Photo Poetry Matchup

Karen from days and months has kindly offered me the use one of her gorgeous photos as inspiration for a poem, and this is how it all happened.

Earlier this week I saw Karen’s post come through my feeder that showcased a poem written by Lillian The Home Poet inspired by the photo Karen had taken at Port Arthur.  I thought it was a lovely match and left a comment on Karen’s blog.  She then blew me out of the water by offering me a photo too, as she said I had made her appreciate poetry more and more.  I was gobsmacked, because Karen takes gorgeous photos, and here she was offering one to me to write about.  Needless to say, I accepted with alacrity, in case she changed her mind.

As I said, Karen’s photos are beautiful, all of them, but the one that immediately sprang to mind was a photo from this post: OWPC Foggy.  I’m not sure why it had such an impact on me, as the subject matter is not one of my usual likes, but it did, so all credit to Karen’s photography skills.

“Tractors in the Mist” – Credit: Karen Gosper,

I was the owners pride and joy,
the day he brought me home,
my paintwork gleamed, bright and pristine,
and so began our partnership,
a man and his machine.

We toiled hard down through the years,
in wind and rain and frost and sun,
making a living from the land,
from dawns clear sky till days end done,
a man and his machine.

We saw the drought, we saw the floods,
we worked in dust, and slogged through mud,
the hard years took their toll on us,
but still we carried on,
a man and his machine.

One day he didn’t come for me,
I was left shut in the shed,
my oil dried, my engine seized
cobwebbed draped, they all they forgot,
a man and his machine.

Years passed without knowing,
my tyres flat on the floor,
then the doors were opened,
and in dust-moted light I saw
a man and his machine.

They brought me to the paddock,
where I now finally rest,
on soil we worked to cultivate
through our years of partnership,
a man and his machine.

In the pale dawn mist of morning,
when the light just touches the hills,
I hear familiar footsteps pass
and his hand upon my wheel
and the dew that sparkles on the grass
cannot compare to tractor dreams
of all the years that used to be
a man and his machine.

© ceenoa