Best Dust Bowl Poems
The plains soil had turned dry
No rains made the crops die
Red dust was everywhere
That just made the land bare
The harm they did not see
Dry farm way was the key
How to farm they knew not
Winds blew away the lot.
Written 1st of July 2020.
For Verses In Essence - 8 Lines Poetry Contest.
Sponsored By Joseph May.
My eyes look upward to the dark sky
So many clouds yet the ground is dry
All around me nothing but the dust
We need rain badly it is a must
Wind is blowing clouds look alive
Thunder and lightning will soon arrive
A gap in the clouds a shaft of light
Here in the darkness shining so bright
Glowing large raindrops begiinning to fall
Liquid excitement soaking us all
Jumping in circles this is a good day
All of our dust has been washed away
Shaft of Light contest
First attempt at a couplet
February 7th 2013
Dust Bowl
Dust sifted through the dry wooden slats of the now empty homes. No sunrise serenade nor rustle of flowing wheat greeted the parching sunrise. Footprints long erased, carried on the wind of arid dreams, mistakes that scarred both hearts and soil.
no sustenance here
greed’s empty bowl of dust
bent sunflowers mourn
John G. Lawless
7/12/2015
The earth now dry and cracked, like shattered glass upon the floor
Clouds hover over the mountains, refusing to cross the plain
Earth begs, then in resignation turns to dust and blows away
Oklahoma
electric blue skies,
sun and wild winds
tragic black dirt clouds
sand sifting through cracks
dry stalks
bones - only bones
California
a mass migration
heading west to farm the land ~
inexperienced
in the arid soil
ordinary crops planted ~
dry farming ignored
drought and poor farming
topsoil blowing in the wind ~
dust bowl created
deep rooted plains grass
taken out and wheat planted ~
devastation looms
across the great plains
a dusty black flag unfurled ~
the days become nights
in all the plains homes
dust blowing in through fine cracks ~
powdery cover
the deadly dust clouds
respiratory problems ~
cause of many deaths
clouds of fine red dust
settles all over the plains ~
a crimson carpet
new england winter
fine dust in the atmosphere ~
causes red snowfall
kansas city news
edward stanley editor ~
coined the term dust bowl
Sunglasses shade me under fig
trees,
Our star weights heavy on a basket
case,
No warm embrace for the northern
forests,
We horde this titan for our own
shores,
Roll and rock and roll your mind to
the vast expanse,
Die inside before your time, before
the reaper calls,
Sticks and stones, stones into bread,
The dust in the is bowl is going to
my head,
Clothed in horrors and horns,
devouring native villages in my path,
A sinister wind propels our ships of
dragon skin,
Colors shift to thoughts, trees to
pillars of salt,
In this, the most unlikely of
platforms for rebirth
Way back around Nineteen Thirty Six
My mother was about Fifteen years old
Her folks still lived in Liberal, Kansas
During the depression and the dust bowl
Big clouds of dust would cover up the sun
Visibility was so much reduced,
The chickens confused by sudden darkness
Would cluck pitifully and try to roost!
Static electricity would build up
Once when one boy went up to his brother
They were surprised and quickly jumped back when,
Static jumped from ones nose to the other!
If not one thing, then it was another
Locusts would suddenly plague their land
Once when my Uncle Fount happened to look down,
The skin was ate off the back of his hand!
I can't imagine what it would be like
Surely they must have been wrought with fear
Like some people in these trying times
Thinking "The End of Days" is surely near!
Listening to the Boss Singing
The Ghost of Tom Joad,
Imagining the Okies as they
Travelled their Desolation Road.
Word Pictures by Steinbeck,
Dust Bowl Ballads by Guthrie,
Green Pastures Of Plenty
Pretty Boy Floyd, Doh Ray Mi.
Ecological disaster,
Dust and drought,
Trees chopped down
Good land farmed out.
Then came the winds
That blew the soil away
Followed by the Bankers
Who took their land away.
Pack up lock stock and barrel
In the trucks and on the way
To the promised land of plenty
The fabled Californ-ia
So long it’s been good to know you
And then like the family Joad
Driven by need and poverty
It’s off and on down the road.
With Global warming progressing
As more habitable land disappears
Will a new Steinbeck and Guthrie
Chronicle new Grapes Of Wrath years
Will there be a new Springsteen
To sing about a new Tom Joad
As they join the new exodus on
Their new desolation road.
Dust covers the land,
as a blanket does
a sleeping soul.
Clouds gather in their
fluffy rows to bring
the long over due rain.
A quite stillness
covers the land
as it does before the storm.
Silence is broken as
the mighty thunder
calls out to nature.
A falling rain drop
kissing the dry earth,
so gently.
The heavens are opened
and the rain descends
like a falling star.
Soaking up the rain drops
such sweet bliss
the land has enjoyed this day.
It's not the heat that is unbearable
it's the dust
dust holds us away from clean air
dirt dances in and around our lungs
a choked feeling that lasts forever
mixed together, heat and dust, slows down all.
Time and space does not exist
an empty vast horizon, looms
and lulls us to make peace with the dead earth
above, the merciless sky can't be bothered to cry
I sit alone with my mind
"All hope shall not be lost"
how many more times should I tell myself?
Am I beyond it.
Do I not hear my own voice anymore?
increasing the heat of an object increases its pressure
heat of pressure rises up
then it presses down, upon us
molds us into bronze, and silver and lastly, gold medals.
those are virtues of patience and endurance.
those who do not turn into dust, turn into diamonds.
A blessed soul has won a role, The Prince of Peace,
Of noble birth, a novice born a blue-blood,
Pontificate average those brevities,
Stemmed full of thorns wrangled beneath his rosebud.
Won The Papal States, Mona Lisa smiled, lost,
His tenure was mired in doubts--parts that he crossed,
A scorned tag as unfortunate of the popes,
A Florentine, a Medici, useless hopes.
black balloons surround a doomed era
black flowers overtake the colorful effervescence
darkness lingers and makes tingle my fingers
life is a dust bowl day without you
i sit and watch my footprint sneeze on the dusty carpet
i stand and cry when the spiders poke fun at me in every corner and laugh
i scream and shout when the slightest thought of your arms around me has me begging for differentiation
life is a dust bowl day without you
my blood is mixed with pickle juice in a jar in the broken fridge
my pain is written all over the walls in poetic expressions of woe
my heart is cut out by me and says prayers each night for its own survival outside of me
life is a dust bowl day without you
Play a role till the gold of your soul runs dry
leave the ghost town far enough behind
through the parched winter of the mind
search for virgin glitter on the next horizon
The sirens sing to endless weaknesses
it takes everything not to cave in... again
take up the rusted sifter and battered spade
while digging for gold you're making your grave
ghosts of old town, sliding on down from the mountain
Roses are tossed to the echoes of the lost
the soul finds a fresh role in the shadow of
a dust bowl
dreaming.