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Post by Jonathan Morey Weiss-Namaste47 on Sept 9, 2009 21:45:38 GMT -5
2nd Edit
It is September as we pass through
these South Jersey farmlands.
Empty corn stalks line the fields
like regiments at attention;
their golden captives gone.
Soon they will be plowed under
to enrich the earth for next year's harvest,
becoming an inextricable part of
the cycle that mirrors our existence.
Their shift in form is of small consequence,
these green spectres intertwined with
something greater; a fertile image which
serves as food for thought.
Always present, yet differing in substance,
an undiluted essence remains... and those
left to bear internal change assume their place
in the changing of the guard.
1st Edit
It is September as we pass through
these South Jersey farmlands.
Empty corn stalks line the fields
like regiments at attention;
their golden captives gone.
Soon they will be plowed under
to enrich the earth for next year's harvest,
becoming an inextricable part of
the cycle that mirrors our own existence.
Their shift in form is of small consequence-
that these green spectres are intertwined
with something greater, gives us fodder
for fertile thoughts.
Always present, though different in substance,
their essence is never diluted; immutable yet
seemingly changing...like the soldiers guarding
the tomb in Arlington.
Original
It is September as we pass through
these South Jersey farmlands.
Empty corn stalks line the fields
like regiments at attention;
their golden captives gone.
The stalks are now shadows
of the once-held sustenance
granted table dwellers
and barnyard wanderers.
Soon they will be plowed under
to enrich the earth for next year's harvest,
becoming an inextricable part of
the cycle that mirrors our own existence.
Their shift in form is of small consequence-
that these green spectres are intertwined
with something greater, gives us fodder
for fertile thoughts.
Always present, though different in substance,
their essence is never diluted; immutable yet
seemingly changing...like the soldiers guarding
the tomb in Arlington.
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Post by wavemaker9 (Rick D.) on Sept 9, 2009 23:14:53 GMT -5
In Fields Where We Lay
There's a green hill far away
In a land I know so well
And the sun it shone so bright
In the fields where once we did lay.
Thank you Chayne.
Thank you Jon.
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Post by mfwilkie on Sept 11, 2009 4:33:50 GMT -5
Sorry to hear of Chayne's passing, Jon.
Reading the poem, I was wondering if you might not join the third stanza to the first
and I think you can safely edit out the second.
And maybe: Any shift in form that will change this view is of little consequence
You're not far from it, friend. Just get a little closer in.
Mags
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Post by Jonathan Morey Weiss-Namaste47 on Sept 11, 2009 9:44:15 GMT -5
1st Edit
It is September as we pass through
these South Jersey farmlands.
Empty corn stalks line the fields
like regiments at attention;
their golden captives gone.
Soon they will be plowed under
to enrich the earth for next year's harvest,
becoming an inextricable part of
the cycle that mirrors our own existence.
Their shift in form is of small consequence-
that these green spectres are intertwined
with something greater, gives us fodder
for fertile thoughts.
Always present, though different in substance,
their essence is never diluted; immutable yet
seemingly changing...like the soldiers guarding
the tomb in Arlington.
Original
It is September as we pass through
these South Jersey farmlands.
Empty corn stalks line the fields
like regiments at attention;
their golden captives gone.
The stalks are now shadows
of the once-held sustenance
granted table dwellers
and barnyard wanderers.
Soon they will be plowed under
to enrich the earth for next year's harvest,
becoming an inextricable part of
the cycle that mirrors our own existence.
Their shift in form is of small consequence-
that these green spectres are intertwined
with something greater, gives us fodder
for fertile thoughts.
Always present, though different in substance,
their essence is never diluted; immutable yet
seemingly changing...like the soldiers guarding
the tomb in Arlington.
Thanks, Maggie......the last stanza needs work also..........
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Post by mfwilkie on Sept 12, 2009 9:09:48 GMT -5
Jon,
How about
Their shift in form is of small consequence-
these green spectres are intertwined
with something greater, an image
which feeds our fertile thoughts.
I would call it what it is here, Jon.
I don't know if this revision of the last stanza works for you, Jon, but I put myself in Chayne's parents' place and wrote the following. If it works for you, please feel free to use any or all of it. It's the least I can do for you for them.
Always present, though different in substance,
(his/an) undiluted essence will remain, and the living,
left to withstand severe, internal change,
take their place in the changing of the guard.
Your use of changing of the guard is what influenced my suggested revision.
My Nick heads back for his fourth tour in hostile country in a few months.
This time it's Afghanistan. Sleep is all I hope to lose.
Mags
Maggie
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Post by Jonathan Morey Weiss-Namaste47 on Sept 12, 2009 15:47:20 GMT -5
Thanks for coming back, Maggie. I really, really like what you have done with the last stanza..............I may use it verbatim, or with slight alteration......It says succinctly what I tried to get across..........Prayers are with Nick, dear one.
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Post by Jonathan Morey Weiss-Namaste47 on Sept 25, 2009 21:05:23 GMT -5
2nd Edit
It is September as we pass through
these South Jersey famlands.
Empty corn stalks line the fields
like regiments at attention;
their golden captives gone.
Soon they will be plowed under
to enrich the earth for next year's harvest,
becoming an inextricable part of
the cycle that mirrors our existence.
Their shift in form is of small consequence,
these green spectres intertwined with
something greater; a fertile image which
serves as food for thought.
Always present, yet differing in substance,
an undiluted essence remains... and those
left to bear internal change assume their place
in the changing of the guard.
1st Edit
It is September as we pass through
these South Jersey farmlands.
Empty corn stalks line the fields
like regiments at attention;
their golden captives gone.
Soon they will be plowed under
to enrich the earth for next year's harvest,
becoming an inextricable part of
the cycle that mirrors our own existence.
Their shift in form is of small consequence-
that these green spectres are intertwined
with something greater, gives us fodder
for fertile thoughts.
Always present, though different in substance,
their essence is never diluted; immutable yet
seemingly changing...like the soldiers guarding
the tomb in Arlington.
Original
It is September as we pass through
these South Jersey farmlands.
Empty corn stalks line the fields
like regiments at attention;
their golden captives gone.
The stalks are now shadows
of the once-held sustenance
granted table dwellers
and barnyard wanderers.
Soon they will be plowed under
to enrich the earth for next year's harvest,
becoming an inextricable part of
the cycle that mirrors our own existence.
Their shift in form is of small consequence-
that these green spectres are intertwined
with something greater, gives us fodder
for fertile thoughts.
Always present, though different in substance,
their essence is never diluted; immutable yet
seemingly changing...like the soldiers guarding
the tomb in Arlington.
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Post by Jarlsbane - Michael Ray Cotner on Sept 27, 2009 8:34:39 GMT -5
Jon-- My deepest sympathies on your loss.
I have read all three versions through three times and I think the last edit is the best. This poem is very good and it imparts the sense of loss yet your imagery of corn fields brings with it the sense of renewal and rejuvination... just what those left behind need to find. You do honor to Chayne with this poem. All my best. -Jarls
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Post by Tina (Firefly) on Sept 27, 2009 21:32:33 GMT -5
Jon, this is what poetry does best, I think...tells a story from a point of view that can dig even deeper below the obvious, and speak to the heart of the reader in whatever way fits. You have written in honor and memory here, and the spirit hears the story of valor and pain. Thanks..and please accept my condolences. Love, T
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Post by mfwilkie on Sept 28, 2009 12:36:46 GMT -5
I really like the changes you made, Jon.
Excellent piece, though I wish it weren't so.
Mags
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Post by Jonathan Morey Weiss-Namaste47 on Sept 28, 2009 15:39:08 GMT -5
Thanks all for your comments and suggestions. I was in contact with Chayne's mom today (She lives in Australia) and she told me that she may read this poem at the celebration of Chayne's life next week.
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Post by Jo Lynn Ehnes on Sept 28, 2009 16:51:49 GMT -5
A beautiful piece, friend. I'm sorry for the loss. You did a great job with the revision.
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Post by ramadevi on Oct 8, 2009 9:53:09 GMT -5
Condolences and big hugs to you dear friend. I am sorry I arrive late to this superb poem. I am pleased to hear Chayne's mom will read it.
How healing it will be to hear it in that context.
Favorite part is the closing
Always present, yet differing in substance,
an undiluted essence remains... and those
left to bear internal change assume their place
in the changing of the guard.
I think your final revision id best.
Polished.
NAMASTE,
rama devi
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