Tuesday, December 28, 2021

Measure Of Poverty In The Boondocks Of The Southern Peloponnese, Circa 1965

In a land overflowing 
With a blessèd abundance 
Of olive trees, not having one 
To call your own and where 
Those who had finished 
Gathering theirs had packed up 
The bulging sacks, 
Hand-woven heavy
Ground-covering cloths
And gone home, to go there afterwards,
Get down on your hands and knees 
And salvage the precious few 
Shiny fruits that had over- 
Flowed and escaped 
The nets of the plenty.

 

2 comments:

  1. Wonderful and moving poem, with marvelous vivid particulars, and sounds superb aloud.

    ReplyDelete
  2. So good to hear you liked this poem, John, and Eleni was delighted, too, as it describes what her grandmother used to do; we both thank you for your feedback.

    ReplyDelete

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