Bonsack–A Poem for my child

Bonsack

It was not the petting zoo my son was enthralled with
Out at the farm in Bonsack
It was not the piglets, not the goats
Nor the bunnies nor the cows
Only a moment he spent
In the kernel pit before wanting out
Or in the pumpkin patch before nursing
And though he has a love for tractors
Sitting focused at the wheel
Mastering the gears and levers at sixteen months
Though he rode with us on the hay wagon
With eyes wide for the pasture
It was in the corn maze that he screamed for his daddy
Not with fear
But with blooming vigor for the continual rush of life!
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Picking Blueberries at 3 Birds—A Summer Poem

[This week we’ll be saying goodbye to summer with three summer-themed poems I wrote during the summer.]

Picking Blueberries at 3 Birds
by Caleb Coy

I bring my son for the first time
To pick berries from the vine
Thirteen months old, he grabs them
By the handful
Out of the bucket
And off of the ground.

Clustered like grapes
They twist and pull
and fall into our buckets lightly.

Hand in hand we walk
Through the rows of the glade.
Among the gatherers
Among the Dutch visitors who came at dawn
In a cool June morning
When broke out the sun.

A belly full of berries
He rides on my shoulders
And gibber-gabbers
About sweet warm berries
In a perfect morning
Of a perfect day
The perfect day is pesticide free.
[For Noah]

Here is a link to 3 Bird’s Berry farm.