Thirst

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'performance'  - maybe, 'poetry' - not.  Audio inspired by the Eurovision Song Contest and a few pints, with music by 3-fingered George.

 

Thirst


I'm sitting on a tractor seat
loading bales of straw,
with spool-valves at my fingertips,
dusty eyes rubbed raw.

There's seven hundred more to cart
but thunder's in the air;
and many hours work ahead
before the field is bare.

Broken blisters on both hands
from stacking up the straw
and before this day is over
I'll have plenty more.

Trailers loaded eight layings high
lined along the field.
A harvest moon is shining
coldly 'cross the Weald.

I'm passing by the village pub;
engine stop's pulled out.
The creamy froth has touched my lips
another day is nowt.

◄ Dementia

Oh What a Joy! ►

Comments

tony sheridan

Wed 5th Dec 2012 11:24

Like the poem. Love the audio! Nice one! Take care, Tony.

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Harry O'Neill

Sun 27th May 2012 23:11


Nick,
I once, while in the army, helped with a stooked harvest...Bimey, those straw-stalks stab...and the dust?

(mind I could have you in tears about some of the labouring jobs in factories)

Like the rhymes.

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Yvonne Brunton

Sun 27th May 2012 22:20

eat your heart out you Russian grannys!

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