A Poem

This will be my first time posting under my own name on this blog, and despite our relative obscurity it is still intimidating to be posting my writing to the public. With this in mind, I suppose the best way to go would be to get the most embarrassing notion out of the way first. I am going to post a short poem i wrote several years ago; one that was inspired by this beautiful place and the times i spent here simply growing up and not working. Over time, and as my maturity level has grown, this place has become as much my job as my home, but I wanted to start off my writing on this site with a more pure, idealized, unclouded memory. I'm a poor excuse for a poet, but I hope everyone will hang with me, and that as I write more you will perhaps find a few words of mine to your liking.

A Walk to the Back Field's Bench

Fifty-five steps

In the misty morning,

Over the damp grass,

Barefooted through puddles

Whose mud seeps between my toes.

Across the piled rocks

Slippery from the dew,

Which is our bridge over

The small, slow moving stream.

The trees drip with water

As rain begins falling faster.

In huge drops it falls

The first few making

Their tapping sounds before

It becomes a constant hum

The last ten steps are on a path

Mowed in the fire-weed.

The cut stems stab my feet.

When I reach the bench I sit;

In the downpour, I check

To see if I am bleeding.