Join the Neopoet online poetry workshop and community to improve as a writer, meet fellow poets, and showcase your work. Sign up, submit your poetry, and get started.

Fair Child

She skips through alfalfa fields,
blue flowers match her eyes,
unreal skies
mirror plantations,
luxuriant rows of apple trees.
Summer coils red fingers
around ripening fruits.
In this Eden, carved out of sand and solitude
an unannounced resurrection,
only a child has time to linger.

Let the fair child be no nearer
to broken jaws,
lakes and rivers darkened red,
trophy ears,
pebbled shores blistered raw,
limbs severed,
of a people free whose tribes had roamed
signalling from tablelands to llanos.

Carers anointed by their gods,
fierce warriors for Sacred Earth,
where Nature’s poetry was spawned
from Stars and Sky,
Fiery Sun and White Moon that adorned
mandalas on concave kultrüns.

Let the fair child hum her Saxon rhymes,
threading posies with wild flowers.

Review Request (Intensity): 
I appreciate moderate constructive criticism
Review Request (Direction): 
What did you think of the rhythm or pattern or pacing?
How does this theme appeal to you?
Is the internal logic consistent?
Last few words: 
The fair child is how I imagined myself when I lived on a farm in Northern Patagonia, Argentina. Our parents and friends told us about the so called "Indians" and how badly they were treated. My mindset now, comes from those lessons I learned. Also from the rural school, where my friends were all mestizos or pure blooded indigenous kids.
Editing stage: 
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content

Comments

Hi, Gracy,
What beautiful, colorful imagery. I can see the rivers, the sky, the landscape. I can hear the drums. How carefree you seemed to be as a child and what a sad feeling I get from the description of the rivers and the people - broken jaws and severed limbs. The carefree feeling comes back somberly as I visualize the threading of posies with wildflowers. "Only a child has time to linger."
Thank you,
L

another one of your always delightful childhood recollections. This one is so interesting as your description of land and people is always so believable. Makes me think of my own childhood, although in a different environment. A wonderful write, Gracy; and now it's time to satisfy my growling tummy. Lunchtime!! Come over for a snack, okay? Lynda made fresh rabbit stew (not, lol).
Jerry

Dear Lavender, I'm glad my poem resonates with you. Yes, my parents allowed me plenty of freedom as a child, too much, I now think.
My memories are mostly happy, except for one or two incidents with a farmhand, but I was lucky to escape his grasp. In those days one said nothing to one's parents. I felt ashamed. There were no women's movements nearby, only farms where all the family worked, including the kids.
I'm thankful for my upbringing, my parents showed their love by doing jobs with me, both in the orchard, the garden, the harvesting and so on.
The indigenous women suffered worse torture. The Spanish conquerors cut off their breasts...and took their babies to be sold.
Long, sad story. Tx for commenting, I'm off to supper with my daughter. Gracy

*
*
*
"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

author comment

Unimaginably horrifying...

Yes, the conquerors were merciless. There's book written by a monk, Bartome de las Casas, who accompanied them and took note of everything. I read his book and it's frankly a nightmare. But of course the Spanish queen would not bother about that, she and her king only wanted booty and slaves.
Best, Gracy

*
*
*
"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

author comment

I fully agree with the comment of Lavendar above. A pleasure to read and feel the imagery.

be well.

raj (sublime_ocean)

Hi raj, thanks for visiting. Not much more to say. Everybody agrees here.
Be well, Gracy

*
*
*
"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

author comment

so few news media and the world a much different place; made for parents to be so less wary of the evils that waited for children. Nowadays, with the world drawn so close together and bad news so easily spread, parents are much more strict about where their children are and allowed to go. [At least they should be]. I remember as a child of seven being allowed to roam the cemetary on the hill behind our house for hours and my mother wouldn't be alarmed unless I didn't appear for lunch or dinner. You rarely heard about a missing or murdered, raped child unless it was some famous person's child in some far-off place. [That kind of stuff doesn't happen here]! All in all, a nice story about a child that had a very good childhood and learned about the indigenous peoples of her country. ~ Geez.
.

Come to chat every Thursday - 3:30 to 4:30 pm. EST.
With: c Lynn Brooks and Geezer

Hello Geez, yes, one was often allowed to roam free, but it wasn't as safe as my parents thought it was. I agree that nowadays there are more murders, especially of women, either by their own family or some "friend". And what about all the dark skinned people being murdered, especially by the police? I think the world was never a safe place and probably never will be.
I'm glad you visited and commented on my poem. I was fortunate. And more important, I was no fool when a child!
All the best, Gracy

*
*
*
"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

author comment

lovely inspiring poem
I composed one
to honor your poetic wisdom
Ma'am

Hi lovedly, thank you for your kind comment. I shall look for your own poem, I believe I haven't spotted it yet, all the best, Gracy

*
*
*
"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

author comment

i see the darkness in the second stanza, after having read the first, your imagery is haunting
i feel that children no matter where or who they belong, they diserve to have a happy fulfilled childhood, however as your poem points out its not all roses and harps. powerful and beautifully written, you have a great talent for waking up your reader.

Thank you...Teddy

Hello Teddy, thanks for visiting. I was fortunate not to witness the cruelties of the Spanish conquerors, I only listened to the horrible tales from older people. Bartolome de las Casas, a monk who travelled on those first journeys, wrote down the atrocities in a book. I could hardly read it, it's blood curdling. But those same things happened in Australia, New Zealand and just about everywhere. And still does. Humankind is innately cruel, collectively.
I suppose it's haunting, thanks for your encouraging words, best, Gracy

*
*
*
"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

author comment
(c) Neopoet.com. No copyright is claimed by Neopoet to original member content.