Poetry: Breaking Ground

Poetry

Breaking ground is both an act of labor and hope. From garden rows to prairie fields, these poems consider what it means to plant, tend and begin again – and how time, care and the land itself shape what grows.

Sunflowers in an Abandoned Plow

Laura Hilkemann, Firth

The plow abandoned on grassy ground
Ripped many miles of prairie sod
Before its archaic tractor broke down
When all replacement parts were gone.
Now native sunflowers tower tall
Among the still, dull discs and shares
Which for the flowers are a shield
That flakes red paint upon the field.

The Gravedigger

Julie Roach, Kearney

As I walk through the cemetery
I hear a deafening, then a muffled sound
Not from the dead surrounding me
It’s the grave digger breaking ground
I wonder what he thinks while
Excavating clay, dirt and soil
Speed, smoothness, backfill his job
Is undertaking a joy of his toil?
I taste the coffee I carry with me
Its bitterness keeps me awake
Once again I hear his backhoe
I muse whose destiny, whose deceased fate
I tentatively touch a headstone
Buried beneath lies someone I love
Sensing a calm closeness around me
I feel an earthiness from above
I end my slow burial ground walk
Leaves fall, sun sparkles its light
I deadpan wave to the departing gravedigger
As his burial bucket leaves my sight

My elderly neighbor cleans out her yard

Jeff Lacey, Gretna

Pines and stone shape the landscape near Chadron State Park and Nebraska National Forest.

AJ Dahm

in a beige sun hat and new green gloves.
Peeling back the leaves of old hostas
and combing clean the rectangle
where new tomatoes belong
she is confident that this is the day
the work should be done, and, without warning,
my heart agrees! I follow her into her joy;
I read wildly the scripture of the sky;
I am a bullfrog centered squarely
on the lily leaf of time.

New Flowers

Duane Anderson, Olathe, Kansas

Words of a poem
on the tip of your tongue,
little flowers
pushing through the ground,
entering a world
of sunlight and water,
growing and growing,
touching each of us.

I Remember Planting this Apple Tree

Judy Lorenzen, Central City

It’s May,
and look at this grand apple tree,
from pink blossoms to baby green apples.
I remember
when we planted it –
the boys were seedlings themselves.
I remember
breaking ground
and how excited their little hands were
to pat the dirt down around it
once the tiny tree was in the soil.
Every day we watered it
and checked the cotyledons
as they converted sunlight into energy,
developing true leaves.
The root system was delicate,
on its way to maturing,
but so dependent on moisture
and protection from environmental stressors,
and the boys grew with that seedling turned sapling,
which became rigid, woody stemmed
and stood without support.
I remember
when the boys began to increase in size and height
and branch out.
I knew the day would come
they’d leave home –
like autumn winds that take away the leaves and apples –
but at that time,
I never envisioned this beautiful canopy
of verdant leaves and small apples
soon to be round, red,
and ready for piemaking or applesauce.
I didn’t see the reward that comes
with time, perseverance, and patient caretaking –
roots that go deep into the land, strong,
or the abundant fruit
that is a repeated blessing every year.

Wind and Stone

J.E. Winter, Omaha

The wind rushes through the pines
like it has somewhere to be.
Offering ancient secrets
that no one understands but
the white-rumped mule deer.
See her twitch and tilt an ear at nothing?
We can stop and observe for a while.
Look – that sapling below us, dusted in snow,
its slender frame emerging from a boulder.
Today it looks so weak.
But just out of sight its roots
are powerful enough to break stone
and move mountains.
Soon enough it will tear that boulder asunder
and claim its place on this mountainside.
Then it, too, will become a messenger of the wind.

Submit Poetry

Send your poems on the theme “Prairie Light” for the September/October 2026 issue, deadline August 1, and “By the Fire” for the November/December 2026 issue, deadline September 1. Email your poems to poetry@nebraskalife.com or mail to the address at the front of this magazine.