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    dots Submission Name: The Strongest Man I Ever Metdots

    Author: Crutch
    ASL Info:    65/M/Ar.
    Elite Ratio:    7.58 - 44/27/12
    Words: 382
    Class/Type: Misc/Misc
    Total Views: 1066
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 2395

       Not sure this qualifies as a poem, I have a tendenct to work with rhyme most of the time. This is based on an incident from my childhood. Appreciate any thoughts you may have.

    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsThe Strongest Man I Ever Metdots

    His name was Mr. Mudd
    and he was the strongest man I ever met.
    He had three children -two boys and a girl-
    and an ailing wife, whose face was white as milk.

    They lived in a small frame house
    among a grove of poplar trees,
    across the big field in front of our place,
    out near the state highway.

    Today, Mr. Mudd had come to see the Beast
    squatting on its haunches in our field
    of young corn sprouts.
    In rusting chrome on the red torso of the monster
    was its name, McCormick Farmall

    Its rear wheels,
    covered with reptilian-like steel spikes,
    were buried in trenches it had clawed
    two days before, following a sudden rain.
    Water from the field had leached into the trenches
    forming two long water filled troughs
    into which the bottom of the wheels had vanished.

    Atop the red Behemoth, my father poked, prodded,
    and yanked at various levers and cables
    unit the Creature came alive.
    Snorting and belching
    the Fiend vomited fire and brimstone
    from its exhaust into the cool morning air.

    Teasing the Brute with gas and clutch,
    my father made it lurch
    back and forth in the sodden trenches
    spewing filthy fountains
    of water and mud,

    but in spite of its expended rage,
    the Monster could not escape its own grave.

    That is when Mr. Mudd moved in behind the Beast.
    Placing his soft hands against the metallic skin
    he leaned against the Giant
    and syncopated its movements.

    His bandy legs bowed with mammoth effort.
    His pale arms strained.
    His small feet sank into the mud.

    As the churning wheels heaved from the trenches
    water, mud, and finally dry rock and dirt
    the Monster sprang from its prison
    and sat quivering atop the wet surface of the field.

    Amid the victory shouts, Mr. Mudd slapped his bony chest and a called out over the noise, “Glad I could help.”

    He sauntered across the field toward the poplar grove.

    He was David dragging the head of Goliath;
    He was Ulysses besmeared with the blood of the suitors;
    He was the strongest man I ever met.

    Submitted on 2006-09-05 16:23:24     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      excellent story. your descriptiveness and the poem's "drive" well, not the trasctor's drive lol,...worked really well.
    there were one or two lines that felt a bit weaker than the sturdily constructed and regular mesh of words.

    thre "monster could nt escape it's self-dug grave"

    or "the fiend vomited smoke and brimstone
    and from the exhaust, lighting bolts of fire"

    just before your final line.( and I neglected the chance to use "penultimate" ) either another line that translates why the heros of old are sort of re-seen in this man..or something to allow the final line to sum up why or how he became the strongest man you ever met...muscle strength or selflessly helping out?

    He came when needed, unasked he was the deciding factor in freeing the iron beast,
    for with the rain approaching, a ruined field
    meant my family's failure

    he was thestrongest man i ever met..

    or something much bewtter done thabn attempt at explaining wehat I meant..

    but !!! REally great.

    | Posted on 2006-12-11 00:00:00 | by koster | [ Reply to This ]
      This is fantastic! I do love poems that tell stories and this one tells it beautifully. You've done a masterful job. Really nice. mae
    | Posted on 2006-09-14 00:00:00 | by mae | [ Reply to This ]
      Thanks for the thrill of letting me see the time I grew up on a farm,yet, my dad had to settle for a stubborn old mule that would throw things into chaos when the sun struck 12 o'clock. That thing would break into a run for the barn and its noontime snack. After a thousand plants were totally destroyed in several noontime incidences dad learned to unhitch that mule before mad mule barn time
    I agree with Red_reaper.
    | Posted on 2006-09-06 00:00:00 | by realpoet | [ Reply to This ]
      I love this. So nostalgic. All the exageration and a child's odd truth. Funny to in a way for this is the stuff you see so much in your head when your state of mind is young and creative. Point of views so exciting.
    This is the sort that is put to grave quickly before, GASP, we actually think in ways not agreed to be in this "reality" people speak of.
    I like the old-fashioned discriptions best.

    I can see this so easily as a children's book. It makes me laugh in a light way that seems rare nowadays. I wish there was more wordings like this.
    | Posted on 2006-09-05 00:00:00 | by Red_reaper | [ Reply to This ]
      Excellent, captivating write. I felt like I was along for the ride. Appreciate the descriptive moments in time...I almost felt myself "heaving" and "ho-ing" with Mr. Mudd! Hahaha!

    Also agree with Red_reaper...a children's short story book in the making...you have created some vivid illustrations in the painted-lobes of my mind!

    Thanks for sharing.
    The strongest "man" I ever met...my hero...was Mighty Mouse! ;)

    | Posted on 2006-09-09 00:00:00 | by KimmyMim | [ Reply to This ]

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