Best Corn Poems
The Farmer and his Corn
Snug and warm beneath the earth
The field awaits the coming birth
It holds the richness that they need
Provides the anchor for the seed
The farmer by his hand did sow
Soon he knows his seed will grow
When length of day and rain is right
And sun above shines warm and bright
The rain has come the soil is moist
New life burst forth, it has no choice
With a sudden wondrous surge
A field of green does emerge
The farmer feels it in the air
He comes to see his field so fair
Quietly, just after dawn
His brand new field of corn is born
Quickly grow those humble shoots
Drawing goodness through their roots
All hot and hazy summer long
The shoots thrust upward, straight and strong
Golden now as flaxen hair
New seeds upon them they do bear
The farmer picks an ear to eat
To check then that, his corn is sweet
The farmer comes to field one morn
Another with him that day drawn
No face had he and yet was grim
The corn all knew that it was him
A shrouded hood, his face to hide
He follows just two steps behind
The mice whose nests the stalks had borne
Know soon there will be no more corn
Not daring now to take a peep
They know for them they’ve come to reap
Both the men they carried scythes
They know they’ve come to end their lives
The farmer lifts the implement
To cut them down is his intent
A shadow fell, with mighty stroke
The farmers gone, with man in cloak.
. 1~
She walked ~ faint footprints left behind
A maiden's journey~a silent remind
of long-ago days in deerskin dress
A shelter of skins won under duress
She walks with wind along the Plains
Feeds quail and birds the corn remains.
Her voice, an octave or two below
returns their music as she sows
She prays for peace and for the rain
She wants her lover back again
and corn that reaches up so high
it paints the blue across the sky.
She wants those days before men came
took their children, killed their game
She wants the breezes in her hair
and mourns those days of little care.
~2~
An archaeologist~grave robber, some say
Yet before each dig, she takes time to pray
For this is where people lived and died
Birthed their young, laughed and cried
She finds the footprints under deep sand
Preserved for years by Nature's hand
And, next to them, some bits of corn
A wonderous find, and yet she's torn.
Put on display for tourists to stare
hallowed ground ruined, many despair.
A tug at her heart, the call of a bird~
She decides to leave site undisturbed.
As she moves on, she throws some corn
For quail and birds to feast upon
Perhaps nuggets will one day rise ~
As stalks so high they paint the skies.
She tiptoes in quietly, pushing out summer.
There is a hush in the corn fields.
Even the crows are silent.
Scratch. Scratch. Everyone is readying themselves.
Full corn moon, autumn’s magic lady.
Bringing marmalade ideas to the farmers and the corn.
Everything needs to be harvested except the pumpkins.
They are still half way grown on vines.
Harvest moon silences us as she whisks past the combines.
Showing her sweet side to the forest, and her smile to Grandmas.
In the wee hours, as they stare out their windows
Frying bacon, fixing take away lunches with homemade biscuits.
Autumn moon smiles back, knowing her minutes are numbered.
It is four a.m. in Iowa. People are getting ready to harvest.
Harvest moon enjoys these final days of September,
Announcing a mighty winter. He will come in and rub her out, in
a cold fury using snowflakes, frost, and gusts of pure angry winds.
buttered politics
a corny catastrophe
add salt to the wound
11.21.2019
All about the environment.
Premiere Poetry Contest Sponsored by Richard Lamoureux
3rd Place
Grandma, I love your corn on the cob.
I can eat more of it than Uncle Bob.
I’m ready for more and hardly can wait
for all of that goodness there on the plate!
For all of that corn on the cob, golly gee -
a whole stick of butter you better bring me!
Just look at the dog; he wants some too.
He can just lick the plate when I am through!
October 4, 2019
Based on Picture #3
For Eve Roper's Realism Art Poetry Contest
Note: I actually do have an uncle Bob, but I out-ate him for everything!!
In the shifting air
the sweet scent of candy corn
candle wax burning
All doors are open
an ancient mystery lives
I bask in its glow
gilded hours’
intense writing,
sunrise
through twilight years.
fine riffling through strange*
fodder, of
poets,
i call friends.
mind-blown’
evident
sharpening
tool - seed-sown’ harvest.
in rows of yellow corn
we
stand TALL together.
10/6/2021
Yalto is a form invented by Edward Ibeh
Line 1-15: 3,4,2,4, 5,3,2,3, 2,3,3,5, 6,1,5 syllables
*Strange as in unknown, from a stranger
peel away green outer husk
sweet yellow plump kernels found
boil first eat with butter
P.R.Deremer
My teeth crunch into golden heaven,
savoring fresh cream and salt.
This is my tenth - wait, no - eleventh
cob of corn. Time for a malt.
Corn cob, Mom, Bob,
Can't have another?
We love each other,
so you must.
Cob of corn, my golden heaven,
After you I love to lust.
When the Autumn sun warms dying stalks
Of corn with unkempt tassel locks.
The earth turns from green to brown,
Candy corn comes to town.
A cackling witch stokes the ember
Smoky spirits escape the timber.
The leaves in trees turn an amber hue,
Candy Corn, I yearn for you.
Across my path a shadow creeps,
Into day, nighttime seeps.
My dreams turn to sugary storms.
Candy corn, keep me warm.
Before I die and decompose,
Let me warm by your coals.
Orange, white, yellow form,
The wonderment of Candy corn.
Buttery Corn Puffs are made up in heaven
Delicious and such melt in your mouth fun
I'm not really addicted I can stop any time
But must be held back at the point of a gun
Each night I bolt out of my bed screaming
“Where did you hide my Buttery Corn Puffs”
It's one of the few pleasures I have left in life
They'll soon have to take me away in cuffs
I dream of floating way up high on a cloud
Looking down on a soft yellow landscape
Corn Puffs stretching from horizon to horizon
With fairies and me wearing lampshades
Such a happy scenario of joy and frivolity
Those yellow Buttery Corn Puffs do evoke
To feel the great joy and total contentment
Before that final sad moment when I croak
If Buttery Corn Puffs are made up in heaven
When I cross over to that great unknown
Totally surrounded from horizon to horizon
Much better than a land of buttered scones
© Jack Ellison 2015
Fields flat and barren, hungry for seed, thirsty for life
As far as the eyes can see the last whispers of winter still on her virgin lips
Begging for toil, yearning for care
Lost in a timeless moment
waiting for the warm breath of spring to once again brush over her face
to call on her motherhood
She cries, the children of the earth hunger, let me take them to my breast
give them nourishment, for is this not my purpose
The many silos stand in tribute to her labors
farm houses and barns sit as oasis in a great desert
From these sands come the hopes of tomorrow
In chorus they sing an endless refrain, a song of today and yesterday
A symphony of faith for the future
Faith that the rains will fall on her strings, that once again her music will be heard
echoing to the corners of the earth
Heads bow in praise
another chorus
the song of the corn
Standing on a hill of Jezreel,
Watching growing corn in the field,
Listens she does to the birds’ song
And to the trilling crickets’ chirp.
The sun now pass the most far hills
Means the days’ work is over and done.
Soon the night guard will shut city gates
And all eyes will yield to the dark.
By music of the spirit of silence,
The visions of rest are made to dance.
Then in the middle of the darkest night,
She arises from slumber and the bed,
And leaves the sweet relaxing visions
She had waltzing through her head.
Laying aside all her night garments,
Off she runs to her nightly chore.
Running around the corn they planted,
Makes her sacred circle ‘bout the field.
Magic footsteps giving blessing
By her dance and dark undressing.
Soon passed the summer season
And away went her warmest sigh.
Corn in green and golden garments,
Stood in ripened splendor gleaming.
With its emerald sheaths bursting,
Send its gold rays into the sky.
To the harvest come young maidens,
To strip the ears of their garments,
Laughing under the spreading trees,
They sing the blessings of Jezreel.
empty cave
save for three corn husk dolls
tide takes one
4-7-13
Corn has silky hair...
A hard cob for a spine...
It's juice is milky...
It has alot of protein...
Does that make it a mammal?