Magazine Posts

Daylight breaks
Shadows are now gone
I'm alone

How do you write about an emotional plight,
When your mind, in dead of night,
Wakens you and you try, once again,
To describe the actions of your fight.
Try harder and prepare before you begin.
Easier to say but harder to do.
It is for me, how about for you?

I was in high school and gotten a job on the old
stationery baler. These were three wired and were used long
before the introduction of the two wire or string bale.

Here is my story.
Baling hay, back when I was young.
My first job was to be a "back wirer".
That meant it was under the stationery baler.
My job was to push a long wire through
A, three wire wooden block that separated the hay
So it could be shaped into a bale.
The head wirer would put two, top and bottom, wires
Through the board and I would secure them.
This task had to be done quickly or you could not connect
The wires. If we were baling Alfalfa, the bale
Could weigh as much as 130 lbs.
We were paid by the ton.
I earned .27 cents per ton and when the hay was good
We could bale over 100 tons a day.
The disadvantage of this job, was the collection of hay dust
Upon my sweaty face and arms as it would cover
Everything. If the wind was blowing one side of my face
Would be White with dust, the other side, just dirty.
I was living at home, so at the end of the day
I would go there so I could clean up and shower.
My Dad would start sneezing as soon as I walked in the door,
As he had hay fever. I didn't at that time but find it ironic
That I do have that today.
The above memories have a great significance to me as the
Stationery Baler that I worked on is no longer used.
As the "Pickup Balers would pick up the hay and spit out a bale
Which went down a belt to a wagon or truck that ran along side
The Baler.

I was truly, a fortunate son, during those changing times.

The Sun, Stars, Sky and Moon, a muse
Are all in your power to peruse.
Your thoughts of those days gone by
And ask not the question, as to why.
The choices made, were not all the best,
But were made with loves happiness.

Fare thee well my beauty.
Fare thee well, from me.
By the morrow, I'll be gone
Far across this vast Sea.
Weep not for me my darling,
For I am now a song,
Of lonely, sadness, without remorse
And I must move along.

The heart that beats within my chest
Keeps on beating, no matter the test,
As the love I've known for many a year,
Slowly, oh so slowly, begins to disappear.
My love for her is strong.
Her love for me is not,
As her memory can no longer
Recall. I know my life is wrought,
With this terrible loss of love,
No matter the indifference from above.

Years ago, in the days long past,
I worked on a Threshing machine.
A machine that would separate chafe from grain
Blowing out the straw of wheat stems.
A mower had cut down the wheat,
Leaving it in windrows.
The bundling machine would gather the loose
Wheat and bundle into sheaf's, leaving them in a row.
My job, at that time, was to use a Bundle Fork,
To pick up the sheaf's and throw to the wagon,
The person on the wagon, would catch and
Lay it down and stack until the wagon was full.
On this one, very sunny day, I grabbed
A bundle , with my special fork and
Threw it back over my head.
When I looked at the ground and with a double take,
There at my feet was a long rattlesnake.
My reaction was swift, the snake a surprise.
I broke my Bundle Fork; the snake met its demise .
Snakes were not a friend of mine
So nary a tear nor did I pine,
Except I had to use a regular pitchfork,
Which is a lot heavier and my work was more
difficult. As for the snake he was probably
More surprised than I.

When I worked, I would go running at night.
My running route, was always down a street with a light.
Going down my street, 148thAvenue Northeast,
Listening to my Walkman, an electrical device.
For those of you , it was a Sony portable cassette player.
Sorry, I did regress, so back to the run.
Here I was jogging strong, when my toe hit
The edge of a raised slab in the sidewalk.
I tripped and without thinking, did a "tuck and roll",
Which was like a somersault, so back to
My feet, I did spring. I was both proud
But embarrassed that I had fallen to the ground.
So, I looked up the street and then down,
Whew! I did not see anyone around.
I wasn't hurt and felt no lingering pain.
I discussed the event and told my refrain
Of falling and not getting hurt. I said
My Walkman was attached to my waist.
I pressed the area and said with a wince,
That I must have rolled on the player, since
There was a pain. In a few days, I did peruse
My waist where I observed, a sizeable bruise.
The advice I give you my friend,
Is to pick up your feet, when you run.
The end.

Who am I to say
On this very grey day,
About the lives of another.
I am sure I can opine,
Point of views to you,
About your loss in life,
As both a wife and a mother.

The forecast for the next several days,
Is for sunshine, cold as it may be.
It's great to see the bulbs fight away
Against all the snow and the chill
Of each of these frosty nights.
There is a special place for me
That will be under the Maple Tree,
Where I await the beauty of
The Bluebells, I planted last Fall.
I see a few small plants, perhaps
Twelve or so; I planted about sixty,
So we will see, what Mother Nature
Provides to me.

The Rhododendron leaves are curled tight
To prevent damage, from Frost's bite.
The plant, shrunken from the cold,
Has an ugliness, in my sight
Not the beauty that I did behold.
Warmer weather is what we need,
With some rain and more plant feed.

I love these days of Sun
When plants emerge from the earth.
Pushing through the cold, cold ground,
Like birthing life with no noise.
Soon the season of our Spring
Will be here. Filled with growth
Of beautiful Perennials and of bulbs.
Sounds of birds, seeking food to eat.
The appearances of Bees, flitting there
At the flowered plants, a variety
Of colors, both reds and yellows.
What a feast for eyes it will be
Bringing the tranquility of natures love.
When neighbors pass and compliment
I feel good about the work
Of keeping up our floral display.