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!!!

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This truly displays magnificent talent ... and discipline! It was well done from beginning to end. I enjoyed it.

[Angelic Darkness]

Nothing wrong with being a country boy:). You describe every
little detail, and capture it all in words, colors, images. To me this
poem represents a boy, then as time goes on, a man. This is a great
write. You put so much passion in your poems, and I can tell that when
you write you are truly happy and at one with yourself:). Thank you
for your review of Charlie. Sleep with a gun eh.....Hmmm...sounds like
a story there LOL!!! Oh, and I'm going over for the cookout LOL!!! AD

[Legion]

Ah, an old school poet for sure. Beautifully written. Anchored in true poetic fashion. Lifts the reader out of the mundane and into the magnificient. Well done. Bravo!

[Rick Puetter]

Todd,

A simple country boy? Hardly! This is a very fine piece. You're in your "classic style" (sometimes I've said "epic style"), again, and here you do so well. The mood of the piece is especially nice. You have the reader float along with you from birth to death. There is a serene detachment in the poem. Yet the wonder of the "play that is life" is still there. There is still some work to do. The first, summary stanza, in particular, can be tightened. This is not surprising since this is probably the most difficult stanza in the poem and must set the tone and the philosophical overview. The imagery in the poem is wonderful. In particular I liked "Done am I, from age to age, my worth in a basket lay". This is the "epic" spirit in you that takes control when you start to write a poem of this type. It's a detached, larger-than-life view of the world, a stepping out of yourself. This feeling runs throughout the poem, giving it a cosmic perspective.

Highest marks again!

Rick

[Sarah McKeever Hitt]

You are not only a country boy at heart, you are also keenly able to send shivers down my spine and arms with the beautiful way you see the world. I think this was superb.

[Emily Elizabeth]

I've never really been out of the city, but after reading this, I don't need to! A beautiful homage to your love of the countryside. Very much like Wordwsorth in style, or the rest of the old masters, written in a very neoclassical style that makes it so much more delicate. Your eloquence is astounding, and you are a deeply intelligent person which never fails to come up in your work! You literally took the reader to the countryside in this piece. It's especially relevant due to the destruction of natural provinces in today's world. A lovely piece. I wish I could say more on it than my usual worshiping reviews!