{"id":859,"date":"2017-04-17T17:01:46","date_gmt":"2017-04-17T17:01:46","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/?p=859"},"modified":"2025-04-21T13:40:35","modified_gmt":"2025-04-21T13:40:35","slug":"her-land","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/2017\/04\/17\/her-land\/","title":{"rendered":"Her Land"},"content":{"rendered":"

\n

*Originally written for Pawling Public Radio’s “America the Beautiful” poetry presentation<\/p>\n

\"OLYMPUS<\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I lay on the land, grass tickling bare toes.<\/span><\/p>\n

Descendants of descendants of descendants of the first ants to explore the soil<\/span><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

steadily tiptoe over ancient rock<\/span><\/p>\n

and me.<\/span><\/p>\n

Crow caws, reminding me to remember the time before time<\/span><\/p>\n

when tribes tread with honor and gratitude.<\/span><\/p>\n

Fresh, damp petals and tomato harvests recall the toil<\/span><\/p>\n

of hands that dug, that tamped, that prayed over this place.<\/span><\/p>\n

This land that stretches miles upon miles.<\/span><\/p>\n

The curb on the corner, the trees beyond,<\/span><\/p>\n

where Fawn and Fox relax in repose.<\/span><\/p>\n

Memory stretches past forest through cool trickles of streams.<\/span><\/p>\n

This America where dreams become gulfs of sea salted peace.<\/span><\/p>\n

Infinite flatness, icy peaks, sweltering deserts exist<\/span><\/p>\n

as one refrain of her ululating anthem.<\/span><\/p>\n

All seasons contained within curious war drawn borders,<\/span><\/p>\n

and hop onto islands of lava and love,<\/span><\/p>\n

and sail into sands of snow and salmon.<\/span><\/p>\n

This land of richness and ravage.<\/span><\/p>\n

I lay on this land and offer my heart.<\/span><\/p>\n

Land who suffers under blood and tears, flags and fury, cannons and creeds,<\/span><\/p>\n

and she,<\/span><\/p>\n

she is ever constant, giving of her maternal hope<\/span><\/p>\n

that we will honor her and one another,<\/span><\/p>\n

under these universes,<\/span><\/p>\n

these bands of stripes and stars.<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

*Originally written for Pawling Public Radio’s “America the Beautiful” poetry presentation   I lay on the land, grass tickling bare toes. Descendants of descendants of descendants of the first ants to explore the soil<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":6,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":true,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_feature_clip_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2},"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false},"categories":[8],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-859","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-poetry"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p7zCq3-dR","jetpack-related-posts":[{"id":990,"url":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/2017\/10\/08\/summer-rain\/","url_meta":{"origin":859,"position":0},"title":"Summer Rain","author":"Joe Lobel","date":"October 8, 2017","format":false,"excerpt":"PAVEMENT PARCHED WITH BLISTERING HEAT BURNING BENEATH THE SOLES OF MY FEET \u00a0- TOO HURTFUL NOT TO WEAR ANY SHOES. THEN, THE RAIN CLOUDS BEGIN TO GATHER AS THEY BILLOW MORE \u00a0INTENSELY. I SENSE THAT UNIQUE SCENT -- EVEN BEFORE MY EYES CATCH \u00a0A GLIMPSE OF THE FIRST REFRESHING RAINDROPS.\u2026","rel":"","context":"In "Poetry"","block_context":{"text":"Poetry","link":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/category\/poetry\/"},"img":{"alt_text":"2017 assorted 616","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/09\/2017-assorted-616-1024x670.jpg?resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200},"classes":[]},{"id":641,"url":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/2016\/11\/17\/she-fled-him-down-the-days\/","url_meta":{"origin":859,"position":1},"title":"SHE FLED HIM DOWN THE DAYS","author":"James Crafford","date":"November 17, 2016","format":false,"excerpt":"(with a nod to Francis Thompson)\u00a0 \u00a0 She ran She fled \u00a0 He was Maleness to her He was Strength He was deep sexual Lust \u00a0 She ran from him She rented a cottage near Misquamicut Beach* And stayed there the entire off season \u00a0 He was Intellect to her\u2026","rel":"","context":"In "Poetry"","block_context":{"text":"Poetry","link":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/category\/poetry\/"},"img":{"alt_text":"","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/11\/nov162016-485.jpg?resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200,"srcset":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/11\/nov162016-485.jpg?resize=350%2C200 1x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/11\/nov162016-485.jpg?resize=525%2C300 1.5x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/11\/nov162016-485.jpg?resize=700%2C400 2x"},"classes":[]},{"id":832,"url":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/2017\/04\/02\/god-is-lovely\/","url_meta":{"origin":859,"position":2},"title":"God Is Lovely","author":"Jinnette Schaudt","date":"April 2, 2017","format":false,"excerpt":"\u00a0 We come speaking tongues Spanglish editions of handwritten love songs Scribbled fiercely and flung Into heartbeats Who said nothing could grow from this? Love practiced on lined dreams We make babies to make peace Love is godly I think love is godly We be full of promise With this\u2026","rel":"","context":"In "Poetry"","block_context":{"text":"Poetry","link":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/category\/poetry\/"},"img":{"alt_text":"OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/03\/P1010419-1024x768.jpg?resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200},"classes":[]},{"id":626,"url":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/2016\/09\/18\/my-old-house\/","url_meta":{"origin":859,"position":3},"title":"My Old House","author":"Joe Lobel","date":"September 18, 2016","format":false,"excerpt":"\u00a0 This old, weather beaten brick house beckons us. I slide my fingers along the crumbly mortar joints, Watching as it\u2019s flakes fall like pixie dust, to the ground. The faded, red fa\u00e7ade, having faced decades of Harsh winters and simmering summers, Slowly reveals the soul of a humble home,\u2026","rel":"","context":"In "Poetry"","block_context":{"text":"Poetry","link":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/category\/poetry\/"},"img":{"alt_text":"android09182016-041","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/09\/android09182016-041-1024x736.jpg?resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200},"classes":[]},{"id":5771,"url":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/2024\/09\/04\/airborne\/","url_meta":{"origin":859,"position":4},"title":"Airborne","author":"L Dewender","date":"September 4, 2024","format":false,"excerpt":"Airborne for Gary L. Dewender Life on a page, Without flesh\u2014 Paper in the wind The meat and marrow of a man The right word For a man Aloft and soaring Whole sentences rain down Upon faces that gaze What wind? What tense? It was all silver glints In sunbaked\u2026","rel":"","context":"In "Poetry"","block_context":{"text":"Poetry","link":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/category\/poetry\/"},"img":{"alt_text":"","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/aircraft-1813731_1280.jpg?resize=350%2C200&ssl=1","width":350,"height":200,"srcset":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/aircraft-1813731_1280.jpg?resize=350%2C200&ssl=1 1x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/aircraft-1813731_1280.jpg?resize=525%2C300&ssl=1 1.5x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/aircraft-1813731_1280.jpg?resize=700%2C400&ssl=1 2x, https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/09\/aircraft-1813731_1280.jpg?resize=1050%2C600&ssl=1 3x"},"classes":[]},{"id":1178,"url":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/2019\/10\/23\/i-sense-my-senses\/","url_meta":{"origin":859,"position":5},"title":"I Sense My Senses","author":"Janet Ocasio","date":"October 23, 2019","format":false,"excerpt":"\u00a0 \u00a0 Glimpsing, glancing, looking, staring Seeing out of focus Hearing, listening, noises pounding Sound so loud I cannot hear it Feeling, soft against my skin Hair on ends with prickly startling Sweetness, wetness on my lips Tasting bitter lasting findings Smells that carry me away And tickle me into\u2026","rel":"","context":"In "Poetry"","block_context":{"text":"Poetry","link":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/category\/poetry\/"},"img":{"alt_text":"Note9 Pics 828","src":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2019\/10\/Note9-Pics-828-225x300.jpg?resize=350%2C200","width":350,"height":200},"classes":[]}],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/859","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/6"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=859"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/859\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":865,"href":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/859\/revisions\/865"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=859"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=859"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/wordpress.talesfromthelake.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=859"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}