Monday, October 7, 2019


Well I incorrectly posted a poem to the wrong motif. Here is me trying to make up for it.

When I think of October and Fall, I often think of the harvest and the old tractors used. And I think of family. So here’s a poem:

show me
the rusted engines
of your family
and soul.
Show me
the struggle
to turn
on rust
and old fuel
because I know
there is hope
in those metal parts
ages ago.

-Rob Jackson


  1. I felt mean, deleting your previous link and asking you to have another go. Now I'm glad, because I love this one. (And you can submit the other to one of the unprompted Pantries.)

    1. Rosemary, you weren't feeling rotten alone. Deleting links never leaves a good feeling behind. Perhaps, we should start thinking about making all Sundays unprompted.

  2. I love this, Rob, as I know how hard farmers work to scrape a living out of the soil, especially these days.

  3. Rob, I really love this. I actually have an aversion to rust, but seeing it through the light of your verse I don't mind the images. I am reminded that oxidation is just a step towards something new (if we let it be).

  4. I love your opening sentence and then it just gets better. It does feel like family and harvest time.
    Gayle ~

  5. struggle without hope certainly is sad. But when we overcome and can look back and say "we never gave up hope"... well that is beautiful.

  6. I love how the rust permeates this poem

  7. Of harvest and the old tractors, what more could conjure up such vivid images of autumn, and October here being the last month to gather up all the last bits from the fields. Thank you for reposting, this poem is beautiful in its simplicity.