Summer Corn


On many a summer evening, as the dry air began to cool, the children found me in the garden sitting on a picnic chair hidden between rows of corn stalks, munching on cobs of raw sweet corn.  That is as close to bliss as I’ve ever come.  One day I yielded to the impulse to lie on my back in the dirt between the corn rows, close my eyes, and just listen.  It took me years to put the experience into words, but I finally managed (hopefully) with “Summer Corn.”  As the poem seeks to share with an anonymous companion, so now I share with you.


Summer Corn

Lie with me between the rows of summer corn.
Don’t speak, yet.
to the raspy hum of bees gathering pollen from pregnant, golden tassels,
to the hoarse soft rubbing of coarse green leaves in the imperceptible breeze,
to the plinking rain of locust droppings upon the soft soil.
to the neighbor’s angus wieners bemoaning their separation,
to the pretty chukars heckling from the chicken coop,
to the blood pulsing in your ears, coursing through your brain.
Don’t speak, now.
Reach to touch my hand.
Listen to the world
from within the rows of summer corn.

8 thoughts on “Summer Corn

  1. Harv Russell

    What you have expressed in this poem is really what life is meant to be, such as ..”.taking time to smell the roses ”. To sink ourselves deeply into Mother Nature ..let ourselves go to where our spirit really wants us to be. To feel the heartbeat of Mother Earth on our torso’s and welcome the spirits to join us in this adventure by their taking part in helping to lift us from our worldly woes, trials and tribulations .
    None of this can ever happen unless we do like you have done to bring it on. It may not happen in the first attempt or two . But practice makes perfect. Kind of like when one starts out to meditate . I recall when starting I could never just go into meditation like some do,but when I included using Mother Earths heartbeat (the drum) I had a lot of great experiences.

    We really enjoyed meeting up with you and your family down here a few days ago It was great to see you and Angie again and meet your youngest kids for the first time.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Paul

    Sounds. Isn’t it amazing how the senses can be turned through a full range of emotion, merely based upon our desire to listen? At other times those same sounds you paint in your poem might cause annoyance or distraction of thought. Perhaps we don’t hear them at all. However, as your beautiful poem illustrates, the intent to listen brings peace, calm, and reassurance that all will be well.

    Liked by 1 person


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