Best Crops Poems
When the wind blows hard, sometimes it takes possessions from you, but all of a sudden It stops and everything can be replaced.
When the sun burns for longtime, the drought ruins your crops, it takes part of you, but all of a sudden it rains and everything can be harvested again.
When you walked towards me,
you got deep into to my heart.
You made many promises,
you became my everything,
and all of a sudden you left,
maybe my heart will heal, but there will always be a scar.
Sometimes the snow falls when the trees are blooming and the birds have already made their nests. The flowers will wither before their time and the birds, confused, will cry.
The things you do everyday,
the small amount of stones
you put in a wall, it will make big changes for tomorrow.
Your behaviour towards others, your words of compassion, your loyalty, your empathy, your kindness and the warmth that you give without asking for anything in return, will drive away any anger that you may feel, and will strengthen your feelings and your soul.
Your religion is nothing but the way you act. Your temple is nothing but your own body.
You will find your peace when your mind, your heart and the path you walk are in tune.
I miss so many things: the old pear tree, which once lived by the walk and the bees inside. The bees almost never stung, but made the most delightful buzz. The smell of the pear blossoms and the fruit as it rotted on the ground. I even miss the colonies of ants, which swarmed. You see, I chopped it down. Well, the bees stung my ex-husband, or, he was scared of the bees, or some such thing. The bees like the cat, knew more about the true core of the man than I did. Once the cat shat on his side of the bed, and pulled the sheet over it. Even then, I didn’t really hear nature’s call. I miss the rose bushes, which I tore out because of the June bugs. “Mustn’t have untidy, ugly, things around me,” fool that I was, and continue to be. I have almost eradicated the wild violets. Soon, even I will be gone. “Who will remember all that sweetness? Oh, the pear crisp with crumbled cinnamon crust on a Fall day, all gone.”
a mown lawn
stretches to the horizon –
a hedge clipper whir
The Rose Queen was a lesser villain than I. She was imaginary and I am real, or so I believe. “If you’d lived with Alice would you have played croquet with a flamingo club?”
First Published in Contemporary haibun January 2014
How Fine Life Is To man, When His Crops Are All Green
Yesteryear, I saw grapes hanging heavy on the vines
Such bounty was not all, bright where the windy pines.
Green the grass grew, fodder for all of mankind,
How I wish I knew, that righteous path to again find.
Beyond that past scene, rests solace in future hope
Life soft and less mean, no bad seen in my horoscope.
Another Spring giving joy, gentle winds in my sail,
Happiness for my little boy, treasures he can retell.
With that thought, I can find another gentle peace!
Today my heart raced on again, into its new scene.
How fine life is to man, when his crops are all green.
Music reaches into his heart, dancing into his soul.
He rises in joy's restart, entering his blessed new role.
With that thought, I can find another sweet release!
Robert J. Lindley, 3-22-2016
My new sonnet form.
Private Joshua Bronson wrote this letter by the camp fire where he lay,
Nigh a place called Gettysburg where a great battle loomed next day.
He'd bid farewell to Jenny and his children at their humble cabin door,
Nearly two years ago to join his regiment to do battle in the Civil War.
"My dear Jenny", he wrote, "How I miss you and the children tonight.
My sarjint is a-gittin' us ready to face Johnny Reb fer another fight.
I jes wanted to write a few lines to let you know I love ya'all,
And that I'll be alright and be home to tend the crops this fall."
I'm a-thankin' ye fer the pies and chicken you sent the other day.
That shore beats the hardtack and rancid bacon which is our mainstay.
Jenny, I don't want you and the children a-worrin' about me a-tall.
Jes pray fer me 'cause I'm a-fixin' to be home to tend the crops this fall."
"I jes want you to know I read my Bible, 'specially the Twenty-third Psalm.
It rests my weary soul and when things git rough it gives me calm.
I hope the wheat and corn is gittin' lots of rain and is a-growin' tall.
How I look forward to comin' home to tend the crops this fall."
"I reckon I'll git some rest 'cause I hear rebel cannons a-startin' to roar.
My love to you and the children 'til we next embrace at our cabin door."
Sadly, the Scythe of Death reaped Private Bronson in that awful brawl.
Alas, he won't be coming home to tend the crops this fall.
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
For years and years and a few more years, it now seems clearer to me,
That we’ve lived well, in the nutshell of our small town obscurity.
Life has been grand, on two acres of land of which I can’t lament.
Though living tall, we’ve kept things small, even the way our money’s spent.
Back of my mind, I’ve been inclined to believe that saving is good,
And that posit, has led to deposits for as much as I could.
In each account, I put in amounts as if planting a garden,
Albeit these seeds, were green as weeds, but at least I was start’en.
Yes time has passed, three decades go fast, and I’ve watched that garden grow.
Although there were years, where only some tears, sprouted out of each row.
Whether sunny, though not very funny, often the plants wilted,
But anyways, I’d plant each day, now some of my crops are gilded.
Though currently, this economy’s, dire in our nook and cranny.
So much so, that I don’t know, if it’s worth getting off my fanny.
Pardon that line, but it kinda’ rhymed, and sometimes that’s how I roll.
But anyhow, I’m back here now; yes hardship has taken a toll.
New planting’s a joke, like I just spoke, since I have no new seeds at hand,
Now I’ll switch, and dig up each ditch, due to this ill-timed command.
So here I go, ready or no, harvesting long planted cash crops.
For as long, that thrift is wrong, and until things perk up I can’t stop.
Far from retiring, nor desiring, to pick these crops premature,
But there’s no choice, and we can’t rejoice, yet have hope for the future.
Thus I’ll pray, and wait for the day when our countries fiscally sound,
But have doubts, and crops may run out, before Reagan comes back around.
thick rain, trickling hope
thirsty seeds in parched soil, seek
eager, growing faith
the winter first crops
falling in great abundance,
i run out to taste
The wheel of the year has turned again.
New growth is on its way.
WE sow seed and watch it grow ,what we say and do is the seed of life.
There is one Earth,one human race with variations .
Our bodies replenish the Earth , our sould travel on to where we desire .
This whole world is connected ,little fish feed bigger fish, krill ,so tiny, replenish giant
whales.
One chain of life which feeds off one another, the Darwinian theory isnt evolution but
survival and the ability to adapt.
All creatures great and small adapt to their surroundings.
Only the Human Race finds this difficult to understand we kill for pleasure ,for the thrill,
for excitement for some who have closed minds.
Wearrive here naked , we leavr here naked that is an irrefutable fact even for billionairs
and kings and rulers.
So the wheel turns again in its never ending circle of life, nothing changes except some
numbers the cycle of the world stays the same in an never ending story.
A vast cloud came soaring over a field of crops in the early winter, the crops waited in despair for the cloud to rain but it never did. It just flew by without leaving a single droplet.
The crops however weren’t burnt and ruined because the winter was young and other clouds will come. Thus, someday it will rain before the summer comes and the crops die. The crops were still hopeful and nothing broke their spirit.
But as the world works on a cycle there’s always a chance that the same first cloud might come back and the crops will always be waiting for that rain.
The first cloud was forgotten by the crops, but if it passed by again it would be like a new opened page.
Terrace of crops
Down under the sky
Down under the terrace
Terrace of neighbour
Terrace garden
Garden of Eden
Garden of tulips
Tulips for bouquet
Tulips for wedding
Wedding so opulent
Wedding is bliss
Bliss of union
Bliss for life
Life is wonderful
Life is short
Short film
Short dress
Dress of satin
Dress of queen
Queen of music
Queen of palace
Palace of pearls
Palace so royal
Royal cuisine
Royal chariot
Chariot of horses
Chariot of love
Love is eternal
Love is sweet
Sweet children
Sweet smile
Smile of content
Smile so cute
Cute teddy bear
Cute little face
Face the challenge
Face the race
Race of cars
Race of power
Power of friendship
Power of words
Words of sympathy
Words of relief
Relief from cold
Relief from rains
Rains of blessings
Rains for crops
Crops of glory
Crops plenty
Plenty....
Glory!
©Anulaxmi Nayak,2015
For contest:Down under
sponsored by: Debbie Guzzi
date:4th September 2015
So much soil of various types
but only one produces good fruit
for the seed to fall real deep
then it’ll produce from the root
This needs to be spiritually thought
God’s word being the true seed
which falls upon the human heart
so this need be fertile ground indeed
Jesus speaks here in this parable
to show nature of true living faith
one that produces real true fruit
such show multiplied crop as Jesus saith
Remind yourself more than often
Matthew thirteen verse eight
believing God’s word all so true
to produce real fruit real great
("Still other seed fell on good soil, where it produced a crop--a hundred, sixty or thirty times what was sown."
MATT 13:8)
A handsome hacienda down San Fernando way,
Whose curled sunburned tiles once gleamed from Apollo’s rays
Was home to gentle farmers who worked their crops each day;
And slept in peace while brown night hawks would flirt and play.
Furrowed flowing lines full of fruits and crops, row on row
By workers in torn jeans, with strong hands, made to grow;
Clearing weeds, harvesting as soon as they were able;
To fill up trucks to haul crops for waiting tables.
Big wheels rolled progress in bringing asphalt and cement.
Bold builders paid out cash to further their intent
To turn land beyond agricultural revisions
And erect malls, high rises and subdivisions.
The nurturing life of dirty hands in days of yore
Left for bountiful crops of Valley Girls galore.
Sheaths of grass dry, dance in the arid field brown
In pursuit of green dreams, meander lives around
Counting its days, a wild plant wilts on ground
Obscured by sudden nimbus clouds, cries the sombre sky
Tear drops of the dreich sky wallop the vast land dry
Sky's tears, sustenance to the wild plant about to die
Starts cascading, the divine drops, one, two, three...
The drenched grateful land grins with glee
Descending drops,
Raise the pulse rates of the wilting crop
Sighs the wild plant as sign of hope
As raindrops swell,
the life-span propels;
August-21-2021
For the contest 'imagism' by Emile Pinet
Origami gifts fledglings multiple
Stork sling incubates infant hatchery
Holds pine seed offspring horticultural
Burst dirt celebrates cedar jamboree
Invisible drive to thrive, hormonal
Reverse javelin sapling spear Jarvis
Pin bend Pilates practice jovial
Christmas bonus brings bountiful harvest
Silken sway, acres of muscular maize
Youthful juice under crisp skirt harem
Masters of last year crushed in hasty haze
Mulched during terrain turn over mayhem
Lake levitator long necked swan mascot
Lays Faberge eggs in reed bloom jackpot
16th November
Manyfest
too many
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belly ache and tongue lickin's ~
every bite sickens