Poetry Sample
Poetry is primarily a spoken medium, not a written one. The cadence and inflection of the human voice is essential to its proper understanding and enjoyment. I am currently working on adding an audio link for this poem and I'm researching making all my poetry widely available as an audio download.
This particular poem is a glimpse into the lives of American laborers in the early days of the Twentieth Century. Some of it derives from conversations with my late grandfather, who lived during those times; some is pure writer's imagination, for which I take full responsibility.
In those days, the men on road crews built new roads through the country's mountains where literally none had existed before. The work wasn't done by machines; it was accomplished with the sheer brute force of human manual labor. These men worked every daylight hour, six days a week, regardless of the weather, with only picks and shovels - and hauled the dirt and rocks they dug in carts drawn by donkeys or mules, if they were lucky. By the muscles of their backs if they were not. They lived in the wilderness away from their families for months on end, in tents on-site with the rest of the crew. In so many ways, it was like living in another world.
This particular poem is a glimpse into the lives of American laborers in the early days of the Twentieth Century. Some of it derives from conversations with my late grandfather, who lived during those times; some is pure writer's imagination, for which I take full responsibility.
In those days, the men on road crews built new roads through the country's mountains where literally none had existed before. The work wasn't done by machines; it was accomplished with the sheer brute force of human manual labor. These men worked every daylight hour, six days a week, regardless of the weather, with only picks and shovels - and hauled the dirt and rocks they dug in carts drawn by donkeys or mules, if they were lucky. By the muscles of their backs if they were not. They lived in the wilderness away from their families for months on end, in tents on-site with the rest of the crew. In so many ways, it was like living in another world.
1919
© Ronald L. Herron
Sunrise to sunset, six days a week,
for a buck-fifty and three squares a day.
Sunday's were tough,
with nowhere to go 'cept church,
to moan o'er the blokes that week dead,
and no squares to count on,
'cept those you bought yourself.
That's if you were lucky enough
to have spending cash for Sunday meals,
after a week of smokes, tent-side craps
and wagering on whether Dewey'd
sober long enough to do a lick.
And, maybe...maybe
sending a ration home to family,
if you remembered, after a Saturday night
spent with a bath, a shave and,
if the bones rolled well, a pint and a red woman,
paid to make you forget you were a workin' man;
or to remember,
don't rightly know which.
* * *
© Ronald L. Herron
Sunrise to sunset, six days a week,
for a buck-fifty and three squares a day.
Sunday's were tough,
with nowhere to go 'cept church,
to moan o'er the blokes that week dead,
and no squares to count on,
'cept those you bought yourself.
That's if you were lucky enough
to have spending cash for Sunday meals,
after a week of smokes, tent-side craps
and wagering on whether Dewey'd
sober long enough to do a lick.
And, maybe...maybe
sending a ration home to family,
if you remembered, after a Saturday night
spent with a bath, a shave and,
if the bones rolled well, a pint and a red woman,
paid to make you forget you were a workin' man;
or to remember,
don't rightly know which.
* * *