Drought Options

[JaxMyth]

..


I

We sink the corner posts first, as each defines a neighbour.
It is here where the bottom six inches are the most important.
It is here where the strength is muscled into the fence.

The heart of a fence lies in its foot.
I tamp until the bar sings of possession,
the bar bounces and writhes.

We snug the stays and tighten the wire,
each barbed note is tensioned into voice
the division sings a warning.


II

The fence cannot hold back the drought.
The sky aches blue and the sun eats green;
the earth coughs dust as rich as blood.

My bones hunker down beside the rock.
Eagles hang; wings wound into the wire,
heads nailed down by the sun.

Ribs rack a heaving fleece.
I watch my image fade
from the eye of a lamb.

[Guest_Kathy_*]

Vivid gutsy work, Jax. As usual.

For me, the first stanza describes the mechanics of putting up a fence. The corner posts define the placement of the posts between; their neighbours. There is vast space between the inhabitants of this place.
I feel the rhythm of the effort, brute muscle pouring strength through the fence, driving it into the land.

I

We sink the corner posts first, as each defines a neighbour.
It is here where the bottom six inches are the most important.
It is here where the strength is muscled into the fence.

Ah, the song of the wires. Love the detail. There is such connection here, those taut wires almost like a living thing, and there must be pride too, in achieving this tightness, for without it the fence will not sustain heat and crumbled earth; each string supports the next.

the division sings a warning. I'd love to hear that.

The heart of a fence lies in its foot.
I tamp until the bar sings of possession,
the bar bounces and writhes.

We snug the stays and tighten the wire,
each barbed note is tensioned into voice
the division sings a warning.


II

The fence cannot hold back the drought.
The sky aches blue and the sun eats green;
the earth coughs dust as rich as blood.

Here is the crux of the poem. Very well put.


My bones hunker down beside the rock.
Eagles hang; wings wound into the wire,
heads nailed down by the sun.


I'm wondering if the eagles are part of the fence, the tighteners perhaps, with metal wings that pull at the wire?

Ribs rack a heaving fleece.
I watch my image fade
from the eye of a lamb.

Oh lor. What a thing to see. I can only imagine, but you have brought it close; you must see a lot of this. It must break inside a farmer to watch livestock die. The image fading in the lamb's eye is poignant.

I can't crit at this stage Jax. Think I'll sit here in the shade for a while. Whew..

[JaxMyth]

Vivid gutsy work, Jax. As usual.

For me, the first stanza describes the mechanics of putting up a fence. The corner posts define the placement of the posts between; their neighbours. There is vast space between the inhabitants of this place.
I feel the rhythm of the effort, brute muscle pouring strength through the fence, driving it into the land.

I

We sink the corner posts first, as each defines a neighbour.
It is here where the bottom six inches are the most important.
It is here where the strength is muscled into the fence.

Ah, the song of the wires. Love the detail. There is such connection here, those taut wires almost like a living thing, and there must be pride too, in achieving this tightness, for without it the fence will not sustain heat and crumbled earth; each string supports the next.

the division sings a warning. I'd love to hear that.

The heart of a fence lies in its foot.
I tamp until the bar sings of possession,
the bar bounces and writhes.

We snug the stays and tighten the wire,
each barbed note is tensioned into voice
the division sings a warning.


II

The fence cannot hold back the drought.
The sky aches blue and the sun eats green;
the earth coughs dust as rich as blood.

Here is the crux of the poem. Very well put.


My bones hunker down beside the rock.
Eagles hang; wings wound into the wire,
heads nailed down by the sun.


I'm wondering if the eagles are part of the fence, the tighteners perhaps, with metal wings that pull at the wire?

Ribs rack a heaving fleece.
I watch my image fade
from the eye of a lamb.

Oh lor. What a thing to see. I can only imagine, but you have brought it close; you must see a lot of this. It must break inside a farmer to watch livestock die. The image fading in the lamb's eye is poignant.

I can't crit at this stage Jax. Think I'll sit here in the shade for a while. Whew..

What a delight Kathy to have you here. I am only new myself.

Thank you and regards,

Jax