In Fallow Fields

In my father’s field
my fledgling hopes are neatly hedged,
sown in the soil of silent forebears.

Beside a bourne, in chalk and flint,
I plant my dreams deep.

The rasping of his shovel has slowed
this season. Some furrows lie shallow,
others run deeper.

Through rustic panes I watch him bend,
straining against the pull of years
to pluck joy from the loam.

A moment’s pause to contemplate
a lone invader into precise ranks,
before his shovel resumes its dirge.

Discarding my pen, I fall in beside–
a forgotten page, unplowed.

Ryan Stone

First published on The Houseboat in August, 2015

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19 thoughts on “In Fallow Fields

  1. so beautiful. love the loan peony and the image of the father plowing the fields of hope, the little flash of reluctance maybe showing he doesn’t entirely want to break his sons (and his own) dreams, but feels he has no other choice, doesn’t acknowledge the son’s lifestyle as a reputable one, had his own dreams crushed by his own father and the resentment drives him to do this to his own son. and great image down at the bottom, really like the colors and composition.

    Liked by 2 people

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