Poetry by Wayne Lee of Santa Fe, New Mexico The Society November 8, 2012 Poetry Seed Pot Seed corn, broodmare, hen: Half the earth is green, half brown. Man must plan for planting in spring to live off the land, must harvest the rain to nurture his young, must save enough grain to reap what is sown from pots shaped like cones with holes, held in hand to shake kernels one at a time till done. For some seeds are blown, some wither, some drown, some fields go barren, some vines bear no beans, some squash never crown. Half the earth is born, half lies underground. For life to go on we parse what is grown or raised on our land. Hen, broodmare, seed corn Years That Ask Questions “There are years that ask questions and years that answer.” -Zora Neale Hurston What do I want at the start of the year? Frozen crab apples clinging to the tree. Everything I wish for is right here— fresh snow on the ground, sky crisp and clear as my dog and I walk the property. What I want at the start of the new year is yellow cholla blossoms to appear as tiny suns among the greenery. Everything I wish for is right here, like the coyote pup that knows no fear as he sits and watches my dog and me. This is what I want to start the new year— common ravens squawking as they swoop near, scrub jays feeding on juniper berries— everything I wish for is right here. I don’t care if the weather is severe, at home I’ll warm myself with hot green tea. All that I want at the start of the year— everything I wish for—is right here. Wayne Lee (wayneleepoet.com) is a Canadian/American who lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico, where he works as an educator and journalist. Lee’s poems have appeared in Tupelo Press, The New Guard, Sliver of Stone, Slipstream, The Floating Bridge Anthology, Conversations Across Borders and other publications. He won the 2012 Mark Fischer Poetry Prize and the 2012 SICA Poems for Peace Award, has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and three Best of the Net awards. These poems are among the entries for the Society of Classical Poets’ 2012 Poetry Competition. Related Post ‘Darkness’ and Other Poetry by Christine Lawson Darkness No longer did they see the need For things called books they used to read. Music—no longer symphonies, But simple tunes composed with e... Tell the world:FacebookTwitterTumblrPinterestRedditLinkedInEmail Leave a Reply Cancel Reply Your email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Notify me of new posts by email.