POEM: After the Rains [Day 27 NaPoMo: Eclogue]

[Eclogues are sometimes called bucolics and are in the same vein as the idyll, which I covered on Day 19. They are short poems, set in a rural locale, and are often (but not always) in the form of a dialogue between shepherds or other country folk. There is no set form, though they are normally in metered verse because that was the mode in the days in which this genre was popular.]

Having stormed the night before, all felt clean.
And the grass swelled, deepening in its green.
And the shepherds’ cuffs were damp to dripping,
while lazing sheep partook of puddle sipping.

Two shepherds sat on rocks watching their flocks,
as overhead circled two gliding hawks.
A said to P, “Think new storms are coming?”
P replied, “I hear that distant rumbling.”

“But should we drive our flocks back home?”
“I think I’ll let mine graze and roam.”
“But last night’s winds almost took my roof!”
“They’re wearing wool; they’re waterproof.”

“But we’ll be soaked in this cotton!”
“Wet, yes. But I’ll not go rotten.”
“It could get a lot more frightening,
our sheep could get hit by lightening!
Then what will you say to your pa and mum?”

“I’ll say, ‘Hope you like your mutton well-done.'”

First Eclogue: Flow, Interupted

Thru-hiking a sheep-cropped pasture,
I spied a shepherd in repose,
in the shadow of a boulder.
I asked, “Do you know which way it flows?”

 

“It flows? What flows? the creek below?”

 

“I know the creek must flow downhill.
I mean how I flow through the world,
or it through me — by force or will?”

 

“I know when I lie here it slows,
between the bleats and blowing winds,
and I wonder through shaded eyes
whether the world is still in spin?”

I nodded, wandering on, wondering whether the world would stop for the likes of me.