I thought I knew the scarecrow in yonder fields,
Only to realize it was a scarecrow who knew me.
It was like looking straight into a shiny mirror,
Clear reflections of my own incapacities to see.
Stuffed from head to foot with fistfuls of straw,
He looked as realistic as anything I ever saw.
With the head of a pumpkin and cut out eyes,
Wearing falsehood like pretentions I despise.
Complete with smoke rising from a corncob pipe,
The clouds overhead looking every bit of white.
The birds were impervious to the hideous sight;
They knew the man-made image was but a blight.
Even the crows fly down and sit on his head;
The sparrows fly about as if they were wed.
An oversized belt holds up his sagging pants,
With this watchman, the plants have no chance.
I don’t have anything on this poor old scarecrow.
How can I possibly reap what I don’t even sow?
My flannel shirt is also bulging out at the seams;
My pumpkin head is also stuffed full of dreams.
My stuffing is dry and brittle as farmer’s straw;
My vision is as empty as everything I ever saw.
I glare into the distance with a desire to scare;
I gaze serenely in a distance I know not where.
Somebody take me down from this imposing stick;
I feel the heat moving slowly down my candle’s wick.
Lift me up, knock me down, life ripped me to shreds;
I am torn at the seams; my dreams are bare threads.
And yet, I stand here in an open field as a man of clay;
Today is yesterday’s tomorrow; today its yesterday.
Somebody help me up; I won’t let you down, I swear;
Just to know I am not alone with no one else out there.
There is a sadness in this work in that too few people will realize: they've allowed themselves to be more like the scarecrow than human. I won't even get started on that historical mess.
A strong analogy drawn from the images you show in your verses. But you are not empty straw, you are filled with a lifetime of experience and imagery poured out on the page. You may be just writing of age making you feel like a scarecrow sometimes.
This morning I went close to the kitchen sliding glass door to observe the birds at our bird feeder. They have seen me many times, but flew away as I approached and would not come back, even though the bird seed tempted. I guess I am a very good scarecrow, even when I'm friendly.
For many I've known (over the years) being alone is a choice. Being alone, however, doesn't necessarily mean you are alone. It just means you are strong enough to handle things by yourself. But honestly... why in the world would anybody want to. The emotion in this is palpable. All the best... r
Beautifully written with melancholy overtones. I love the part where the crows are sitting on his head.......some scarecrow!! You are never alone really.
you are not alone, you are simply the best, above all. And this truth awareness will make your stilts sprout and bloom as a shady tree. So be it. Cheers, alex
Dear readers, this is my third book of poems, and inside are a special collection of what have turned out to be not only MY personal favorites, but also the favorites of many of YOU. Some of these have never been available in print before...
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This morning I went close to the kitchen sliding glass door to observe the birds at our bird feeder. They have seen me many times, but flew away as I approached and would not come back, even though the bird seed tempted. I guess I am a very good scarecrow, even when I'm friendly.
Ron
Love ya!
Jane
alone you have wisdom to impart.
But unlike that scarecrow,
You're blessed with a poet's heart.