Best Furrowing Poems
----I thought I had posted this a while back...guess I didn't. Oops. : ) here it is...couple years old.
When sorry words offer but sadness and pain,
When weary thought drifts into the tides of shame,
When heavy darkness fills my soul,
Freezing last embers upon the coal,
The love in my heart burns in vain
It burns in vain, for I can never quite reach
The paths that entangle, while the demons breach
It burns in vain, for I try so hard for naught
My tears in a frost-bitten muddle—construed and caught
As snowfall sifts ice onto disdain,
As afternoons crawl into midnight shade,
As every mistake has torn me apart,
This foolish soul crushed—bashed from the start
The love in my heart burns in vain
It burns in vain, for reality is but a fret
Knowing tragedy shall befall, though it comes not yet
It burns in vain, for I have hurt you still
As I try to escape the furrowing doubts that kill
So now I cringe, and cower, and remain
So caught in your sorrow as I turn away
So sorry and hateful for what I put you through
For as I falter, you are ever true
The love in our hearts burn in vain
Yet, somehow the yester-embers among the frozen coals return
Upon the frost-bitten windowpane—somehow they burn
Rising from within,
bliss bursts on our skin,
furrowing each node,
played out as an ode.
Vaporised presence
ignites love's incense,
astride God's bliss beat,
vibrant head to feet.
Thus simply present
in this joy current,
tingle renewal
is continual.
Dance of bliss delight
at play, day and night,
churns to birth nectar,
piercing each vector.
Borne of cosmic drum,
magnetic bliss hum
surges to expand,
our cognitive band.
Each cell stands alone,
dancing on it's own
gyrating in rhythm,
within body prism.
We would if we could
make bliss understood ~
rapture intimate
and immediate.
Bliss is a secret,
which none can ferret.
When God's our sole aim,
we become the flame.
30-August-2022
He’s gained an audience over the past few years.
Colluding with his missteps and his demons.
Shining a bright light, center mass.
Waiting for applause.
So proud of the spectacle he’s tied
together with sinew and charred hearts.
He chuckles as his puppets squirm.
Promises immortality for such a small
price. What is a soul anyway?
But blood is pouring in from stage left.
Skeletons drumfire, and pile over
the catwalk.
He’s still smiling.
Perspiration falls from a brow intent on
not furrowing.
He’s shown his teeth to a crowd that
now knows why he’s put so much
effort into making tragedy into comedy.
The spotlight crackles.
And he can see the crowd.
Faces scoured by truth.
Nobody is laughing.
The seats are empty.
But the stage is brimming.
The edged remains of his
crooked dreams huddle closer.
The cold crimson fills his lungs.
The gurgling - drowning laughter.
He prays for curtains.
-James Kelley 2019
A northeaster snow storm is rampaging air
A roughshod young warrior, launching ice as a spear
Without any warning, he comes from nowhere
bending trees into sickles, while he conquers with fear
Plowing up roads with a gust and a till
Burying leaves along the gutters and streets
Furrowing rows out of valleys and hills
Prodding the herds with a howl and a shriek
The sun takes retreat with solemn dismay
and holds fast his tongue with whimpering sounds
Rendering helpless, behind hail and flay
Biding his time, while the snow pelts the ground
From the sphere of the dawn, into cold afternoon
war is schooled by the whims of the moon
___________________________________________________
Contest: "Pick A Subject" ----Storm
Resubmitted for Brian Strand's Contest: 219
We live opposite a huge farm,
I find living here such a charm,
The cows and the sheep,
Abundant, as the farmer does his
His rounds in his Jeep
Makes living where we are,
A dream, but city life is not far.
This farm has horses too,
Though not too many just a few,
And pigs and goats
And pretty small winding roads,
It has a small river that winds its way
Beside a road, it takes all day
To walk along and pick wild flowers,
I adore sudden summery showers.
Mealies and sunflowers are planted
And manure is put down once a year,
Ridding us of sinuses, that’s quite clear.
The sound of the tractor ploughing,
A joy to hear, as it’s furrowing,
The land, planting seeds that grow
And look like soldiers such a show,
They stand up straight and tall,
Never have I seen one fall.
I pray for rain and fear a drought
So happy when dark clouds about,
And love a downpour feel the relief,
The mealies feel, for sun like a thief,
Steals a probable storm, but when rain
Pours and drizzles for days, mealies gain.
Beautiful plants that now must,
Wither and dry, and wait for first frost
Before they are harvested, or it will cost,
The farmer his whole crop, if not done
Just right, they will rot,
And the farmer will reap naught!
I watch this every year,
But now I sadly fear,
Will see my farm no more,
Which gave me joy, galore.
A new era starts on the 1st November,
Moving into a secure complex, so December
And Christmas will be in our new abode,
We have reached a crossroad,
Which I’ve decided to look forward to,
A move which had to happen, we knew!
Footnote:
In S. Africa we refer to corn as "Mealies"
Impromptu night journey into snowy
wood
Face laced with scarf; head covered
by hood
Sturdy mare blanketed; each foot
shod with stud
A swift nod, gentle tap instinctively
understood
Gallant mare plows forward
furrowing ice and mud
Chilled air quickens my pulse;
thickens my blood
The howling wind around the
swiveling sleigh doth whirl
Into onrushing faces stinging, icy
pellets hurl
Along path's edges glistening trees
their mast's twirl
O'er head stalking raven's
patronizing wings unfurl
The chortling wind, raven screeches;
my head hairs curl
Around the bend, loomed the
cottage of stately earl
I gathered the reins the careening
sleigh to abruptly turn
Acclimatized mare already my
studied thoughts did discern
Onto the swept, manicured lane
hopeful feet did churn
Beckoning lamp on distant doorstep
did intently burn
Already alerted, spry earl awaited
our intentions to learn
On arrival, our tired petition, lowly
station did not spurn
Inspired by Robert Frost's:
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy
Evening
“How come they all have Toothpick Legs?”
She wonders aloud,
face furrowing into a deep red frown.
“And mine are so big?”
“Genetics. Look at me and Mom.”
OK, I’m a blockhead.
Seven-year old angst understandably not placated.
“Your legs are beautiful and strong.”
Seems I’m getting somewhere now.
“Adventure legs are what you have.
You run so fast, the boys can’t catch you.”
“Well, one.” She corrects me.
“Look at the amazing things you can do.
Ski, surf, run, bike, skate, anything."
Her cheeks turn just a little scarlet.
Silently, One day, someone will love you,
adventure legs and all.
Like I love your mama.
After a ski day, she drew a prone stick figure.
Curiously, I ask, “What’s that, honey?
Why is she lying down?”
Big smile, with a hint of mischief.
“She can’t snowboard very well.
Toothpick Legs.”
4/2/16
Freddy Farkle, fumbling forecaster for Forestville,
friggin' fudged Friday forecast....fair?!
first florid felicitous, falling flurries followed,
froze flowers, foiled!
faraway farmhouse, furrowing farmland,
frigid fanny, furious, frustrated,
frumpy, frazzled!
furry forest friends furnished flannel frock,
finding Freddy's fails funny, frivolity,
fortunately frequent fallible forecasts
found Freddy flying faraway,
fallaciously forecasting for fermented folks!
Tiny little waves linger on top of grandma’s pond,
they wrinkle and crimp with each shift of water-
Of this reverie on Lake Michigan I’ve always been fond,
and now I get to travel there and show my daughter.
Ruffles and ridges, pleats without an end in sight,
such beautiful movement in each corrugation-
You should see the rush in the fresh morn’ light,
they billow and shine, what a wonderful creation.
Gathering together like momma’s quilt made by hand,
furrowing and folding with each adoring dimple-
I remember watching the pond from the dry land,
man, life used to be so serene, so completely simple.
I’d sink my toes in the pebbles while feeling the ebb flow,
gentle motions of the water arising up to my calf-
We’d sing and dance with each surges high and low,
the tingling sensation always made us giggle and laugh.
Tiny little waves linger on top of grandma’s pond,
each ripple setting the scene for the next stream-
Back then my sisters and I shared such a great bond,
now those ripples are nothing but a long-lost dream.
August 29, 2017
(A Long Agonizing Conversion.
Out of the dark forbidding night,
I Struggle now to see the light.
I never felt this way before,
Loved the lair of darkness more.
Was careful in nothing, no good to see,
No miserable longing nagging me,
Then, out of the past in agonizing flight,
Out of the deep I search for sight.
What roused me in my dark domain,
And showed me that the light was gain?
Who made me desire this other way,
Through pain into the light of day?
With knowledge comes uneasy dread,
And regret 'bout the place I fled.
Things have gotten complicated now,
Rending my heart and furrowing my brow.
Self love is such a natural thing,
No concern for sin the heart to wring.
Grief for sin, I've come to know,
In this vile vale of tears below.
Might I find a way of relief,
From this unexpected pit of grief?
This struggle out is laid on me;
I had no thought the light to see.
Seems, like a bull, I am turned this way,
As a pull on the rein comes into play.
With my old will I would refuse,
This shaft of shining light to choose.
Why has God's power upset my way,
Remolding me as a piece of clay:
Turning about my heart and mind,
Into some calm and caring kind?
Is there a purpose in all of this,
A value to gain and a loss to miss?
Is good reason given to me at last,
A way of emergence from my past?
Finally my sight emerges clear,
And I begin to lose my fear,
Oh, what a gift; the gift of sight
With thankful heart, I embrace the light.
This change of heart was born in me,
A hope of Jesus the Christ to see.
I'll no longer covet a life of ease,
Some foolish way myself to please.
Because an eternal joy will come,
When this earthly life is gone.
Stay with the light whatever the cost,
Rejoice in God's saving of the lost.
For the sight of Christ upon the Cross,
Shows great gain comes at great cost.
So with the light, will come the pain,
But, oh the wonder of the gain.
"Light came into the world, but men loved
darkness rather than light because their deeds were evil." John 3:19
"But ye are a chose generation, a royal priesthood, an holy nation, a peculiar people,
that ye should show forth the praises of him who hath called you out of darkness into his
marvelous light." I Peter 2:9
nonsense purity
polymer
a squeezing of something
out
a tri fold with scores
of plastic, so necessarily unfulfilled
with pictorials
a social security card,
a card from the merchant marines
with a face
eleven dollars, a fiver
and six ones,
and a diners card
weak elbows,
furrowing brow
the smell of a polish
delicatessen on
his breath
Oh come
all ye faithfuls
Mexico, Poland
Bolivia
He wears a
Movado
Then craves
for bagels
with locks after
playing Polo
Peace!
... long ago
in the timeless now,
we traveled, when
came a shaman
giggling in the glee of bringing us chest-to-chest,
his eyes mirroring our
lustful wonder of nipple-kisses
in burnished darkness, a dawn
flooding our mouths in feverish melding, and
the wind opening, ravishing us to
find our roots in olive groves between the pillars of our thighs,
temple incense, earthy aroma and soil-pores
birthing obelisks taut and sweetly anguished for
the suckling moon-circle of our lips,
and the shaman sighing in sanctifying the curve
of my nether realm as
your mount of worship fed
on your furrowing seed, sung
by hissing, the sacred pleasure of
toes curled like
your hair washing the valley of my neck,
your fingers against mine counting, then crushing
the blasphemy of time spiraling giddily
into the flirtation of your eyes
challenging the irises in mine, asking,
begging for us to meet again and again
until the sun is finally watching,
begging
for a temple of its own
and us inseparable
by even the sword of its rays
while the shaman smiles in sleep,
exhausted by our satiation -
… yet, come, there's morning on
the far side of this orb, but
no more luminous than the furnace of our lips
embracing our ageless now
… so, kiss me - kiss me, love, again, again and again...
Unique Love
By Rick Rucker
I have found a Love, so intense,
That it overrules my common sense,
I don’t mean that it is bad,
Just more incredible than I have ever had,
At first, I thought that it couldn’t be,
Certainly not to me!
When we met, she had this European charm,
I wanted her always on my arm,
She has a Netherlands accent,
I knew that she was Heaven sent,
I guess I didn’t blow our date too badly,
Although all I could think was “I want to kiss Her madly,”
We have been out many times since,
Thinking back, our first date makes me wince,
We now get together at every chance,
To further nourish our Romance,
Conditions cause us to live apart,
But She is ever in my Heart,
I have asked her for her hand,
To wear each other’s band,
She has said that she will,
If she only knew what a thrill,
She has given to me,
How proud that I will ever be,
Just to be able to stand,
Next to Her, and hold her hand,
As the preacher asks us to recite our vows,
Our Love, each of us will espouse,
Even thinking of it now,
I am furrowing my brow,
To think that I could really get,
The most thrilling woman that I’ve ever met,
Could it really come to pass,
That I’ve won this comely lass?
That I have grabbed the Ring of Gold,
That we will forever hold,
Each other in our Heart,
And from whom we will never part,
To be in Love like this is madness,
Deliriously happy, with no sadness,
It shouldn’t be able to be,
Certainly not to me,
I must have said my prayers just right,
Some dark and lonely night,
To receive such a wonderful surprise,
The One standing right before my eyes,
The One sent from High Above,
The One that is my Unique Love!
smile
radiant, beautiful
beaming, wearing, gleaming
chirpiness, cheese, scowl, grimace
disapproving, furrowing, accusing
annoyed, worried
frown
Date created: 01/23/2022
a woman's lust is as carnal as any
man's but has desires of the heart to match
necessary as breathing to have both....
the soft line of her body speaks to me
her eyes burn hot with meanings heartfelt
powerful desire to caress her lovely features washes over me
wanting and being wanted little game we play silently
she is feasting on my blatant lust
heart knowing the beauty of being desired so deeply
wanting to be wanted is its own fantasy furrowing deep in her loins
but a woman's lust is love's strength and body's craving in the same breath
true beauty is found when the two desires meet
when a woman's heart finds the heat of her lust
gives herself to it and takes it by strength of will at the same time
i feel it in her hard embrace while she softly caresses
her soft skin devours my mind
salted hot lustful
run my bare hand over its velvet warmth
and her silken skin speaks to me in
ways only a man can taste with his soul
...her pale thin lips dangerous...eyes closed
kiss long wet deep gentle hard hot
she bites lower lip soft with anticipation
by the nearness of me
i can feel her deep lustful breathing faster longing
her bare skin sets me on fire
her eyes drug me
her soft lips silence me