Best Acre Poems
Lennie was a Hen-pecked pastry baker
Who told His wife He might forsake Her.
She nagged and was grossly obese.
He wanted it to quickly cease.
Whereupon He frosted Her Half-acre.
Tall and pure oasis
So much has changed
You remain constant and lovely
Gentle, morning green grass
Breaks like waves, laps at the shores
Of white, gray, and yellow stones
Towering above me, silent and sure
Chiseled marble, granite spires, oak
Wrought iron, your scent is old
A familiar volume I keep close to me
The reflections in your pools
Still glass, not a leaf disturbs
Irises cling to your walls
The distance beyond you sways
Spreading lazily into shade trees
Sun-tinted pastures and weathered fences
I walk with reverence, still, after so long
Your ground is my sanctuary
It houses my past
I am a child forever in front of you
Eden's dusk beams light
As shining dawn sails asky
Amidst sea of gleams
'Lil' planets trade zones
Webbing auras with passion
In fate guarded bends
Yet 'still' were a few
The 'nerdy' moon, 'sorry' star
Rolling out lone cold
Within an acre
They grazed rays, lighting deep flames
'A new begining'
Marred with dusts and doubts
Distance, time and spatial threats
Strangling lanky hope
Beyond lenghts of Nile
Word travels from miles apart
Moistening dried lips
At the birth of Sun
Before the Star, the Moon lived
Sage to Eden's shores
Pending hymns and songs
Howling drones of liberty
at shaky hearts stake
Still Eden's field blooms
Its grasses greener with hopes
Of a sterling dusk
Just a few years left till I meet my maker
Hope my reputation hasn't preceded me as a heartbreaker
I'm truly a decent soul
Quite stunning as a whole
But at times I lose it, run wild over hell's half acre
Been chowing down Post Shredded Wheat
Since I was a young lad it's oh so sweet
Probably an acre by now
Milk from Bessie the cow
This breakfast supreme simply can't be beat
© Jack Ellison 2015
sweat hogs piggyback
hells half acre of neurons
all eyes on the farm
Piglet and Pooh seal their friendship on their daily walk.
They casually bring philosophy to their lively talk.
Share sage advice, each one with their own reflection.
Demonstrate their trust in each other’s friend recollection.
Their walks take them around 100 Acre Wood along the valley.
They leave bits of themselves along the way, as they diddle dalley
Christopher Robin sometimes catches up with them to chat.
They are always thrilled to see him, and Tigger, bouncing fat.
Let’s go cheer up Eyeore, Piglet suggests with a happy inclusive shout.
And Rabbit and Kanga? Pooh adds not wanting to leave anyone out.
Or it could just be the two of us, Piglet says, not wanting a crowd today.
They wander along the path, two friends, sharing their swag and sway.
Tynecot. God's acre.
Here..
A quiet churchyard on the Kentish Weald
Finches flit from holly to yew
Shafts of gold pierce the morning sky
Calm is the air, serene is the view.
There..
Silence.
No lark's sweet song
Gravestones stand shoulder to shoulder
In perfect lines of shining white.
Here..
Ivy cloaks the forgotten tombs
Aged and weathered, no order in death,
Most tinted with lichens yet peaceful, at rest,
They welcome the warmth of summers first breath.
There..
Manicured lawns disappearing from sight
A carpet to cover the fallen below
Over whom I now walk at a death's march pace,
Most marked with a name that they just didn't know.
Here..
Silence.
The finches have flown
The departed are lying at rest,
All souls together, both here and there
You're an empty old man now.
Wisdom fell short of your doorstep.
People are supposed to come to you for advice
, but you're still a mercury-headed fool, so they don't.
You've visibly and emotionally regressed.
Your once lush mind island is shrinking.
Overrun by rats of pig-headedness.
You dedicate every breath to yourself and nobody else.
A one-acre burning hurricane
island
of
death.
Darkness envelops like giant wings
Heart thumping eyes unfocused,
Hearing nothing silent as a graveyard,
Under a misty moon a dark shape looms,
Grey, solid, shiny marble it's a cold tomb,
Paying respects with a nod then walk on by,
Respect to all those that are long gone,
All is clear the gate clangs shut,
The key turns in the lock,
Darkness envelops the graveyard once more
Been chowing down on Mini Wheat
Since I was a young lad it's oh so sweet
Probably an acre by now
Milk from Bessie the cow
This breakfast supreme simply can't be beat
OPPOSING ACRE
Well, is it better to travel than arrive
Getting there doesn’t mean you rest
As that is when exploring starts again
To return here, nobody knows when
Stand on the walls and beat your chest
Such adventures make you feel alive
Arriving safely means you do survive
Maybe lose a shirt but keep your vest
No more travelling, just count to ten
Stay in this spot like all satisfied men
No need to undertake any other test
For yet more glory, let others strive
ACRE
Well, is it better to travel than arrive
Getting there doesn’t mean you rest
As that is when exploring starts again
To return here, nobody knows when
Stand on the walls and beat your chest
Such adventures make you feel alive
For some, the journey starts right here
Exploring, thinking, seeing the sights
Digging to realise what history applies
Perhaps seeing this through their eyes
With flaming torches as the only lights
As their destruction was drawing near
But all that was about a millennium ago
Still burning bright in the local identity
Ruined castle walls and a narrow street
Are reminiscent of that painful defeat
All changed forever in that first century
And some events that none will know
The Templar history is calling so strong
What is written seems prejudicial at best
Tunnels and secret passages still survive
And to discover the truth, one must strive
The scratched out writing is a palimpsest
Time for more digging before too long
God's Acre
In a field, not far from here, I see millions of lit candles
But only at night, during the day, it is a potato patch
A man, you can call him God if you like, walks along
The candles and, every so often, snubs out with his
thumb and index finger, a lit candle, with fingers
sore from this arduous work
He is heading for the part of the field where
The candle wax has burnt out, but the wick flickers
like grey smoke in still air
When dawn appears on the eastern mountain
The field turns into a potato patch
Where a man is harvesting spuds
So funny, that what is left these days are men in long trousers who look up to boys in shorts.
No one to break the wheel,
so they remain in circles.
They, the mid ones who are supposed to lead the young ones.
And so the world never changes,
Just the boy who wants to be a baby.
Heavy is the heart that pours these words,
Sorry are the ones hoping for something in a line of nothing .
Entrapping positions placed,
A hall of servitude,
Of ugly quagmires,
That for these bodies that once had souls,
have been made soulless in this precarious arena.
Nothing naughty nurtures a liquidity of luxury,
for everything comes with a price.
Placing bet on life's tariff was completely off the hook,
which made greatness abated because of the nuisance
caused by the new ones.
Like the woman who dwells in God's acre ululating in a public secret,
for the despicable world she bore that now burns.
What can dispel her agita?
And so, here we are, all together
as we sing our songs of lamentations and bitter anguishes of the past and dawdle today,
while contemplating on tomorrow.
Hmm! A sign of exhaustion,
From the shallow to the bobbling
From the bobbling to the shallow
why is the event on repeat?
Let the reason be because the next plan is no longer in the nest carved by one of the best among the rest who acted as guests in this wide range of test.
Detest is the taste which can't quench my thirst,
First, I need a fence to protect my chance incase It becomes tensed.
Mm! sense, not common, I known,
but in my defense, it is less than I expect,
This thing called common sense.
Hence, boys want to be men,
Men want to be boys,
So obsessed with the absence
and ignore the presence
that when the time finally comes for the switch,
they all become distanced.
Wait, cut the chase.
There is the price to cover the expenses of what they ordered for,
but all they can afford is,
Reluctance.