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123rd Virtual Poetry Circle

Welcome to the 123rd Virtual Poetry Circle!

Remember, this is just for fun and is not meant to be stressful.

Keep in mind what Molly Peacock’s books suggested. Look at a line, a stanza, sentences, and images; describe what you like or don’t like; and offer an opinion. If you missed my review of her book, check it out here.

Also, sign up for the 2011 Fearless Poetry Reading Challenge because its simple; you only need to read 1 book of poetry. Please contribute to the growing list of 2011 Indie Lit Award Poetry Suggestions (please nominate 2011 Poetry), visit the stops on the National Poetry Month Blog Tour from April.

Today’s poem is from A Wreath of Down and Drops of Blood by Allen Braden:

Grinding Grain (page 36)

The belt, tight as a razor strop,
whips from tractor to hammer mill
and scares out of our grain bin an owl.
Welded pipe coughs flour into bags

stenciled H & H or Logan’s Feed & Seed.
I take another off my father’s hands,
another cinched with his square knot
better than any I used to tie.

Easily I buck those bags onto the stack
that shoulders the granary wall.
The air thickens this morning light
sifting around the blurred belt.

When I turn back, he’s gone
inside a cloud bank of flour
the way burlap can swallow
so many pounds of ground durum.

All our lives we work this way.
He sacks and ties.
I lift and stack.
Our bodies slowly growing white.

What do you think?

  • I like the last stanza. It shows the monotony of the work, and for some reason at the moment, the vision of them being covered in white strikes me as funny. 😉