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Harvest Time Poems | Harvest Poems About Time

These Harvest Time poems are examples of Harvest poems about Time. These are the best examples of Harvest Time poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Free verse | |


Blue sky, glorious golden sunshine Elements every farmer needs. With crops rippling in the breeze Combine harvesters whirl into action See them steadfastly snaking along the fields I can hear their dull drone from morning to night Farmhands work tirelessly to gather the harvest Making hay whilst the sun shines Every second of the day is so precious Until the final rays of the red sunset fade Only then the farmer leaves and can rest Harvest moon rapidly rises Silhouetted in the majestic oak tree A barn owl roosts silently in the quiet of night Nature Poem – Sponsor Shadow Hamilton 08~02~15

Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

Blue Harvest Moon

Comes silently
on sorrel moccasins

roosted on tortoiseshell
of root cellar

singing, stumbling
in numb imaginings

lit with half-light
squeezed in jars
of russet and avocado

a cornice of sky
split with laughter
for broken arrowheads
gold and silver among leaves

air billowed white
from lips
soft frail bones
of snowflakes
magically appear
scattering in breath
taken away
into apple night

Copyright © Glen Enloe | Year Posted 2005

Details | Free verse | |

It's Harvest Time

Behind the reaper, glistening beneath
the fading rays of light,
crude elements of happenstance
lie in its wake, passed over
and awaiting those who glean
the afterbirth.

Yes, there is that querulous
persistence of the poor,
that stubborn cadre of the prescient,
who will peer into our souls
and find us bankrupt, 
mind and consciousness already unaware.
It is a curious, stolid procession 
passing by--these ghosts 
on their ironic quest into tomorrow. 
No one may cheer them on; no one
may find a voice to hold them back.

There is no choice, for
we must be content to find ourselves
among the gleaners, though it is we
who sang our welcome to the reapers--
we, who watched the harvest come,                              
and hungered after it.

And it was we who faced the disillusionment
of barren fields with gleaming bits
of paper bibelot
to laugh and mock us
as we ploughed them underneath.

But fullness too, lurked there
in silent modesty behind the plough.
Patient gleaners know
that down the long, slow hall of history
there is a single echo: 
Truth is unchanging...paradox!

There was triumph in the air, 
and no man was a slave to it.
I deeply sighed and took a breath
and opened up my eyes.
And it was good.

Copyright © Robert Ludden | Year Posted 2014

Details | Quintain (English) | |

The Harvest

Last Merlot of the year
end of the harvest

through vines we do peer
after producing their best

the fields once more return to rest

Copyright © Mark Pringle | Year Posted 2007

Details | Rhyme | |

Harvest Time

Sweet apple, turned sour. Her taste... 
too bitter to be devoured. 
Harsh summers, unpleasant winters... 
her soul; un-nourished by spring time. 
She awaits the rainfall, 
her day in the sunshine. 
And by harvest, though she's bruised to the core; 
I know under her skin is a nectar beautiful and pure.

Copyright © Corey Brown | Year Posted 2012

Details | Senryu | |

' Golden Harvest ... ' 40th Senryu

    Golden, Full Moon Shone
On All The Harvest, That’s Grown
    Welcome In Our Home

Copyright © MoonBee Canady | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse | |

Harvest Time

Now is the time of reaping and abundance. 
Now a time of preparation for winter's frozen scarcity. 
The sun hangs low in autumn skies, 
and foggy veils obscure the view. 

In Spring, when all was fresh and new, 
an all together different hue of innovation: 
summer's promise budding in anticipation. 
Green newness bursting with naivety. 

As time ticks by and lives march on just like the seasons; 
the spring of youth and childhood innocence 
give way to lusty languid summers of prosperity. 
A gathering of experience in autumn, 

which leads to winter's wizened wisdom. 
Make it not a season of discontentment, 
but a time of rich reflection on lives well spent. 
A time of joy not isolation, 

Make this is a time of plenitude for all for whom we care.   
Help us make this winter time a time of hope 
not helplessness; and a time when grace is all we share. 
For now is the time of reaping and abundance. 

Copyright © Helen J Radford | Year Posted 2008

Details | Free verse | |

Harvest Time

Honey combs swollen..sticky and sweet
Apples candied or  chopped for  mince meat
Raisins dried from my Daddy's grape vine
Verily I say.. it's again  harvest time..
Eager for Winter and sun shortened days
Storehouses busting we bring in the strays
Tilling and tending ... the work and the grime

Toiling and teamwork.. we receive Harvest time..
Intervals of hours.. of weeks and years
Miles of work.. with blood.. sweat and tears..
Every time to a season.. every season for a time
      ~With our hearts full of gladness.. 
            we celebrate Harvest Time!

Copyright © Patricia Sawyer | Year Posted 2011

Details | Prose Poetry | |

The Golden Fertility of the Harvest

He is the sinking of the final red orange sun of the glowing summer 
Warmth no longer oozing and seeping into the pores as I lie bare under the skies 
Jeweled dewdrops on the morning grass to dampen bare feet all softness under  
And the shimmer on the surface of the lakes like the diamonds in your eyes 

He is the golden cusp pf Autumn's Fertility 
The ritual dance of the scarecrow in the breezes 
(Straw coming loose and flying towards you, most certainly 
will brush up against you and tickle before he ceases)  
And this thinner less lumpy all seeing scarecrow  
Seems to be in no remorse: his knowing face will always grin  
And his arms will always be raised in a wave to show 
He will protect the yellow brown stalks that bend before him 
He is the crisp wind that caresses the crinkled foliage 
Their rustling like long flowing skirts on a 1940s ballroom floor 
These winds chill the fingers and toes and your face with the stinging red roses  
Yet when winter beckons the retreating light, we will be frozen at its core 

He is silent snowfalls and many winter moons  
And the brown earth beginning to expose itself  
The uncoiling of green and mud beginning to ooze  
And all new life breaking free from its fragile shell

Copyright © Jennifer Cahill | Year Posted 2012

Details | Epulaeryu | |

Harvest Time

Annually the garden
provides the results
of one’s labour--together
fresh vegies and fruit 
a gift of heaven,
to you Lord

Copyright © harry horsman | Year Posted 2010

Details | Couplet | |

Harvest Time

You may like Spring when flowers smell sweet
Or going to the beach in the Summer heat
You may like Winter when snowflakes fall
But I like Harvest Time best of all
I like picking apples and baking pies
And carving Jack-O-Lanterns with glowing eyes
I like the air of a cool crisp morning
When Jack Frost has come without warning
I like it when leaves turn yellow and red
That's when a blanket feels good on my bed
I like sitting with family and friends
Watching the sunset at days end
Then dressing up for the Harvest Ball
Yes, my favorite season is the Fall

Copyright © Vernette Hutcherson | Year Posted 2006

Details | Free verse | |



Golden yellows, mixed by rum reds,
Plum lavenders spice, these are the
Colors of autumn.
Textures layers blown across the lawn,
Leave it lay, rake it not, this variations
Of decorations variety.
Rarities design by mistake, and
Happenstance, but with such beauty's
Detail, one must stop and wonder,
At it's awesome natural splendor.
Even the evergreens fall silent, to
A hushed whisper, to marvel at
The canvas, spread out before them.
Rustling not a quivers motion,
As a crisp, chilling, October wind
Brushes against their thorny pine
Nature does rest at a paused stillness,
Soon she'll slumber, beneath the winters
Blanket of ice and snow.
Nay, not to the last leaf falls, in a twilight
Sleep, than to dream, once more of spring
Now it is harvest time, men pick the
Final ripened fruit from their orchards,
Glen the fields of hay and straw to the
Last roots foundation.
Family members gather, from far and
Near, to give thanks for a bountiful
A season of thanksgiving, good will
And cheer, with warm apple cider, and
Pumpkin pie.
In mystery's dexterity, the maiden
Does sigh softy, with a peaceful
Good night, to the world of men.
Than ever so slowly closes her
Eyes gently, til the warmth of
Spring time reawakens, mother
Nature once again.


Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2015

Details | Sonnet | |

Harvest Time

There are no roots to see, not with our eyes,
that stretch from earth, umbilically below;
not even to the sun, to realize,
but there must be a  chord we do not know;

Are we not on a fruit, still ripening?
Perhaps we are the nectar from the tree,
Awaiting harvest time's great siphoning
When all are ripened; it's our time to be.

And we will be plucked from the path we're on
Around the sun, into a vat and pressed;
The vintage of Apopolictic Dawn,
Revealing vast unknowns, we've never guessed.

Then all our stuff of non-sense; all we thought,
Ferments into the past, already bought.
© Ron Wilson Arbuthnot
aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet

Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2015

Details | I do not know? | |



It's time to plant the harvest now 
The time is slipping by. 
Jesus will be coming soon
To take us home on high. 

We have loved ones still not ready,
And friends we love so dear 
That are wandering still in sin, 
And it seems they do not care. 

It's now that we must pray for them 
That God will bring them in 
So that they will be ready
When He comes back again. 

We are all born as sinners 
But that's no reason to stay. 
If you come to Jesus as you are 
He will save your soul today. 

It is time to plant the harvest 
And bring our loved ones home . . . 
For Jesus will soon be ready 
To bring His children home. 

©Written by Ann Hart
Newfoundland, Canada 

To God be the Glory

Copyright © ANN HART | Year Posted 2008

Details | Pastoral | |

Harvest Time

What a beautiful sight, the snow settling on the ground, 
All are so different, not one alike can be found. 
Winter has come, and the earth at rest, 
For all Gods creatures have taken nest. 

Have you noticed the birds as they line the fence? 
Holding on as they perch, and the wire pulled tense.
The evergreens touched in snow so white, 
So beautiful – and such a grand, and touching sight.

The streams even slow and as the water flows,
And the moon cast shadows on the snow below. 
The crystals form, and the water slowly freezes, 
Each creature speaks a prayer of slow spring breezes.

The clouds so grey, and the blue rarely peeks through, 
Winter has come and the warm days are few. 
As the days pass, and the cold air breaks,
Spring will arrive and the earth will awake. 

Each creature will sing, and rejoice with a new song,
So happy, and joyful for winter has ended – and it was so long.
Let us rejoice and bring forth praises to our King,
As we gather together and praises we sing.

No matter when – spring, summer, winter or fall,
God is there and love for all. 
Our Lord will never leave, no matter what season, 
He is what keeps us going – no matter what reason. 


Copyright © Wendell Mays | Year Posted 2009

Details | Haiku | |

Harvest Gold Trilogy (Haiku Series)

the golden harvest
reflecting love from above
God's nature at work
blue sky and white clouds
a blanket of protection
nourishing the fields
wheat for many souls
flourishing abundantly
fulfillment of love

Copyright © Joseph Spence Sr | Year Posted 2006

Details | Rhyme | |

Harvest Time

What once was green and good is all but gone;
No cheering warmth accompanies the dawn;
The gift of youth has quickly turned to rot,
And distant memories have been forgot

So long this fertile field has been my home,
But now my weathered stalk is fully grown,
And I must pass beneath the looming blade
To suffer soon a silent, scattered grave

Made weak from want of light and water cold,
My shriveled body painted brown and gold,
I pray the scythe will take my labored breath,
And reap the sweetness of my coming death

In nature I have played my simple part,
So on this final journey I’ll depart,
And take my place among the fallen droves,
That came and grew so many years ago.

Copyright © Nick Ruff | Year Posted 2008