NaPoWriMo 2018: Day 28


(“The sestina is a strict ordered form of poetry, dating back to twelfth century French troubadours. It consists of six six-line (sestets) stanzas followed by a three-line envoy. Rather than use a rhyme scheme, the six ending words of the first stanza are repeated as the ending words of the other five stanzas in a set pattern. The envoy uses two of the ending words per line, again in a set pattern.”) (source) (for set pattern, check the source)

(This one is another style I’ve been avoiding, because it’s really long and kind of restraining. But here goes anyway.)

The Farm

A smell of hay and moo of cows
The birds singing to greet the sun
A tractor rolling across a field
Dogs talking to each other loudly
The faint sound of a distant car
Memories I hope to never forget

Time has moved on and people forget
Their childhoods in cities or with cows
But I’ll remember that old red car
The empty fields brightened by the sun
The echoes of the winds whispering loudly
The sound of the rain hitting the fields

When I was little I’d run in the field
Pick the Queen Anne’s Lace and forget
About cities and towns bustling loudly
I’d run through grass and pet the cows
Swing on a swing and bask in the sun
And go for groceries in town with our car.

Over country roads we’d drive in the car
I’d stick my head out the window and see fields
Feel the warmth on my skin of the sun
Remember the sweet memories I forgot
When our dog was stepped on by a cow
When I stepped on a hornet’s nest, screaming loudly

Playing dress-up and dancing around loudly
Sounding the horn on our car
Feeding straw to the hungry cows
Seeing how fast I could run across the field
growing tons of carrots I could not forget
My skin covered with aloe vera burned by the sun

There was plenty of rain and a little sun
That which was quiet and that which was loud
Some things I remember and some I forget
The walnut tree, the barn full of hay, the old car
The garage and the house and the field
The treehouse, the garden, the cows

The sun rose and we drove away in the car
We traded the loud city for those fields
But I’ll never forget the fields of gold or the cows.

(This poem is a little more personal for me. When I was two, my family moved to a hobby farm in Oregon, where we lived until I was almost nine. It is still my favorite place I lived, and I have some great memories there. So this is rather an ode to that farm.)

6 thoughts on “NaPoWriMo 2018: Day 28

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