need feedback please

[Syndra Lynn]

I have been working on this so long, I feel stuck in a rut with it.

Anyone want to offer advice?

Many thanks

***********

Seasons


Venerable cedar looms overhead
I perch on the creaking porch rail.
Wind whistles through an abundance of trees,
jumbles my ponytail.

Eight unique pines grow in a line
to trim the old house on the east.
Dwarfed and twisted, They’ve been topped
For family Christmas trees.

Nine walnut trees stand noble and proud
shading an island of green.
Honored protectors, silent spectators
at parties and family weddings.

They saw you and I exchange our rings
As we promised forever together.
They now watch our kids hunt Easter eggs,
and run through sprinklers in hot weather.

Apples, loquats, a pear and a plum,
Summers bountiful harvest to feast.
By some means, a single prune tree remains
A hint of an orchard deceased.

Great Grandpa’s ghost lives beneath gnarled oaks
That define the north property line.
There in the shade, he sits rolling his smoke,
Watching his family through time.

Grandpa Combs still walks through rows
Of a prune orchard long gone.
He props up limbs bearing heavy fruit
As his spirit wanders along.

The fifth generation has never seen
The prune trees in their glory.
But the fourth generation remembers
And tries to tell the story


Of how it was before
The third generation chose
To replace the profitless prunes,
And planted grapes in rows.

We prune and tie the vines,
Mend wire, replace the stakes,
Protect young buds from frost,
In the autumn, harvest grapes.

Pinot, Gewürz, and Cabernet,
Produce award winning wines.
Yet for all the hard work it takes,
The farmer makes not a dime.

The maple tree cools the patio.
Its leaves, a dress of lace,
Turn blazing orange in autumn
To decorate our days.

Nana raised her children here,
And watched her grandchildren grow.
Briefly she greeted her great grandkids
With one of the kindest smiles I’ve known.

I can still see Dad on the tractor.
Mowing, discing, entertaining the kids.
The same grandkids who soon will do
The work that once was his.

I think of them quite often,
Especially when I’m here.
It gives my soul great comfort
To feel their spirits near.

When I approach the autumn of my years
And watch my grandchildren play,
I’ll be content to visit here
Until my dying day.

This oasis to the spirit
We call the family ranch,
Is where I want to live
When my time on earth has passed.

********


I appreciate all suggestions and critique.

Syn

 

[Kundalinguini]

A quick pass, Syn...

Seasons


Venerable cedar looms overhead
I perch on the creaking porch rail.
Wind whistles through an abundance of trees,
jumbles my ponytail.

Eight unique pines grow in a line
to trim the old house on the east.
Dwarfed and twisted, They’ve been topped
For family Christmas trees.

Nine walnut trees stand noble and proud
shading an island of green.
Honored protectors, silent spectators
Of all that our family has been.

They saw you and I exchange our rings
As we promised forever together.
They now watch our kids hunt Easter eggs,
and jump sprinklers in hot weather.

Apples, loquats, a pear and a plum,
Summers bountiful harvest to feast.
By some means, a single prune tree remains
A hint of an orchard deceased.

Great Grandpa’s ghost lives in gnarled oaks
That define the north property line.
There in the shade, he sits rolling his smoke,
Watching his family through time.

Grandpa Combs still walks through rows
Of a prune orchard now long gone.
He props up the limbs bearing heavy fruit
As his spirit wanders along.

The fifth generation has never seen
The prune trees in all their glory.
But the fourth generation remembers still
And tries to tell the story

Of everything how it was before
The third generation chose
To end the harvest of profitless prunes,
And instead planted grapes in rows.

We prune and tend and tie the vines,
Mend wire, replace the stakes,
Protect young buds from untimely frost,
In the autumn, harvest grapes.

Pinot, Gewürz, and Cabernet,
Produce award winning wines.
Yet for all the endless work it takes,
The farmer makes not a dime.

The maple tree cools the patio.
Its leaves, a dress of lace,
Turning blazing orange in autumn
To decorate our days.

Nana raised her children here,
And watched her grandchildren grow.
Briefly she greeted her great grandkids
With the kindest smile I’ve known.

I can still see Dad on the tractor.
While he worked, entertaining the kids.
The same grandkids who soon will do
The tasks that once were his.

I think of them all quite often,
Especially when I’m here.
It gives my soul great comfort
To feel their spirits near.

When I approach my autumn
And watch my grandchildren play,
I’ll be content to visit here
Until my dying day.

This oasis to the spirit
We call the family ranch,
Is the heaven I would want to live
When my time on earth has passed.

 

 

Just to regroove the rut... back to you now.

 

[Syndra Lynn]

Thank you

Several of those changes fit nicely where I was floundering.

Merci

Syn

 

[Kundalinguini]

Bienvenue, Syn