The Tangled Branch Discussion Forums

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I cannot see what the mad painter
saw in those faraway wheat fields

It’s just stubble here as the sheaves
fall to waves of crumbling summer

And, the sheep have lambed. Crows
on barbed wire await their road kill

The tar ribbon unwinds as the sun
flattens the hills in folds of afternoon

A slice of sea in West Coast blue,
surf white houses far up ahead

I travel this road a lot. Once, I walked
all the way home from some other place.


 

It’s just stubble here as the sheaves
fall to waves of crumbling summer.

And, the sheep have lambed. Crows
on barbed wire await their road kill.

The tar ribbon unwinds as the sun
flattens the hills in folds of afternoon.

A slice of sea in West Coast blue,
surf white houses far up ahead.

I travel this road a lot.

Enjoyed that Mark. Natural. You want to make your point so I understand the preamble and constructed conclusion.

cheers

Phil

Great to see you here again Mark,

The imagery in this is so wonderful it takes a couple of reads to realize how smoothly it flows. The only thing I might question is the opening line "I cannot see a face" Perhaps something about not seeing what the mad painter saw since the intent seems to be to contrast the painter's fields to what the N sees. His intention wasn't to suggest a face, thats that Bev Doolittle stuff

https://www.moillusions.com/13-hidden-faces-illusion/

Thanks for comments, Phil, Linda and AT.
Linda, I did have the first S without 'a face' but then added it for a bit of internal rhyme but I agree with you. Will change back. 
Phil, I like your abridgement.
AT, the last sentence... I actually wrote this as a vehicle for the time I did walk the whole distance between the towns, in a pair of old flip-flops yet, not saying why but it took me about 4 hours... the rest of the poem came out better. 

Hi Mark
Nice to have you back. I remember this from before and liked it then and like it now. I would cut the whole first stanza. The rest is Beautiful.
Dave
 

I don't agree, if I understand you right. That first bit that becomes redundant serves as the gateway to the field of the poem, so it is vital in that sense. The trick though is to recognize that redundancy, all too often we cling to the opening. 

Hi Dave, thanks, trust all is well with you.  

Opening adjusted.

Hi Mark
I am very well thanks and struggling to get pen to paper since I am busy with life in general and don't really have much faith in my writing these days but not suffering in any way because of that. And you?
Dave
 

I feel good too, also too busy to write much in creative vein. I feel recovered from my loss of five years ago, just changed, a bit wiser maybe. I've been fortunate to start a new and interesting life here.

 

Interesting poem. There is a laconic wistfulness under the lost sea of wheat. From wherever, it is gratifying to hear the Speaker has made it home.

T