Sunday, March 18, 2012

Broken Fix

Broken Fix


A diddler and a dabbler
a putzer and a fiddler
finder and discarder
a fixer of sorts

but he's learned never
to love anything so much
he’d have to care
if it stays broken.

He can spend his money
for seeds the weeds overtake.
He can hitch up the come-along and crank
till the sagging fence sits up straight for awhile.

He can read the fine print
as long as he has his glasses,
but  can’t see today, see her sweating
on the tractor under the griddle sun

hawkcircling where love cuts like a razor
blade from stem, crop from soil
days from years
one from the other.

He doesn’t remember much
from when they met years ago,
when she smiled and said, one woman’s trial
is another woman’s treasure,

how she told him 
if he took all the hippie out
there’d be nothing left.
Now she stands with arms folded

propped on the fence post, watching
the old blow in to stay, knowing
hers is the first name
he’ll forget.



 March 2012
Posted for    real toads
Sunday Photo Challenge: Shanyn Silinski






Both photos  © Shanyn Silinski via Imaginary Garden with Real Toads
Shanyn blogs at Sunflower Poetry
Used with permission


Optional Musical Accompaniment
Speaking of the old blowing in, Shotgun Willie sings some Dave Mathews and shows he still can make the hairs on your arms stand up with that voice



30 comments:

  1. This poem goes beyond mere story-telling. It is rooted beneath the soil of all that is grand and sad about real life. And for that, cowgirls are allowed to get the blues and Willie Nelson can sing the pain.

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    1. I did have the hairs standing up on my arms too:

      Gravedigger, when you dig my grave
      Can you make it shallow
      So I can feel the rain

      Now that's poetry.

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    2. Thanks Kerry--glad you dug it. I like Willie's version better than Dave Mathews as it's less dramatic but much more down home sinister. And the wide open prairie can be as dark a place as any cave or moor, as are all haunts of the human soul.

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  2. This has such a nice cadence and beautiful language--all the oxymorons, of course, but the loping hippity colloquial hop of the rhythm too. (I like that especially.) The first three stanzas such a lovely characterization of someone, and the old blowing in to stay, and the folded arm hippie. Just lovely.

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  3. I enjoyed this very much, Joy. It's wry and ironic, and full of truth, as in the line "... one woman's trial / is another woman's treasure" (which, of course, can be interpreted in more than one way).

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  4. I like this poem a lot, but this time it isd the extra flourishes that I liked the most. That second picture was unexpected and jumped right out at me as the perfect end note for this piece. And then the song...tell me again why Willie and Emmylou and their ilk can't get airplay anymore? Oh yeah, it's so cookie cutter pop country fluff can have more.

    Anyway, I can just see these two. Each needing something, but each crucially different in what they are willing to really give. Your pen is hot lately, Ms. Witch. I like.

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    1. I was in a store friday where they were playing the current thing they call country on the muzak, and I honestly couldn't tell one singer from the next, or one song--one long blah blah blah cliche, musically and lyrically. Glad you liked my prairie gothic offering--thanks dear.

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    2. nice...really fine story telling and characterization in this joy...rough road...i rather like a bit of hippie...so close yet so far apart they seem....

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  5. Fantastic story. Really hits home in its truth. I think I know a couple just like this. Life has a way of making the very things you were drawn to about someone become the very things that end up hurting you.

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  6. This is a pain-filled piece.

    "but he's learned never
    to love anything so much
    he’d have to care
    if it stays broken"

    "if he took all the hippie out
    there’d be nothing left"

    "knowing
    hers is the first name
    he’ll forget"

    All powerful, heavy lines. Incredible work.

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  7. I LOVE this poem: "hawkcircling where love cuts like a razor", and the if you took all the hippie out comment, and her leaning on the fence watching, knowing her name is the first he'll forget. Wow, kiddo, this is fantastic writing! You dug deep, and when I read it, I do, as well.

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  8. This makes me feel all hollow inside, and I want to cry. I am afraid to listen to Willie's voice because then I might cry, and not stop.
    Some things can still do that to me, and this is one of them. It is not a criticism, it is a compliment, albeit perhaps a wet one.
    K

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    1. It's a very fine compliment, Kay, and I apologize for making you feel that way, but thank you, also, very much.

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  9. If you only knew how close to home this poetry is, it chills me and warms me, makes me want to turn away from the rawness and yet it is me so I can only embrace it. So much from two photos...you are amazing!

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    1. Thanks, Shanyn, and thanks for sharing your work so generously with us all.

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  10. "He can hitch up the come-along and crank
    till the sagging fence sits up straight for awhile."

    Thank you for "come-along." I haven't heard that in a while, and it was like going home.

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    1. Any time. There's no place like home, I've heard it said. Thanks MZ.

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  11. With complete respect and appreciation, I would say we are total opposites in verse, and whilst I would never write in a style like yours (because it would sound wrong from me, even if I could manage it!), there is ALWAYS something in what you write that draws most powerfully at my heart. I wish I *could* write like this! The cruel irony and pain in this is evoked with incredible skill and subtlety. Love it!

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  12. as always, Joy, you pull your words from the universe and line them up in such a magical way as only you can do! i love this and came away with longing and sadness, but these words nearly broke my heart ~

    "but he's learned never
    to love anything so much
    he’d have to care
    if it stays broken."

    i tried to be that way for years but have finally decided that i'd rather hurt than not care. stunning writing, young lady!!!

    and i LOVE Willie Nelson!

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    1. Thanks, dani. I am on your side of that choice as well, but not everyone can do it. Glad you enjoyed the Willie--he's still the bomb as far as I'm concerned.

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  13. I saw two "old" hippies at the grocery store Friday, unusual around here. I bet they aren't much older than me, which is why your poem makes me wanna cry. We all fall, it's true, but yeah, 103 sounds so far away when you're young and immortal. Wonderful, vivid images of these two, and the sadness of losing what we've had.

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  14. Guys. God love 'em, hopeless as they are. Survival in this world doesn't demand the same skills as doing what it takes to ensure that love survives. Sometimes I think any relationship is a survival of the give and take no matter how much gets whittled down. Sucks though. I don't think you could carve this any cleaner, or would want to -- though maybe this is after all the salt. A hardtack prairie song, where people's insides are almost more weather-beaten than the land. - B

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    1. Life has a way of tanning the leather, doesn't it? Still, that's the first thing you have to do to make something out of it--whether you make a saddle or a whip is the only choice. Thanks for reading, B.

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  15. Grave digger, can you make it shallow so I can feel the rain...

    He rode his bike like the devil...

    Oh, Willie's lyrics are better than his voice - but it is a perfect voice for his songs.

    and your line:

    He can hitch up the come-along and crank
    till the sagging fence sits up straight

    The last three stanzas are story telling magic! Loved this.

    Like I say, your poetry must be read aloud! Ever think of recording them?

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    1. I have tried, but my computer can;t do it--still have to experiment with the new one I haven't learned how to use(Win7) and see how that goes. One of these days. Thanks for the request, Margaret,and glad you enjoyed the Willie.

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  16. realistically sad... so much depth to this piece

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  17. That last stanza had me sighing and feeling sooooo sad, hedgewitch.

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  18. a wise woman of the earth sees the reality of her world. so well told, matter of fact, flowing, and full of wisdom. thanks for the song. never heard it before. awesome.

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  19. A wonderful synthesis of the two pictures.

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'Poetry is an echo asking a shadow to dance' ~Carl Sandburg