We planned out harvest
In August
And we knew what we
Were doing

Blue skies
Rich soil
Hills like
Gold foil

Yet this doesn’t feel like home
To us
This endless sunshine and white
Clouds in the ocean blue

We work with what we’ve wrought

When the weather rots
And clouds enrage
At the prospect
Of having not rained

These are the seeds we’ve got
Growing relicous vines and fruit
With a taste that makes cheeks hot
Against an autummnal chill

These seeds that grip and root
Entrench and shoot
Through the dirt
And cobble rocks

We work with what we’ve wrought

Cherry plot ploughshares
Beaten into swords to defend
Our fields from thieves
Looking to steal our bounty

The fields are our quarry
In September it’s us and no worry
Some fruits are for harvest
Ripe already

Skies tint a poppy hue
Days are shorn and more rouge
Seeds sprout everywhere
In bloom the dirt’s deluged

This is our joyous spring
Our warm summer
And our jolly winter
All in this fallish weather

Meadows in infras and yellows
And fierce copper fields
Rife with ripe-wroughts
Shimmering in somber breeze

We work with what we’ve wrought
Into October

When the wind cannot still
And our ploughs
Beaten back again will
Work the ground now colored
Charred and hazel

November and

Swords stand like gargoyles
In the eroding chill
Above a bounty of copper crops
Bearing delicious hot fruit

Our livelihood and sustenance
Brave vermillion
Valiant harvest

No matter what
Come bad crops
Or storms nonstop
Hell or high water


Published by Jake Thomas Shaw

Concerned with memory, currency, and destiny, I strive to capture each one as they happen. Join me and consume reality! Radio Reality. City!

2 thoughts on “Death6ish

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