“The Farm” (reprise)

On By Mike U.In Poetry

(originally posted 10/3/2021)

“The Farm’
© 2021 by Michael L. Utley

Nighthawks scream
With evening’s descent
They know the truth
Black god’s-eyes
See everything
From salmon-hued
Heaven
As wings fold
Bird-bombs dive
Preying on the
Prayerless
Powerless
Oblivious
Strident-throated
Shrieks
A mindless alien-avian
Warning
Turn back
There is no hope here

Across the fallow field
Elk bugle mournfully in
Twilight cacophony
A hundred dim smudges
Herding in
Paranoid precision
Against the dusty dun of
Evening’s solemn soliloquy
Scatter
Coagulate
Statue-still
Amidst dusk ground-mist
Trumpet-cries betray blind fear
A prose of unearthly moans
As pinyon-sage-scented breeze
Lifts this omen skyward
Turn back
There is no hope here

Dead-yellow fox tails
And cheatgrass
Bend
Break
As I pass
A sickly meadow of
Thin-boned weeds
And cloying sage
Crackling underfoot as
Stickers pin-cushion
Socks and shoelaces
Ground beetles
And spiders flee
Stupidly
Languidly
Dissolve into
Cracked earth
Disappear
Each footstep
Dust-choke-inducing
The shrill trill of crickets
Distant
Distracted
Dispassionate
They know, too
Turn back, they sing
There is no hope here

A skeleton crew of
Haggard, stunted trees
Stands sentinel
Against the coming darkness
Pinyons felled by
Insidious Ips beetles
Squat
Naked
Bony
Sap-dried cones
Long dead
Among carpets of
Desiccated yellowed needles and
Sparrow-emptied pine nut shells
Tinder awaiting a wildfire
Fragrant junipers stand
Amidst dead-berry piles in
Shaggy bark-suits
Peeling like scorched dusty
Sun-burnt skin
Swarming with black ants
Pungent piss-scent
Overwhelming as
Paper-bark crawls
In the shadows
The subliminal hiss of an
Errant breeze
Wheezes dark portents
Among barkless boughs
Turn back
There is no hope here

Muffled yips and
Strangled howls
Ride chilly currents from
Far obscure fields
As coyotes practice
Weird secret sorcery
In the gloaming
The cries of the damned
Of pain
Of madness
Of red-eyed tricksters
In shadow-garb
Preparing for midnight hunts
And the tearing of flesh
Yellow grins reeking of
Fear and dead meat
Champ and drool as
Festivities draw near
Their primal chaos-chorus
Announcing to all
Turn back
There is no hope here

In hushed
Sepulchral silence
Muted coos of
Mourning doves
Float softly in
Penitential pleas
Stillness magnifying
Lilting lamentation
Grief too much to bear
Their sorrow-song
An ache that
Never ends
Unmendable
Rends hearts
Cleaves souls
Tears flow
Unknowingly
Purity and
Sadness
Immeasurable loss
A calming balm
Inadequate to heal
All that ails
Ineffectual against
Forces of fear
Reduced to a
Whispered admonition
Turn back
There is no hope here

The broken garden gate
Aslant on rusted hinges
Unleveling the horizon
Of faded, ephemeral corn stalks
And rotting squash-husks
A tangle of ancient weeds
And briar bushes
Encases this bleak place
Age-drained of all
Color and scent
Poisonous soil
Long since emptied of life
Only dead things grow here
Rows of sorrow
Trellises of despair
A forlorn bounty of
Loss and regret
A stilled silence
Proclaiming
Turn back
There is no hope here

The house
A gray thing
Hunched against
The gloom of
Bruise-tinted sky
Like some
Feral beast
Skull-socket eyes
Peer
Blackly
Blindly
Balefully
Through diseased elms
As cement tongue lolls
Cracked and pitted
From front door
To yard gate
Lawn only a distant memory
Weed-choked
Littered with
Shattered window glass
And random roof shingles

Silence

Stillness

It’s been years
Since I was here
Since I fled
Since that day
The monster was real then
The fear was real
And it’s been with me
All the while

Concrete dust crunches
Bone-like underfoot
I reach the front door
Push through a
Latticework of spider-silk
Filled with memories
So many memories
Dust and the scent of
Ancient mildew
Rotting wood
Hang in mote-filled air
It’s smaller now
Empty
Hollow
Ceiling plaster
Coats rotting carpet
In a patina of snow
Water-stained drywall
Bent and bulging
My room is there
Dark and cobwebby
Kitchen
Sisters’ bedroom
Parents’ room
Bathroom
Everything accounted for
Except the monster

There is no hope here
Dead monsters leave
Memory echoes
Down the years
A legacy of pain and fear
And while there is
No monster here
Neither is there reason
For rejoicing
This place is dead
Just like my father
The monster
Nothing will ever be
As it was
So much lost
Still more buried in
Dark locked crates
In my mind
I look around
One final time
Then make my way
Out the door
And into the night

It’s time to leave
The farm behind

44 thoughts on ““The Farm” (reprise)”

    1. Thanks, Melissa. As a kid growing up on the farm, I was fascinated by the melancholy calls of mourning doves. I could mimic their cries by blowing into my cupped hands and sort of have a dialogue with the doves, a back-and-forth. Such sorrowful and eerie sounds. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

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    1. Thanks, Diana. I’d been thinking about this poem for a while. It’s one of several I published here early on that not a lot of people have seen and I wanted to repost it (and will likely repost a handful of other older poems as well so I’ll have something to publish during this period of writer’s block/fatigue/burn-out). As brutal as this one is, I enjoyed writing it, picturing the farm as it sometimes feels in my mind: a sort of other-place, haunted by awful memories. Also, it’s October and lots of folks are posting stories and poetry dealing with horror themes, so I figured this one might fit in right now.

      I haven’t returned to the farm since I fled eight years ago. Lots of things happened in 2015–none of them good–so those last two lines are important to me. Leaving the farm behind physically was tough; leaving it behind emotionally has been a lot more difficult, but I don’t think about it much anymore, and writing about this stuff helps.

      Thanks for reading and commenting, my friend. I truly appreciate you. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

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    1. Thanks so much. Some memories truly do haunt us all of our days, and I suppose the best we can do is learn to live with them. Writing about this sort of thing has been crucial in helping me deal with the past. Also, I grew up a huge fan of horror stories and movies, so it sort of comes naturally for me to write dark poetry. It’s therapeutic, and it always feels good to create. I appreciate your taking the time to read and comment. Thanks again. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

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  4. This poetry fits the theme of the month..but sweet Jesus Mike. You have a way with words. There were lines here, I found myself repeating , so that I could recall them later for a story or two.
    It felt like you were scrolling through pages of your private journal, reminiscing about life, and the memories are all so vivid. Im going to have to revisit this again, and again, because it’s so masterfully put together. You’re a grand architect mate. This was a stunning piece of work. 👏👏💙

    Liked by 4 people

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    1. Many thanks, amigo. You’re too kind, Nigel. In a strange way, it really was like scrolling through my Rolodex o’ Memories when I wrote this piece. I was searching for examples of what the farm epitomized to me , and wanted to focus on a handful of very specific images. In reality, this farm still stands as it was when I left it years ago. In my mind, however it’s so easy to envision it as a blasted, haunted place, a bleak and despairing vacuum in which hope dies and nothing survives. My dad was indeed a monster, and his memory has sullied everything I remember about my youth on the farm. So, from screeching nighthawks to copses of dead trees to slavering coyotes to lamenting mourning doves to desiccated gardens to that old gray house, my memories of the farm tend to lean towards the dark and oppressive. Writing this piece was hard. It’s incredibly raw and brutal and it was exhausting to lay it all down in words. But I enjoyed writing it, too. It gave me a sense of power and control over the past, and as any creative person can attest, the act of producing something from nothing–that uncanny magic trick of all artists– left me feeling exhilarated. Granted, this piece isn’t for everyone, so I appreciate your taking time to read it and leave such a kind comment. Thanks, man. I really appreciate you. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

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      1. Hmm… Some scars have that neon glow man. It’s like we can’t hide them for nothing. The memories you tapped into in your poem are so raw,
        It’s quality though. And the best works of creativity comes from a very authentic place.👏👏💙

        Liked by 1 person

  5. Amen. May it (somehow) be so. I don’t think I breathed until that last paragraph. Powerful imagery magnified by your excellent craftsmanship. If ever you need a poetry / chap book review / recommendation, I hope I’ll be one you’ll call upon. 🌷

    Liked by 3 people

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    1. Thanks so much. Honestly, I’m looking into finding a way to publish a poetry book or two. I have some obstacles I need to overcome, but it’s most definitely a goal of mine. And I would absolutely be honored to have you review such a book. You’d be on my short-list of people who I’d ask. It’s so kind of you to offer, and if this project comes to fruition, I’ll take you up on it. 🙂

      Thanks for reading this piece. I know it’s very dark and long, and many folks wouldn’t like it, so I appreciate that you took the time to check it out. It means a lot to me, and I value your support so much. 🙂

      Liked by 2 people

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  6. Superb poem, Mike! Beautifully crafted! Your word choices all contribute to the setting and emotion of “the farm” and its past. I hope your creativity allows you leave it behind you. Great work, my friend. Had to read it twice.

    Liked by 1 person

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    1. Thanks so much, Peggy. Your kindness knows no bounds, my friend. As the years go by, I think of this place less and less, fortunately. Writing about it now and then is beneficial to me on a few different levels, but for the most part, the farm is in my rear-view mirror now, diminishing in strength and losing its power over me. It’s a process and it takes time, but writing is a godsend, you know? I appreciate your support–it’s inspiring and invaluable to me and keeps me invested in moving forward. Much appreciated. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

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    1. Thanks a bunch, dear Filipa. Haunting and dark it is, but also liberating. I have some older poetry here on my blog that I posted shortly after beginning this blog 2+ years ago and I wanted to repost a few pieces since not many people have seen them. This one had been knocking around in my head for a while lately, so I wanted to give it another chance.

      I appreciate your support and encouragement so much. Thanks for all you do, my friend! Hope you’re doing well and enjoying October. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

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  9. rajkkhoja's avatar rajkkhoja

    What a dark and haunting poem, In my mind
    I look around
    One final time
    Then make my way
    Out the door
    And into the night

    It’s time to leave
    The farm behind!
    I like my friend!

    Liked by 2 people

    Reply

    1. Many thanks, my friend. Sometimes we must leave things behind so we can move forward. I miss the farm and always will, but it’s in the past now and I’m better off without it. I’m glad you liked this poem, my friend. Thank you for your wonderful support. I’m always happy to see you stop by for a visit! 🙂

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      1. rajkkhoja's avatar rajkkhoja

        Thank you so much my friend, you read my little comment & like with happy to me. You always miss you farm. You inspiring words use in poem.
        You are always kindness reply me
        Tack care!

        Liked by 1 person

  10. Hi Mike, your words are so powerful and dark, yet brilliant. I’m sorry you have these memories of a monster that I can’t even fathom, but sharing them through poetry I’m sure is cathartic, and helpful to others with similar circumstances. Your words paint such vivid pictures…

    The house
    A gray thing
    Hunched against
    The gloom of
    Bruise-tinted sky
    Like some
    Feral beast
    Skull-socket eyes you for sharing.

    Keep writing, my friend. Hugs ❤️

    Liked by 3 people

    Reply

    1. Thanks, Lauren. Catharsis is indeed the effect writing this sort of poetry has for me. I wanted to revisit a few of the poems I’d posted when I first started my blog more than two years ago since not many people saw them, and this one was right at the top of the list for my “Poetry Reprise Tour,” if you will. It’s extremely dark and bleak, for sure, but writing it was so liberating. The farm is receding into the past more and more each day, and time lends its unique and healing perspective if we allow it. I think the final two lines say it all, you know?

      I appreciate your kindness as always, my friend. Thanks so much for reading and leaving such a nice comment. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

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      1. I agree with you about the final two lines, Mike. And I love what you said here: “The farm is receding into the past more and more each day, and time lends its unique and healing perspective if we allow it.” You said it so well, ‘allowing’ being the key word here. It’s not always easy, but it helps in the healing process. ❤️

        Liked by 1 person

  11. … Peeling like scorched dusty
    Sun-burnt skin
    Swarming with black ants
    Pungent piss-scent

    …

    And the tearing of flesh
    Yellow grins reeking of
    Fear and dead meat
    Champ and drool…

    Jeez Louise! This reads like a post-apocalyptic landscape!

    I would have fled too!

    Much love you, Mike…

    ~David

    Liked by 1 person

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    1. Thanks, David. As dark as this piece is, I really enjoyed writing it. I wanted to paint a picture of how the farm feels to me in my mind rather than how it actually appears. The farm will always have a dark thunder cloud hovering above it in my mind. I wanted to describe a few specific memories and use metaphor and artistic license to create a sort of dead hellscape, since so many of my memories from that place are toxic. Back then, in my youth and later on during some of my adult years on the farm, I could hear much better than I can now. I don’t know if you’ve ever listened to coyotes at dusk, but their yips and yowls are incredibly eerie and can make your skin crawl. Nighthawks after sunset emit such piercing screeches as they dive at insects–frightening sounds, indeed. Elk bugling in the wheat field as night falls is such a forlorn experience. I used to mimic the sound of mourning doves as a kid by blowing into my cupped hands, and I was fascinated at how the doves would coo in return. And I recall as a kid trying to climb a juniper tree and ending up being covered with little black ants. The pinyon trees were all dying due to an Ips beetle invasion, so they really did resemble skeletal figures. We always had a big garden on the farm, but once my mom’s health deteriorated, the garden spot pretty much went to seed and became overgrown with weeds. The farm house was covered with gray siding that was somewhat dilapidated and in definite need of replacement. And man, there were spiders everywhere on the farm. So, lots of stuff to write about while imagining the farm as a haunted place. As for the monster…he died in 2017. Suicide. At the farm. So, that adds a completely sinister layer of context right there.

      But, I don’t think about that place much anymore, and I don’t plan on ever visiting it again in person. However, I’ll very likely write about it again as I sift through the memories and put them in their proper places.

      As always, I appreciate your kindness, good sir. Many thanks for taking time to read this one and for your constant support. Much appreciated. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

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    1. Thanks, Jordyn. I remember being really zoned-in while writing this piece. I used metaphor and artistic license in my descriptions to paint a picture of how the farm feels to me in my mind rather than how it actually appears. All those years I spent on the farm hold lots of memories (not all of them sinister like those in this poem). Long walks with the dogs or by myself as I explored the woods and meadows and pastures and listened to the birds and coyotes and just basically observing what surrounded me left an indelible mark in my mind. I can close my eyes and it’s like I’m instantly transported back in time, walking among the pinyons and junipers and sage brush, smelling the aroma of trees and weeds and dirt and clean air, watching the birds, etc. Sometimes I’m not sure if having a keen memory is a boon or a hindrance, but it does provide material and inspiration for poetry, and writing about these memories reduces their hold on me, you know?

      I appreciate that you stopped by to read and comment. It’s always good to see you visit, my friend. 🙂

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  13. This reads as EMDR Mike.. Eye Movement Desensitization Reprocessing Therapy Mike.
    Powerfully written and love the metaphorical approach.
    So many lines to underline here I love Mike.
    ❤️
    “In hushed
    Sepulchral silence
    Muted coos of
    Mourning doves
    Float softly in
    Penitential pleas
    Stillness magnifying
    Lilting lamentation”

    And the best ones.

    “Painful past … amen to escape:
    “I look around
    One final time
    Then make my way
    Out the door
    And into the night

    It’s time to leave
    The farm behind”
    🙌🏽💓🙏🏼

    Liked by 3 people

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    1. Thanks a bunch, Cindy. I actually underwent EMDR therapy in 2018 but had a bad reaction to the last two sessions and developed an array of strange physical symptoms, some of which still persist to this day. They included extreme dizziness and weakness, numbness from my knees down and in my fingers as well as on the left side of my face and scalp, light-headedness, shortness of breath, an internal tremor on the left side of my body and overall shakiness. I spent much of 2019 in specialists’ offices and hospitals as docs tried to find a physical cause for the weird symptoms. No physical cause was ever found. A counselor I saw a bit later said it was a somatic reaction to uncovering buried trauma that my body had stored since childhood. I was given a book titled The Body Bears the Burden by Robert C. Scaer M.D. that describes the symptoms and their relation to trauma. Five years later, I still have numbness from my knees down and haven’t able to drive for four and a half years. I have numbness in my fingers and some residual dizziness, weakness and shakiness, but it’s not as bad as it was back then. The strange internal tremor is still present and comes and goes randomly. There’s no physical pain, but this has really set me back significantly in terms of mobility and independence, as well as affecting my depression in a major way.

      This poem really is sort of like an EMDR session. It was exhausting to write (although liberating and immensely enjoyable), and obviously I used a lot of artistic license in my descriptions (I love imagery and metaphor; both are useful tools to describe feelings and events), but even so, the farm will always seem like a dark and foreboding place to me. I haven’t been there for years, and I don’t plan on ever returning.

      Anyway, thanks for your thoughtful comment and for taking the time to check out this poem. I truly appreciate it, my friend. 🙂

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      1. OMG MIKE, WOW!!!! I’m soooooo sorry.. this is horrible. It’s amazing you could go back the the experience and extrapolate a poem that reads as an experience like EMDR. Horrible and it just shows nothing is tried and true and there are fall outs. man oh man. It sounded so similiar I couldn’t help but comment on it. Curious if you have ever had CST.. (craniosacral therapy)? Not suggesting it even though I get great results with clients.. just asking.

        I’m sorry you had such aftermath and are still experiencing some of it. It just shows some stored memories are hard wired.

        You’er so welcome and NEVER EVER going back to thos for sure. You’re so very welcome dearest Mike💕

        Liked by 1 person

    2. I really had high hopes entering EMDR therapy as nothing in my twelve years of counseling and medications has put a dent in my depression, so it was sort of a last resort, Hail Mary sort of thing. When it backfired, I was really frustrated and since then I’ve felt as though there may be no real hope for me as far as managing my depression and PTSD and insomnia. My counseling sessions keep me going, and my therapist is a wonderful woman who was instrumental in encouraging me to start this blog two years ago.

      I’d never heard of CST so I did a bit of research on it. It sounds intriguing. I’ll read more about it, and thanks for the suggestion.

      I agree with your take on some stored memories being hard-wired. Some of them seem to persist no matter what I’ve tried. Strangely (and fortunately), writing about them probably helps me more than anything else I’ve tried. So, if anyone ever wonders why I have so much depressing, melancholy, sorrowful poetry on my blog, this is why. It’s also why writer’s block seems so unconquerable at times for me, and why I dread when it rears its ugly head.

      Thanks again, dear Cindy. You truly are a wonderful person and I really appreciate you and your concern and friendship. I’m so glad you’re a part of the WP community. 🙂

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      1. Unreal Mike!!! That’s why nothing is full proof. I’m always the 1% of when things go wrong so I can believe that it back fried. I’m so glad you have a wonderful counselor that is attentive to your needs and that you are in our community as well as. You truly are a gift to all of us.
        CST can be amazing with the right therapist but then again nothing is full proof and you seem to have a good pulse on things at the moment so I wouldn’t want you to rock the boat.
        You are more than welcome Mike. I am touched and honored by your words.and friendship as well. Thanks so very much❤️

        Liked by 1 person

    1. Kindest thanks, Joan. I truly value your insights and support. I think the “walking out the door” part at the end has been the most difficult thing of all as far as all those memories are concerned. Letting go of so many horrible things that seemed to define who I am for so many years…that’s a real struggle even today. However, it’s the only way forward, you know? It’s time to leave the farm behind…

      As always, thank you so much for your support, my friend. I truly appreciate you, and I’m always happy to see you stop by. 🙂

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