Vintage Poetry- Prairie Love Song

I admit, I first looked at these poems because of the poet’s name: Imogene De Smet. What a fabulous name! Once I read her poems, I was hooked. Enjoy!PRAIRIE LOVE SONG by Imogene De Smet, Sioux City, IAUnceasing Dakota winds pock my faceWith rain dry dust.My fingers tightly clutch the handle hoeAnd arm muscles, stretched to a dull ache,Strike relentlessly at weeds that dare to invadeThe growing space of seedsPlanted to provide food for work-hungry folk.Beyond the hill, the steady tractor chugReminds me that in our microcosm, macrocosm worldsYou too fight weeds amidst the dirtThrown up by churning wheelsTo cake in rivulets of sweatAs you clear-plow the rows of burgeoning cornFree from invading weeds.The ten o’clock sun tells meTo put away the hoe.I curse the weeds still standing there,Whisper a victory mantra to the sprouting seeds,And head for home.The screen door slams;You’ve come for lunch,All grime and sweat and earthy smell--And a sheepish smile--For in your handA gathering of prairie flowersPicked from some pasture plotSends their fragrance into my heart,And my love for you blossoms anewRegardless of the dusty, dry, Dakota winds.MY MOTHER'S CLOSET by Imogene De Smet, Sioux City, IAIn my mother 's closetClothes hangRummage-sale styleNeglected every day.Hanger-helter-skelter,Pant legs rumpled,Sleeves half out,Necklinesaskew--Flat-chested, flat-rumped,They hang scarecrow forlorne,Waiting, begging for enfleshment.The premature spring dress--Donned, hastily, thankfullyOne March dayWhen Nature tossed planets aroundAnd Mercury shot a sixty-two--hangs amidst woolensOblivious to its error--Lost to searching hand,rummage-sale style,As May spins out seventies.And woolen slacks,Lined against winter winds,Snuggle amidst summer gauzesTelling of a not-so-perfect JuneWhen temps hung downAnd clouds threatened snow.“That closet is a mess,”Mother declares,And sets about to neaten up,Patting hangers straight,Pulling half-hidden limbsFrom stitched sockets,And setting like to like.Now, seasons march orderlyAlong the clothes bar,Best-dressed ready,until hurried need--Tomorrow or next week,Leaves hangers jumbled loose,Clothes again in disarray--So, in my mother's closetClothes hang,Rummage-sale style,Halfway through the day.From Pasque PetalsVol. 83, no. 1Summer 2008Featured image by the Amy Goodman under the creative commons license on Flickr.