Lifting the last potatoes before first frost sets in

After weeks of rain, the allotments gleam;
in a month or so they’ll sparkle with a frosty sheen.

Groups of men huddle, boots covered in muck,
cocking an ear as they lift them with a suck.

It’s about time that they got down to work
and, grabbing their buckets and trusty forks,

they set off to their individual plots,
where foliage is yellow, hardly any blight spots.

It’s an honest day’s work, putting your back
into digging earth that’s soft, rich and black,

carefully lifting and turning it over,
sifting with fingers to discover the treasure.

Nuggets are golden beneath all the mud,
a reward for the passion in gardeners ‘blood.

Kim M. Russell, 21sT October 2025

Image by Aarón Blanco Tejedor on Unsplash

Tuesday has come around again, and I’m hosting Poetics at the dVerse Poets Pub, where we are creating our own micro seasons.

As well as the usual four seasons that we have in the West, in Japan the year is divided into seventy-two micro seasons of several days each, with poetic names; my personal favourites are ‘frogs start singing’ and ‘crickets chirp around the door’.

There are already poems about Japanese micro seasons, of which I have provided links to examples, and they lend themselves to delightful haiku and tanka. However, we are making up our own names for micro seasons and writing poems about them, with the micro season’s name as the title, in any form of our choosing.

47 thoughts on “Lifting the last potatoes before first frost sets in”

  5. I could hear the squelch of boots, the “suck” of pulled potatoes, smell the scent of “digging earth that’s soft, rich and black” and feel the satisfaction of a passionate gardener. This micro season you delved into with both hands and delivered a micro poem that inspires and sets the bar high for the rest of us, Kim. I hope you’re happy! 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

  6. This is so vivid–a feast for the senses, Kim. How wonderful to have those fresh potatoes. We’ve had some a few times with our farm share.

    “Groups of men huddle, boots covered in muck,
    cocking an ear as they lift them with a suck.”

    Wonderful prompt!

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

  13. I have given up allotmenting – too unsteady on the spongy bark paths – and left it to my daughter who only got as far as potatoes – but delicious they were – so I like this poem, Kim…

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

  20. Potato picking season’s a thing. Idaho is not far from where my kids I raised my kids and so every year because we were poor we would drive up and volunteer for a day picking potatoes so we could go home with a couple hundred pounds of potatoes. Very cool poem. I love it.

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply

Leave a comment

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.