Tag Archives: poetry

Coming to Know

by Charla Burgess

Coming to Know the wild places
Photo Courtesy Stephy Pariande Marzian

The land here grows nothing

But wild.
Those watching might suspect
But it is just a time of fallow rest
After the frost
Of winter last.

Don't think there is not a watching.
A time of acquaintance.
Of coming to know,
As one learns a new lover.
You must taste the sweetness
Of the earth.
Watch the depths
Of light and shadow.
Breathe the musk
Of soil drenched with rain---
Trace the wash over the slopes and contours.

One doesn't just plunge into the earth, but first feels the texture,

The tilth,
Before peeling back the dressings
Of sod and brambles.
The gentle, deep working in
Of loam and nourishment
Coaxes forth the lushness,
The ripe giving.


One must watch,

Before any touch is made on the land.
There must be a
Giving. Nurturing. Tending.
Before dropping to your knees
To plant your future.

Coming to Know: dig in and plant your future

From Becky: Friends show you their poetry. Good friends let you borrow it.

Many of Charla's friends are encouraging her to write a collection of poetry or, at the very least, submit her individual poems for publication. If you agree, please leave her a comment below or share this with your friends. 

After a hiatus, my favorite farmbrarian poet Charla Kramer is back, just in time for spring. Read on:


Begin to unfurl.
slowly. quietly.
Can you not see it?

I feel it.
Sunshine cracking
dark, thick cover.
The brittle edges crack, fall apart,
while something softer, more tender,
waits, deep inside, to melt.

It eases
around the corners of my eyes,
soul, dreams.
Although it is elusive,
sliding away and back
in mercurial fashion,
and a harder, sharper edge
--more brassy, sharp edges
than soft, golden warmth --
i bring it,
once again.

Winter approaches, and some of us are already yearning to get our hands dirty in the garden. Guest post poet Charla Kramer says it perfectly:

Photo by Charla Kramer
Photo by Charla Kramer



The soil calls, calls.
For me.
Particles of earth bound
By Loam and living organisms,
One of which is me.
Just like it binds my molecules,
Incorporated over years of living
Into muscle fibers, heart.

The green tangle of vines
Reaches out a tendril
To my memory.
Wafting scent of summer
Dying and returning to the earth

This farm longs for me
Breathes for me
And I it.
That core pulse of life, essential

Charla Kramer writes, bakes amazing bread and jam, and teaches in Northwest Michigan. Go ahead and compliment her poetry on Twitter or Echo Bend's Facebook page.