Men and The Goddess

I have been neglecting this blog and you, dear readers. It seems Spring is blooming in so many directions, with out-of-control growth, that some ground needs to lie fallow for now.

But this past Sunday evening an event triggered lots of “stuff” for me, including today’s poem from my collection I’ve called “Rhythms and Cycles.” I’ve published many here before but none quite so personal as today’s.

The barn on my family’s farm caught fire and was destroyed together with several other smaller buildings and all the contents. Blessedly no one was injured and the homes are both safe and sound. The wind was from the north blowing all the burning debris across the highway and into fields to be safely snuffed out.

Here is a picture of the farm as I remember it from my younger days:

And my poem:

Barns

Many red, some white, even
Orange and green,
Old barns paint Wisconsin’s
Countryside.

Norwegians, Germans, even
Some Brits
Raised barns tall, building
Statewide.

Turn of the century came
Famers, cattle and plows.
Indigenous woods and grass lost to
The immigrant tide.

And the tide sweeps along as
Farm patterns change.
Old barns don’t serve now, their time
Set-aside.

They tumble and fall, rot from the core;
Old barns neglected even catch fire,
While those who remember sense something
Has died.

©2015 Richard W. Bredeson. All rights reserved.

And a picture from Monday, April 27, 2015:

Pictures speak volumes!