The Last Post

Here is another poem, that I am really proud to have written. It was for a competition, last year where the theme had to have some type of rural influence.   The poem signifies that no matter what some things weather all storms; i guess that could be summed up as my life also.

It is one of the last things i spoke to my dad about.

THE LAST POST

Sturdy

Solid

Decaying away

Miniscule animals reside within

Octogenarian

This age foretold by deep blackening rings

A small crack here, larger one there

Outer bark split

To breathe in the changing air

Sentry of the surrounding land

Sculptured by weathered hands

Originally they called you RED

Unlike fellow sentries, whom decomposed or dead.

Handcuffed together -you have broken free

Reminders lay rusting amongst the weeds

Large burls bleed waxy sap, crystallised tears

For a youth lost, time ago, some eighty years.

Warm gritty brackish red soil mounds at your neck

A lone brown hawk glides low

Dipping of a wing

Salutes – you in a sign of respect

 

Oh! The battles you and Mother Nature have fought

Doggedly resisting her dust, heat, rain and lightning storms

Stratos, Cumulus puff up high, merge with nimbus to forewarn

A new battle arrives in pitch of night; before the new dawn

Worriedly, terrified your tenants scurry into your womb

As the air begins to sing an eerie tune

Crescendos whispers, howling to the lost moon

Brace yourself – Mother Nature will be here soon.

A thousand hooves pound the earth

The howling wind carries a farmers’ curse

Echoing louder as terrified cattle scatter past you

Crescendo climatic intensifying volume

Thunder rumbles across the jet black ominous sky

Shaking the land from way up high

Banshees’ screech as the air trumpets her arrival tune

Spikes of lightning bright, vivid in their paths everything electrifies

Oh well! One more battle with her – this time you may die.

Cerise shafts of warm sun whisper a new day

Mother Nature and her storm chased far away

Standing stoically-a little bit more, battle worn

At the base a small piece of bark has been torn.

All others gone splintered; split, thrashed and shred

You now stand alone as warm summer sun shines upon your head.