(Been reading Kerouac’s TRIP TRAP this morning so here’s a Jack Kerouac-inspired twist—freewheeling, spontaneous, like a road trip -1959- through the fields.)
Reading a bit more about this tradition (which was popular in Devon and Cornwall), the "crying the neck" is followed by a feast called the Guldize or "harvest home".
All explained by my lil ol life story - born in London, my family are all Irish, went to college in Leeds, Yorkshire (where I picked up this dialect) then lived in the US and Canada before settling in Barcelona, where my wife and kids are all Catalan. I speak Castilian Spanish too but mostly in the home it's either Catalan or English. And yes, I am suspiciously Irish, so much so that I've had the British anti-terrorist police all over my place on a number of occasions (back in the 80's-90s).
It really isn’t, it just has two components - anglo and non-anglo. Everywhere that’s English-speaking is essentially the same place, just with different levels of gun ownership.
Neck grasped, squeezed and raised
Asphyxiated spirit,
Her breath held till Spring
Such a brilliantly brutal description, I love it🖤
Prompt: Crying the Neck
(Been reading Kerouac’s TRIP TRAP this morning so here’s a Jack Kerouac-inspired twist—freewheeling, spontaneous, like a road trip -1959- through the fields.)
∞ Neck slips, a ghost breeze
Through golden veins of the field
Reapers chasing shadows
∞ Reapers stumble on
Scythes swinging wide like jazz riffs
Neck gone with the wind
∞ Cutting through sunset
We howl at the neck’s sly dodge
Midnight grins with it
∞ Spirit on the run
Reapers, tired, drag their feet—
Neck free, laughing wild
∞ Harvest hums a song
Neck dodges, we keep missing
Like jazz, offbeat, cool
∞ Moon rises, neck free
Reapers lost in their own chase
Grain whispers, “Not today”
∞ Scythe swings wide, misses
Neck skips on like a beat poet
Shadows cheer it on
∞ Running through the field
Neck just a blur in the dusk
Reapers sigh, defeated
∞ Grass whispers secrets
Neck gone, slipped through time and light
We stand, hands empty
∞ Reapers, wild-eyed, run
But the neck? Long gone, baby
Jazz in the field’s bones
I read so much Kerouac in college🖤 I love the grain whispering “not today”, but these are all so good!
He certainly did his own thing. I like to browse his work just for the joy of his originality.
Cold breath of winter
approaches: fetch the sickle
and reap the wheat
-------
Reading a bit more about this tradition (which was popular in Devon and Cornwall), the "crying the neck" is followed by a feast called the Guldize or "harvest home".
Love this! It’s so simple and elegant🖤
Thanks for the additional details.
Neck ‘n neck they raced
Came down to a nose
To reap and smell the fresh grain.
Ha! Love this!
At least it is not the start of a cold.
Ha!
Superstitious lad
lost in fears of needed tasks
Get thee to the Lord!
Oo nice! Sounds very accurate to the time, well done🖤
Thou'rt reckless, lass
cuttin' t'last neck aforetime -
'appen thou'lt be next
Love the eye dialect! I tink you said that you have Castilian family? But Murphy sounds suspiciously Irish and this accent is pretty good😏
All explained by my lil ol life story - born in London, my family are all Irish, went to college in Leeds, Yorkshire (where I picked up this dialect) then lived in the US and Canada before settling in Barcelona, where my wife and kids are all Catalan. I speak Castilian Spanish too but mostly in the home it's either Catalan or English. And yes, I am suspiciously Irish, so much so that I've had the British anti-terrorist police all over my place on a number of occasions (back in the 80's-90s).
Ah, Catalan, I said it wrong🤦♀️ But wow, what a life story.
It really isn’t, it just has two components - anglo and non-anglo. Everywhere that’s English-speaking is essentially the same place, just with different levels of gun ownership.
😅 yay guns /s
Cutting the last sheaf,
Felt nice, till he saw the snake,
And it bit him twice... 🐍😎🐍
Oh snap! A jump scare in a haiku!? Well done!
Haha! Yes, those sneaky snakes can jump out from anywhere... 😎