Where the Golden Wheatheads Grow
Posted: Mon Nov 01, 2010 12:54 am
This is one of the two poems I posted in my first written competition, for which I received a Commended.
Thought I would go right back to the early days for my first poem posted on this new forum.
Where The Golden Wheatheads Grow
© 13/06/06
A glowing shimmer finds me as the gentle breezes blow
across the nearby paddocks where the golden wheatheads grow.
I hear the raucous laughter of the cockys overhead
as they drop their stolen gumnuts on the rusting stable shed.
The summer drifts around us in the dying throes of spring;
the weather’s almost perfect as the little songbirds sing.
The gumtrees spread their branches to provide a dappled shade
while I calmly sit and ponder as the day begins to fade.
I think about the joys I’ve had from simple country living;
the people I have met who are so honest and so giving.
I treasure all the freedom lavished on me as a child
when I galloped over open fields, and ran so free and wild.
Within my childhood journeys many memories were sown-
the lazy days of summer had a magic of their own.
We’d raid the laden fruit trees so that Mum could make her jam,
then we’d race across the paddock and go swimming in the dam.
The golden wheatfields glistened underneath the scorching sun,
but soon the paddocks emptied as the harvesting was done.
The cockys came in hundreds as they sought the grains of wheat,
for those little golden kernels were a long awaited treat.
The lonely stands of gumtrees that the farmers seem to leave
still silhouette the glowing sky this peaceful summer eve.
The night sky’s just as pristine as it was so long ago
and the nightbirds still are singing as the silver moonbeams glow.
I wonder why I left my home to travel far away,
to chase the mighty dollar and have fun along the way.
I’ve searched in vain for what I want, and finally I know
I have it all among the fields where golden wheatheads grow.
Thought I would go right back to the early days for my first poem posted on this new forum.
Where The Golden Wheatheads Grow
© 13/06/06
A glowing shimmer finds me as the gentle breezes blow
across the nearby paddocks where the golden wheatheads grow.
I hear the raucous laughter of the cockys overhead
as they drop their stolen gumnuts on the rusting stable shed.
The summer drifts around us in the dying throes of spring;
the weather’s almost perfect as the little songbirds sing.
The gumtrees spread their branches to provide a dappled shade
while I calmly sit and ponder as the day begins to fade.
I think about the joys I’ve had from simple country living;
the people I have met who are so honest and so giving.
I treasure all the freedom lavished on me as a child
when I galloped over open fields, and ran so free and wild.
Within my childhood journeys many memories were sown-
the lazy days of summer had a magic of their own.
We’d raid the laden fruit trees so that Mum could make her jam,
then we’d race across the paddock and go swimming in the dam.
The golden wheatfields glistened underneath the scorching sun,
but soon the paddocks emptied as the harvesting was done.
The cockys came in hundreds as they sought the grains of wheat,
for those little golden kernels were a long awaited treat.
The lonely stands of gumtrees that the farmers seem to leave
still silhouette the glowing sky this peaceful summer eve.
The night sky’s just as pristine as it was so long ago
and the nightbirds still are singing as the silver moonbeams glow.
I wonder why I left my home to travel far away,
to chase the mighty dollar and have fun along the way.
I’ve searched in vain for what I want, and finally I know
I have it all among the fields where golden wheatheads grow.