Love! What a harvest

this peasant boy reaps

Each night he watches

your golden yield sleep.

Bounty and abundance

swells the field called a heart

Each hour he eats

the ripe fruits falling off your cart.

Love, if only

the frost that gathers

had other claim.

O! then us

swollen, shining tin gods

would never wain

and we could harvest

all and every day,

on a vast unending golden plain.

Category: Poems 3 comments »

3 Responses to “Harvest”

  1. George

    The Fall of Winter and Harvest. How it come that you can so subtly bind nature with love? It has such strength that the whole images come up to me. Beautiful… I wish I could write like this…

  2. David

    Thanks George. I guess at the end of the day, my voice is very elegiac — a voice that longs to reconcile nature and man in some form and laments that incomplete struggle.

    I think all good poetry is at bottom about the primal forces around us – what we call nature. About our estrangement from that also.

    I’m not too convinced by modernists, futurists, surrealists, deconstructivists or even in some way what we call imagists and their “voice”. It doesn’t go far enough and is a response and not the source.

    Like Auden, I try to sing about that spirit in all things. Hard to explain. I do like the Fall of Winter better — I always prefer a poem that has some concrete bearing. However Harvest has a better rhythm and flow…. Glad you like them, they are keepers me thinks….

  3. George

    Actually, I consider the Fall of Winter your best poem so far!

Back to top