Wattle & Daub

 

She lived right next to the forest

In a cottage of wattle and daub,

A roof of bark and a floor of dirt

With a whisk of milk, absorbed,

Her man had died of a heart attack

For over a year, he'd gone,

Had left her to fend for herself out there

In the shade of a ghostly gum.

 

He lay right under a stringy bark,

She'd dug the grave herself,

Had made a cross with her loving hands

Deep planted at his head,

On lonely nights she would sit out there

And whisper him under the stars,

'Oh Jim, where now are your strong, brown hands,

Where now are your loving arms?'

 

She didn't cry, for she couldn't cry

For her heart had turned to stone,

Her love was buried and six feet down

With crumbling flesh and bone,

Her eyes were hard as the hardest flint,

Her lips a fine white line,

And when the stars came out at night

She would look for the slightest sign.

 

She looked for a heaven beyond the stars,

She looked for the eyes of God,

She knew that he watched her as she slept,

He watched where her steps had trod,

She prayed for her days to end in peace

And soon, for she was alone,

She carved a notch in the mantelpiece

Each day, since her love had flown.

 

She bucketed water from the creek

That trickled on past her door,

It once was a raging river bed

But that had been back, before...

Before a neighboring farmer dammed,

And quelled the flowing stream,

Had turned her husband's protests down

With a sneer, and words obscene.

 

Her Jim had worked then twice as hard

To irrigate his feed,

The cattle had died in the summer months

On the parched ground of their need,

He worked from the time the sun came up

To the time that the stars came out,

And in the end, collapsed and died

From the toil of a man-made drought.

 

The farmer up by the dam had said

That he'd take her land for free,

She'd never be able to stay out there

Alone, she would turn and flee,

Then he would double his pasture

And would open the dam to flood,

And let his cattle to roam abroad

By the cottage of wattle and daub.

 

Now during the long drawn evenings

And deep in the forest's shade,

She could hear strange noises, threatening,

As they howled across the glade,

She loaded the shotgun Jim had left,

And kept it inside the door,

She'd not be driven from off the land

Where her husband lay, forlorn.

 

One night a shadowy figure came

Strode out of the darkening wood,

Crossed the creek in the evening mist

In a cape with a long black hood,

It howled and jittered like one possessed

She opened the cottage door,

Then blanched as she saw it light a torch

And the flames begin to roar.

 

She went to reach for the shotgun then

But a hand caught fast her wrist,

Lifted the gun and pointed it,

She stood with her hand on her breast,

Her heart was pounding, her legs were weak

As she watched the phantom stand,

He shrieked in fear as he saw the gun

In a strong, brown pair of hands.

 

The blast took one of his legs clean off,

The phantom fell with a scream,

The shotgun dropped to the earthen porch

She thought it a crazy dream,

She turned to look for the strong brown hands

That she knew as well as her own,

But the porch was clear, and she felt no fear

For her husband had come home.

 

The dam was breached in a minute or so,

The torrent then flooded down,

Washed the remains of the farmer to

The lowlands, where he drowned,

She went out back and buried the gun

With a smile in her eyes, like stars

Looked up to the skies, and saw God's eyes

And round her, two loving arms!

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[emmajoy]

The meter romped all through this, except maybe for verse 5.. but even so, loved the way your words, story flowed throughout. There's quite a plot in this prose-poem, and, it's kept going very cleverly. As to the end, i assume it's her husband come to save the land he worked so hard on during his life, and, to protect his wife and her home.

Again there are smiles in this, even though you add sad touches and the creepy appearance of the phantom. Very much enjoyed it.

[Valentine]

A sweet tale of love that returns for it has never truly died..You out did yourself again..Keep them coming mate..lol and God bless..Valentine

[closeddddd]

Great job with!

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Well, I'd say that farmer bleepedy-bleep-bleep-bleep certainly got his due! I'll never understand why people can't be kind to one another, be honest, and work hard to gain what is desired rather than trying to obtain through mean and evil ways. Rather than his leg, it should have been his head!

One piece of advice though ... punctuation. End your sentences with a period where needed. Run on sentences are very distracting to the fluidity of your otherwise exceptional writing.

Linda Marie Van Tassell

[Mark]

Your knack for telling a story in verse just leaves me breathless, David! I am a little confused be the character in the cloak, though. Was it the other landowner, tired of waiting for her to die, come to do her in? Or was it some spirit visitor, come to let her know that her other problem was about to be resolved? Or, perhaps, is it a question of perspective, and it is she who has at last died, rather than her husband returning; from her point of view, they are at long last reunited. Very engaging story, my friend!

[Legion]

You always come up with the coolest stories. Great work. Had a Poe feel to it as well. I'm not a big Poe fan, but this worked well. Keep it up. Kudos.