintna Alaska. Beautiful.