Best Furrow Poems
I remember you, from when there was a spring
When the seasons were ripe, with verdant green
Our nimble feet danced in the wind
and on the brink of everything
Not a furrow in the brow of youth
We borrowed life for just awhile
and tapped our shoes on childhood's stage
where carefree laughter was the rage
that filled each age with promised smiles
We danced and twirled a twin ballet
just you and me on summer's waves
Two pirouettes, in mode of curls
of blossoms, frilled, and tender leaves
unfurled in winds, we found a way
to soar our wings, above the world
We knew not yet
of death or dying
or of regret, or cause for crying
But, something frowned upon the season
You caught the wind, and without reason
A colder wind
that kept you flying
far beyond my eyes could see
And to the other side
you disappeared
beyond my words
beyond my tears
Now here alone
I touch the day
and taste the night
remembering
I will walk alone, in autumn sun
And lay myself on dying leaves
I think of you and think of then
I feel the wind against my face
that sweeps me to a distant place
where I recall what time erased
I'm closer now... to hear the sound
The whisper of the seasons calling
Above the trees, the sky is blue
I think of you, and feel the breeze
And all the while, the leaves must fall
9/2013
...................................................................................................
Categories:
furrow, death of a friend,
Form:
Free verse
Creeping creepy creepers, the crawling trellis
jutting out of everywhere
snaking through country and metropolis
twisting turning in floral bliss
but more like snakes that hiss
But in quietude feign death for self-defense!
Weeping willows with an unreal surreal sorrow
weeping tears of dew onto the silted furrow.
Perhaps weeping for bretheren felled
in deforestations and land clearings in
my imaginations of the call to preservation.
Against ethnic cleansing of greenery for selfish building
As per man's construction for mere recreation
Velvety-green tear- stained faces or rather foliage
When dew is stuck on them as nature's trinkets of pearls.
And over there touch-me-nots swaying coyly
like prim and proper maidens
in the fantastic floral gardens.
And what in the world is this case?
Imitation flowery in place of imitation jewellery?
Yeah, thats poinsettia in a vase
Leaves in the disguise of flowers
Its actual flowers relegated to backstage.
And ethereal fairy-slippers await their never coming wearers
and Indian pipes to be admired by Red Indian sightseers.
Oh and here's another spectacle- but sniper tactics this time
Yikes! Let the naive insect world beware!
Whilst the bloodthirsty killers lie in ambush
Those camouflaged jungle guerrillas
or should we say the venus fly-traps!
Or a more harmless one yet mimicking the scary
A snap-dragon flora, its mouth opening and snapping shut.
Then watch that mega-sized jumbo giant flora
The world's largest flower
No stems, no leaves, plant-eater plant, rafflesia.
Is it too much for the faint-hearted ha ha.
And wow now watch that incredible costume, oh my!
A flower masked as some pesky fly!
None other than the remarkable fly orchid.
And yet another, the silent music of the fiddlenecks
Fiddles as if for the light-weight fairies.
And lastly not forgetting ofcourse
the sky-blue unforgettable forget-me-nots
A memorable bouquet but themselves devoid of memory.
Ah nature lover poets if you wish to view
more of flora in a fancy dress masquerade
Go ahead and flip through the pages of
a botanical, floral
horticultural
pictorial journal.
And see for yourself the fantastic flora's charade
or else imagine them dressed as a floral renegade!
Categories:
furrow, abuse, environment, flower, garden,
Form:
Personification
Weeping Willow
The way your toes curl when you first wake up, yes I have been there to see this.
The way your nose wrinkles as you start to laugh, to this also I have been witness.
You twirl your hair and click your teeth when deep thoughts keep you guessing
And the way your eyes alight with flame when no longer the answers are vexing
Your lips pucker without thought of a kiss when something to you is amusing
About the crazy ideas that I might be having or a book you might be perusing.
I have seen you in the embers of a raging fire, and on the waves that crash upon the shore
I have heard you in the whisper of a windswept leaf as it dances upon the forest floor
I have felt you within a single drop of rain that nature brings to cleanse the earth
I have tasted no greater flavor than this, the nectar garnered from a true loves birth
I have smelled your beauty within the aroma of jasmine, honey, mint and Cinnamon
I have known you from the dawn of time, the cadence of two hearts abridged as one
And when you go to bed at night for some reason my shirts are more comfortable
Than the many things in the past I bought you that your lips told me were unaffordable.
And I have dried the tears that flowed from your eyes when agony came to break your heart
Your brows would furrow as sleep would take you, tomorrow would bring a brand new start
But regardless of this and nonetheless you snuggle in close and at night you shift your pillow
To the cooler side the place that brings solace on the opposite poll of the weeping willow
Categories:
furrow, lovenight, night,
Form:
Couplet
All these insipid poems of Love
Love Lost….
Love Found….
What is this emotion that makes UP? Down?
All this frantic fretting
nail biting and bed-wetting.
What is this profound poetic notion?
What is the source of this commotion??
All these romantic, rabid, ramblings, of Love
Love Lost..
Love Found…
What is this emotion that makes UP? Down?
Palms pale and sweat,
brows furrow and frown.
All these horrid, hormonal, tizzies,
do little more than make one dizzy.
Love Lost…
Love Found…
Abandon this morose emotion
right this curse, set in motion.
And, if I may, let me suggest,
the route Narcissus took was best.
Love revealed…
Love found.
A love who’ll never let you down.
A love without product or prodigy
To fill the world with more dichotomy.
Categories:
furrow, lost love, lovelove,
Form:
Rhyme
Do not let doubt take root within your heart.
To pain, and wrong paths, it keeps the feet bound
To where gathered dark clouds refuse to part.
Yes, hearts wrench as ones beliefs fall apart.
When, in that held dear, there is no truth found,
Will doubt grow, deepening within the heart.
If the narrow, cramped way is where we start,
And if within our souls humbled hearts pound,
Never will the dark clouds refuse to part.
For some, the tickling of ears is their art.
Their empty words furrow a hollow sound;
Sowing the seeds of doubt within the heart.
Pursue truth, as one who chases a hart.
Once captured, wrestle it, hold it to the ground.
Only then will the clouds begin to part.
My love, from you my gaze does not depart;
Vowing only to what keeps us ever bound.
Do not let doubt take root within your heart,
Lest the gathered dark clouds refuse to part.
Categories:
furrow, emotions, feelings, heart, love,
Form:
Villanelle
The weary ploughman shuffles
along the deserted bridle path,
his day-long work completed,
furrows wound around his piece of land,
just arable enough to provide his daily bread.
His dreary shack is cold and bare,
just a few essentials. Oh, once it thrived,
but that, alas, was quite a long past.
Slow movements help him light his fire,
and hang inside the hearth a pot full
of vegetables harvested from small plots
that once was a sort of garden of his wife.
Waiting for his meagre repast, he sits.
upon a decrepit sofa, thinking of the furrows
and what he could sow there provided
he manages to find the seeds and tubers
for the next Thanksgiving Day.
Furrows, furrows everywhere, so very like
the furrows of his weary days gone by.
The day when he was barely ten years old,
came home to find his drunkard of a father
dead at last from cirrhosis of the liver.
Left school and began to till the land
under the caring eyes of his once-battered mother.
The day he met plain Jane, shy and speechless,
they walked along the banks of a lonely stream,
never uttering a word, never holding hands
until the day they finally got married.
Then, the worst furrow of all, the day his child
Was born prematurely stillborn. That day
he could not mourn. Only his wife cried.
Until some years later she too followed her child.
And still, he would not mourn, bottled-up grief.
Yet he had one firm conviction.
The paths of life lead slowly to the last furrow,
there to find, at last, eternal peace.
Categories:
furrow, life,
Form:
Free verse
No– shadows do not love
the angles of your face.
Reflection in a cage;
the mirror— enemy
in atmosphere of age,
no.. shadows do not love
the smoother skin of youth.
Your worries; furrow wears,
a trench where troops retreat,
—accumulated years.
No! shadows do not love
mascara and soft light;
distracts from sense of time
and wishes drowned in wells…
damn clock’s incessant chime—
no, shadows do not love
the wrinkles and the lines.
They etch your map their ink;
topography of life
where sun o’er valleys sink.
Categories:
furrow, age, angst, life, loss,
Form:
Monchielle Stanza
Kiss The Rain
I dug the earth with sharpened blade
I turned it with that hefty spade
For hours my arms did sweat and toil
To prepare for you the soil
I made it smooth with my long rake
The stones remove and clods to break
I work to make your little heads
Warm and comfy in your beds
A furrow straight and deep I draw
And place you tender in that score
I cover you, make sure your firm
Hope your safe there with the worm
And so for now my toil is done
Its up to you the rain and sun
For I have done all that I know
To encourage you to grow
From time to time I look to see
If you have broken through for me
For I would love to see again
You soak the sun and kiss the rain
R D Seal 25 Feb 13
Categories:
furrow, nature, kiss, time,
Form:
Couplet
My bathroom mirror amplifies
tired eyes and lines of discontent
a harsh reminder of the unfairness of life
and forces me to stare in the face
the cards I have been dealt but cannot change
I am not vain, but the bathroom mirror
believes that I am, prodding my esteem
with it's taunting illusion of superficial
desires and making me sick with longing
for all the things I do not have
Frowns furrow into my brow
and once carefree features twist
with violent acknowledgement
that I cannot go back and undo the undone
the bathroom mirror plays tricks on us all
waiting for those quiet moments
when we doubt ourselves and resolve
to change who we are entirely
But we would not have got this far
in life without being ourselves
and the bathroom mirror is a terror
that reflects back regret
and long lost dreams
failures and good times lost
the bathroom mirror amplifies
tired eyes and lines of discontent
a harsh reminder of the unfairness of life
and that's why I rarely look at it.
Categories:
furrow, allegoryme, mirror,
Form:
Free verse
If, by chance, the world should end tomorrow
How would you spend the last day of your life ~~
Either in revelry or regret? in jubilation or sorrow?
With time cut short, your day becomes staccato
Apologies for everyone whom you caused strife,
If, by chance, the world should end tomorrow.
Perhaps a visit to a sacred and most holy grotto
To commune with the saints about the afterlife
Either in revelry or regret? in jubilation or sorrow?
No time for entrepreneurial schemes to borrow
No time for the cutting words slicing like a knife
If, by chance the world should end tomorrow.
Interesting, as we’ve no promise for the morrow
Neither breath, nor place, nor space nor heighth
Either in revelry or regret, in jubilation or sorrow.
‘Tis up to us to plow a straight and narrow furrow
To make the most noble, good, and worthwhile rife
If, by chance, the world should end tomorrow
Either in revery or regret? in jubilation or sorrow?
written April 26, 2022
Categories:
furrow, earth, future, world,
Form:
Villanelle
From Poland hailed your Uncle Max, who in matters of manners was a bit lax,
While from France came Aunt Belle, whom I thought was really quite swell.
Next up from Russia was Cousin Boris, whom I always confused with Nephew
Morris;
And then from Germany came Aunt Gitel, whose fingers fairly flew o'er
her fiddle.
After that from Lita came Uncle Beryl, whose fistic prowess put enemies
in peril.
Of course, from Ukraine came Cousin Emma, whose soup was the crème de
la crema.
It's our duty to recall Uncle Saul, though no one knew where he came from
at all
And finally, from Prussia, poor Aunt Masha, who subsisted for years on
potatoes and kasha.
What's this? You say you don't know any of these relatives at all?
Neither their names nor those of their children can you recall?
Then furrow your brow and bestir your brain; just don't be appalled:
Uncle Max may have been from Krakow, but his skeleton was prematurely
interred by the Nazis at the death-camp of Dachau.
Cousin Emma was from a wealthy family in Vizhnitz, though her fiery
cremation was reserved for the ovens of Auschwitz.
And pretty Gitel, who grew up in the small village of Dulmen, was gunned
down in the caverns of Bergen-Belsen...
So much for our family tree.
Had grandpa not fled to America by sea,
One of those dead branches above
Would surely have been me.
HOLOCAUST MEMORIAL DAY -- 73RD ANNIVERSARY -- APRIL 12, 2018
NEVER FORGET!
Categories:
furrow, death, family, memorial, world
Form:
Rhyme
Journey
By Ifunanya Anyene
Category B (14 yrs)
Grade 11
As a seedling I start,
Fresh and unharmed by the flaws of nature,
From the grounds I depart,
Top of the beauty chart
A whole new creature.
Now I bloom in the sunset
A queen in the wilderness
And they blow the trumpet
Unlike the sun I do not set
But moan with an unending benevolence.
Now I bear the seeds of tomorrow,
As I merge with my own kind,
Now free from the cells of sorrow,
Not long before my petals furrow,
And the weed of death bind.
And so I bear a curtain of hostility
As I weep against my fallen fortress,
And the moon illuminates my site of photosynthesis,
As thus I reach my final terminus,
As a seedling I came as a yield I digress.
Now comes the end of my prolonged journey,
As the weeds of ancient time overthrow me,
And I return to the ground nobly,
Be think oneself with this,
Don’t judge each day by the harvest you reap but by the seeds you plant.
Categories:
furrow, journey, poems,
Form:
Couplet
Cold and sodden
The rain fell heavy in the night
As if his sins were known to the sky gods
And, in mercy, sought to wash them off his spirit
He knelt down by the old Cheyenne chief
Eyes softly lit by the kerosene lantern he held
"Our crimes against your people are beyond forgiveness," he said
Struggling through the chief's native tongue
The ailing chief looked up at him, a furrow in his brow
"I was a good soldier," the calvalry officer continued, "it was my job"
Tears streaming, though the chief could not tell in such a downpour
Unsheathing his knife, he cut the old man's restraints
"In your next world," he added, "say a prayer for us ... for the white man"
"We have wronged you so," hanging his head in shame
The old chief placed a weathered hand tenderly on the officer's shoulder
Rose to his feet, and walked slowly off into the night
Carrying a heaviness beyond that of the storm ...
A single gun shot in the distance confirmed his troubled heart
He stopped briefly to say a prayer for the soldier's spirit
Thought of his woman's smile ... and headed home.
~ 3rd Place ~ in the "Contest 600, Any Free Verse, Up To A Max Of 20 Lines" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
Categories:
furrow, analogy, forgiveness, humanity, native
Form:
Free verse
Eureka - a love song Tanka series
~ art by Edward Burne-Jones ~
It's a fair question:
as you smile that smile, you ask
how much I love you…
"You are constant as the sun
...and I am Copernicus"
As you close your eyes,
you ask how far I'd travel
to show I love you:
"Love, you are the seven seas
...I'm Ferdinand Magellan"
"Why do you tell me
I'm the apple of your eye?"
you wonder out loud.
I say, "You are gravity
…and I am Isaac Newton"
You furrow your brow
asking why I pursue you.
"It's simple", I say,
"you're 24 karat gold
…and I am Howard Carter"
You crinkle your nose,
"Why do you never give up?"
you ask me coyly.
I say, "You are a light bulb
… and I'm Thomas Edison"
You get somber and
ask if loving you is such
a good idea
to which I say "Eureka!"
… for I am Archimedes
written 29 Jan 2022
Categories:
furrow, love,
Form:
Tanka
Life Lines
When I look at Grandma’s face
there’s a great deal I can see.
Every furrow shows a trace
of her family’s history.
There’s a line for every struggle
every victory she’s won.
There are tender lines for daughters
and generous ones for sons.
Beneath her eyes lines of sorrow
show how many tears she’s cried
yet around her mouth as many
show her laughter and her pride.
Grandma’s face is full of charm
and for every line I see
a gentle spirit revealed
in her love for family.
Categories:
furrow, age, beauty, family, grandmother,
Form:
Rhyme