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PLOW POINT'S TALE

I went where I might escape the clock
no plan where or how long I might go,
looked on the path and saw a rock
kicked it and almost broke my toe.

What the [email protected] and what the F%^k !
I yelled as I hopped around
just out of sight of my old truck
then glared at that "rock" still in the ground.

This time I used a careful nudge
then realized the rock was rusty steel.
Leave it to me to once more misjudge.
I reached down and gave it a light feel.

It yielded a bit with a wiggle.
With a tug it came up just a bit.
then gave some more with s slight jiggle
until the ground surrendered it.

Still caked in dirt, I wiped away
and revealed its final shape.
I was surprised on this cold day
to find such a thing in this landscape.

For all about soared ancient trees
a mix of oaks, hickory and pines
some likely had seen centuries.
Of terraces there were no signs.

Yet I held a plow point in my hand
so at one time this land was plowed
then reverted back to this woodland
where plows and such are not allowed.

I limped over to an old tree stump
then rubbed my toe the point has bruised.
I sat and listened to my old heart thump
thinking how this land had once been used.

In my mind these huge trees shrank
and a mixed thicket took its place.
Then weeds blew as the late sun sank
then a picked cotton field with remnant lace.

At last I saw a strong young man
plowing behind a large strong mule
just before "that war" began
and slaves were just a rich man's tools.

An acorn broke my trip to that time passed
as the autumn wind began to blow.
Like a wisp of smoke that time blew past
and the time approached for me to go.

So I stood with legs grown stiff
still thinking of this plow point's tome
and wondered about whether or if
that young man had made His way back home.

Style / type: 
Structured: Western
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Last few words: 
I know this is pretty rough
Editing stage: 

Comments

The read should flow, metrically. If we are going to use old poetic forms, we should adhere as much to rhythm as to rhyme. The distractions in meter are many, but take for example

An acorn broke my trip to that time passed
as the cool wind began to blow.
Like a wisp of smoke that time blew past
and the time came for me to go.

The accents are all over the place. Its jagged. Smooth it out.

An acorn broke my trip to that time passed
as the wind began to blow.
A wisp of smoke that time blew past;
It was time for me to go.

Eumolpus
I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing
than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance
ee cummings

Yeah me and meter. But I put in author notes that this was posted pretty rough. But I guess I have become spoiled in that I often post raw stuff and let ya'll point out flaws which I then get to work on lol. I appreciate your honesty and will be correcting this over time.....stan

author comment

like your stories, and have often commented on your predilection for the ragged meter, but have become accustomed to it and consequently hardly notice anymore. I suppose that does you a disservice and I shall be more vigilant in the future! Lol. Another good story, that just goes to show, how often we overlook things that aren't obvious. We tend to think of ourselves as the main characters in our stories and don't dig any deeper than necessary to see other's part in the history of the land and surroundings. I guess that Archeology makes you dig deeper into the meaning of life and what happened before us!. Nice stuff, get it in shape! Lol ~ Gee.
.

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I have actually already done one edit lol. You should have seen this one before. And yep most people including myself hardly ever think of those who have already walked this world before they did.....until they trip on some reminder......stan

author comment
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