|
 Menu
|
|
|
|
|
Social
|
|
|
|
|
Michigan
Contributed by
zedwards
on
Tuesday, 2nd February 2010 @ 04:10:40 PM in AEST
Topic:
oops
|
Shaped like a mitten and surrounded by blue
She is a quilt with many layers
The green of summer blushing with trees
Riding boats on endless lakes
The Anishnabe got it right
In their native tongue Ojibwe
When they named her Mishigama
“Large water” or “large lake”
The winter’s white forms like ice
Frozen compasses held in place
Carhartts, coffee, and hot chocolate
Wrap the victims of a runaway cold
Where snowmobiles tremble
Skies slash through powder
And cars ride in ditches
To be pulled out in warmer weather
The spring melts winter in a rainy thaw
Colors of brown and yellow
Unearth from the solid ground
As nature returns to her wild side
The deer, the bear, the flown away birds
Give birth to the coming year
Morels are picked as coats are unzipped
And the world awakes to the coming morn
Fall is the season of all seasons
A painter’s pallet is always full
The red, orange, and yellows
Burn through the landscape like fire
The harvest and hunt commence
The acorns fall like rain as the birds take flight
Ahead lies the cold grip of a coming change
As fingers hold on dearly to a fast slipping day
It is a land both young and old
Writ on the bark of distant tribes
Built upon the shoulders of assembly lines
Midwestern all the way and blue collar to the bone
It’s a place where Hockey Town skates
Lions and Tigers sleep in their cages
Ford motors run deep even with empty gas tanks
And your hand can be a map when the way gets lost
Lumberjacks created lumbering towns
With cabins made of wood and fireplaces of stone
In those kitchens venison cooks
With pies, breads, and pasties
Hands are calloused and shirts are flannel
Fashionable for those who keep it simple
Boredom plays out in a hand of Euchre
A game known mostly to fellow Michiganders
Two peninsulas together as one
Connected by a vast suspension bridge
Mackinaw stands like a smile between two lips
You can see her glisten in gold
When the sun cascades above the blue
A shimmering rock skipped across her crest
It is at these moments of impossible beauty
That your place called home actually exists
You might lose sight of her when age takes hold
But you are bound to her like feathers to a bird
In the distant shores of childhood’s spent
You return to her with melancholy
An itching in your heart; a quiet reminder
Of a place where you were born
And when people ask you where you’re from
You smile, show them your right hand
…..And point
Copyright ©
zedwards
... [
2010-02-02 16:10:40]
(Date/Time posted on
site)
Advertisments:
|
|
|
|
|
|
Sorry, comments are no longer allowed for anonymous, please register for a free membership to access this feature and more
|
|
All comments are owned by the poster. Your Poetry
Dot Com is not responsible for the content of any
comment.
That said, if you find an offensive comment, please
contact via the FeedBack Form with details, including poem title
etc.
|
|
|
Re: Michigan
(User Rating: 1 )
by spud on
Wednesday, 3rd February 2010 @ 11:13:18 AM AEST
(User
Info | Send
a Message)
|
Hi,
Yes - liked this. So descriptive that it can almost
be touched. I sense a tinge of sarcasm, together
with pride.
Well written, Mr/Mrs Michigander!
Tommy
|
|
|
Re: Michigan
(User Rating: 1 )
by inkmaster on
Sunday, 7th February 2010 @ 05:30:04 AM AEST
(User
Info | Send
a Message)
|
So true..I liked it..from a fellow Michigander stuck in the depths of cabin fever!..write on..
Inkmaster |
|
|
|
· 
Poetry
Community
Members
Areas
Reference
Search
Top
Others
