Fields don’t forget

Fields, once touched by the hand of man, don’t forget.

They do not forget the movement of soil and seed.

They learn to thirst for blood, sweat and tears too.

Fields, once touched by the hand of man, don’t forget.

 

Fields, once cleared by the hand of man, don’t forget.

They do not forget the ripping and ploughing tears.

They learn to grow the rows but won’t tame weeds.

Fields, once cleared by the hand of man, don’t forget.

 

Fields, once fought over by the wars of man, don’t forget.

They do not forget the wounds and the wounded.

They learn to thirst for fire and blood and the roar.

Fields, once fought over by the wars of man, don’t forget.

 

Fields, once left fallow by the neglect of man, don’t forget.

They do not forget the touch that took the wildness.

They learn to live in a feral state of seasons, unbalanced.

Fields, once left fallow by the neglect of man, don’t forget.

 

Fields, once battlefields for the wars of man, don’t forget.

They do not forget to grow and some seeds bloom there.

They learn to green that which is burnt, to grow again.

Fields, once battlefields for the wars of men, don’t forget.

 

Fields, once mourning grounds for the fallen of war, don’t forget.

They do not forget the tears, the cries, the blood and smoke.

They learn to absorb what they cannot reject, blooms in ruins.

Fields, once mourning grounds for the fallen of war, don’t forget.

 

Fields for farming and of war. once freedom is won, don’t forget.

They do not forget the seasons of peace and war, of life. Of death.

They learn to go dormant and to rouse for growth again. Again.

Fields, for farming and for war once freedom is won, don’t forget.

 

Fields, touched by the machines of man, don’t forget.

They do not forget tractor or tank, plough or horse.

They learn to yield their soil to the cropping, to growth.

Fields, touched by the machines of man, don’t forget.

 

It is Remembrance Day on November 11.  Red poppies remind us of McCrae’s poem and the hardy blooms which sprung up in the blood soaked fields of Flanders, and others.  Fields of war, and the fields of farming which were tended by those who stayed home. They fought their battles on the home front too. Growing food, building, repairing and keeping community spirits strong in times of war.  My grandfather was a farmer, and was told to stay home and farm. He did. He also had a band which played for soldiers, and changed their name every week so it would seem like a new band playing!  Lester and the Playboys cheered many a heart with their music, and filled many a belly with their crops.  In our house we honour the soldiers who fought for us, and those who stayed home to keep things going here as well.  God bless them!  Join us for Open Link Night tonight for dVerse Poets.

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23 Comments

  1. November 5, 2013 at 8:44 pm

    A marvelous write… the fields do not forget. Very well-penned. 🙂

  2. claudia said,

    November 5, 2013 at 9:04 pm

    that brought the verse that we reap what we sow to my mind… the close connection to what we do and what happens… my uncle was a farmer as well…my grandpa also…

    • shanyns said,

      November 5, 2013 at 9:13 pm

      I love that across so many miles (kms) we can connect over something like family members who farmed – so glad you liked it Claudia, and yes we do reap what we sow! And if we don’t sow we’ll reap weeds and fallow ground.

  3. brian miller said,

    November 5, 2013 at 9:13 pm

    mmm much to think on the fields…first i started thinking of gettysburg, which i walked quite often when we lived up there…there are def things we can learn of nature…in finding life again after the battles and the burning…

    • shanyns said,

      November 5, 2013 at 9:16 pm

      It is so true – no matter how old the field of battle or farming, the signs are there for us to discover. And it is so scary to think of so much carnage isn’t it? Thanks for your thoughts Brian!

  4. markwindham said,

    November 5, 2013 at 9:28 pm

    nicely done, a great tie in to the fields of war and those at home

    • shanyns said,

      November 6, 2013 at 10:47 pm

      Thank you Mark. Great to see you! Thanks for coming by.

  5. lynndiane said,

    November 5, 2013 at 9:38 pm

    I like this perspective of the fields (which were here before us and will continue on after we pass). Peace allows a productive use of the land.

  6. November 5, 2013 at 9:48 pm

    What a wonderful perspective… both the plows and the battles… connectecting back to flanders fields.. very heartfelt and true. The memory is there.. really the fields thirst for blood touched me most.

  7. grapeling said,

    November 5, 2013 at 10:18 pm

    really well crafted, Shan ~

  8. Morgan said,

    November 6, 2013 at 12:08 am

    Marvelously expressed and so beautifully written

  9. November 6, 2013 at 10:05 pm

    This is so beautiful.

  10. November 6, 2013 at 10:09 pm

    Your love of the land just oozes into your poetry, Shanyns, no matter what the subject. Most every time I read you I remember my time in the Midwest and the beauty of the fields. And you’ve incorporated one of my favorite classic poems, one of the first ones I had to memorize as a child.

  11. November 6, 2013 at 11:00 pm

    I love the fact that the fields can’t forget. They always seem to me to be alive but sleeping at this time of year. thanks for posting!

    • shanyns said,

      November 7, 2013 at 12:01 am

      Thank you for coming by, and leaving your thoughts. Much appreciated.

  12. Pamela said,

    November 8, 2013 at 12:20 am

    Shanyns, this is a well-crafted poem and the third stanza paralleled my feelings of walking across the battlefield of “The Last Stand of Cowpens”, which was the place of the last fight of the American Revolutionary War in Cowpens, South Carolina. You took me back there with this poem. Eerie.

    Pamela


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