Frozen Wheat

This is a poem from last year that started as a five-minute poem at Alabaster & Mercury.

Frozen Wheat

Golden flowers stand erect
clustered, together to stay warm
under the darkest blue
calling of storm, a strange beauty
bending under winters breath.
begging not to break,
brush the scarecrow’s bum,
wake him from his
nap through Fall.

He jumps from the post
with a burr burr,
rubbing his hands together,
sending straw into the wind,
frantic leaps beneath the chill
throwing blows to hold Jack Frost
shouting bastard calls..

The Frost keeps pressing in
against his show of strength
reddening the scarecrows’ eyes,
blowing back, blasting,
throwing him into
the loft, where he lay
in a beam of sunlight.