‘Tares in the Wheat’ and Other Poetry by Reid McGrath The Society December 15, 2014 Beauty, Poetry 2 Comments Tares in the Wheat “No one, having put his hand to the plow, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God,” Luke 9:62 “The sun will burn; the heat will cause you sweat; Dust will choke before the sun is set,” Michael Curtis, -“Novice”- When I recall various seeds I’ve sown I’m prone to clench my teeth and tug my hair. I look back on the lea and it looks bare. My bag of seed was by the devil blown chock-full of tares, not wheat, misleading plants: Green at first but browning on the easel. I’m upset; but relieved that it’s legal to change my name, or move, or to supplant, to start afresh and bury the old crap, is comforting. I keep my eyes ahead, on the offing, tighten the safety strap, and press on plowing till I’m spent and dead. The juvenile weeds were a mishap. From now on (try!) I’ll make Prudence my friend. The Dawn Sleep For Aurora My anxious soul has bothered me all night. I lie awake without Sleep’s soothing balm which relieves stress; I toss and turn; I light a candle by which I can live a psalm. My hypos* get the best of me, I fear a death alone in a black static night; and even when I start to nod I tear my eyes back open lest I should alight in that black void. I spend a night like this when like a mother creeping up the stairs slowly and softly, catching unawares my nervous spirit dwelling on black Dis*, she lightens the sky, tames my morbid mares, and with her lilac lips my eyelids kiss. A Recurring Dream, Vanquished I had a nightmare when I was a boy with animals at first docile and sweet, with tie-dyed leaves which were like cruel decoys distracting me from what I was to meet… A bright, autumnal tunnel would transform to craggy scene of blacks and shark-gray blues, one blasted tree-trunk and a thunder storm, a Sea of Death and all its darkening hues! I amble down another sylvan path and all about me the umbrageous trees display colors that make me want to laugh; or say a thankful prayer upon my knees. For now, when I have reached this Cliff of mine, the Terror’s altered: I see the Sublime. Reid McGrath is a poet living in the Hudson Valley of New York. Featured Image: “The Voyage of Life: Manhood,” by Thomas Cole. Notes: *Hypos: short for hypochondria; allusion to the first page of Moby Dick *Dis: the abode of the dead, the underworld Views expressed by individual poets and writers on this website and by commenters do not represent the views of the entire Society. The comments section on regular posts is meant to be a place for civil and fruitful discussion. Pseudonyms are discouraged. The individual poet or writer featured in a post has the ability to remove any or all comments by emailing submissions@ classicalpoets.org with the details and under the subject title “Remove Comment.” Share this:Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)Click to print (Opens in new window)Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)Click to share on WhatsApp (Opens in new window)Click to email this to a friend (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window) 2 Responses Shari Jo LeKane-Yentumi December 15, 2014 Wonderful poetry! Reply Karen C February 7, 2015 Congratulations! Reid, it’s beautiful! Reply Leave a Reply Cancel ReplyYour email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Notify me of new posts by email. This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.