Best Harrow Poems
A Broken Heart
I have a broken heart so sad with sorrow,
My love’s full of such anguish and fear;
My soul’s afire with pain for the morrow.
My heart seeks such a palliative yarrow,
My thoughts are shattered, no longer clear;
I have a broken heart so sad with sorrow.
My desire’s gone, a victim of a much harrow,
My emotions are awry and bring no cheer;
My soul’s afire with pain for the morrow.
Your anger strikes my heart like a poison arrow,
Your evil intent revealed with no sugary veneer;
I have a broken heart so sad with sorrow.
I live my life now with no surcease of sorrow,
Your former love declarations ring now so *****;
My soul’s afire with pain for the morrow.
My spirit’s in tatters from your hateful harrow,
And your face now haunts me with a nasty leer;
I have a broken heart so sad with sorrow.
My soul’s afire with pain for the morrow.
Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
November 14, 2014 (Villanelle)
Night's silent shadows softly fall
from moonlight's muted, mellow glow,
that shroud the land with sunless shawls
on cold ground glazed with glinting snow.
Tree branches, seen with broader breadths
by shadows that bestow their form,
splayed stark atop the snowy depths;
by wind, they swirl like snaky swarms.
Small bushes sway between the trees
to shadow snow like ghastly ghosts
that dance deceptively to tease
and harrow wary human hosts.
Pure, peaceful pageantry at night;
such lovely landscapes, to be viewed.
But, sometimes shadows strain our sight-
with varied visions misconstrued.
March 27, 2018
Premiere Contest: 2022 Poetry Marathon
Mile 6 Poetry Contest
Afloat I am,
The blind horizon spreads to no end.
O river of rivers,
The queen river,
Flow as you wish,
Gather silt forever
That on your shores
Men may harrow, then sow
The seeds of happiness
And sorrow to grow.
Afloat I am,
The blind horizon spreads to no end.
Hilsa leaps at the moon,
How wondrously they blend!
Hilsa leaps at the moon,
How wondrously they blend!
O river of rivers,
The starry river,
Your blinking waves drum
Of Behula's shiver.
I too am lost,
The tattered merchant fool,
My peacock barge rides
Fate's whirlpool.
Hilsa leaps at the moon,
How wondrously they blend!
When the whistling wind wakes
All courage is pretend.
When the whistling wind wakes
All courage is pretend,
O river of rivers,
The wise river.
Who would speak for us?
If not you, may be never.
Yet the mountains rise
From the hearths' ash,
You are silent, while
The history is brash.
When the whistling wind wakes
All courage is pretend.
Heaven's horn blares slender silver
For whom to comprehend?
Heaven's horn blares slender silver
For whom to comprehend?
O river of rivers,
The hungry river,
The consort of Ruin.
An arrow in Falguni's quiver.
The infinite wasteland beckons
Hold onto heart's dream,
One more sun above
Anguish and scream.
Heaven's horn blares slender silver
For whom to comprehend?
Afloat I am,
The blind horizon spreads to no end.
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Form: Bhatiali
Date: 19 / 11 / 2016
Bhatiali is a form of folk music native to Bangladesh and Bengal. There is no place for Taal (a term used in Indian classical music for the rhythmic pattern) in pure bhatiali. Even rhyme is not that important. Generally, these songs are sung by the cattle herders on the fields or the fisherfolks living off a river. Among the several subjects of folk music in all of Bengal, that includes Deha-tatva (about the body) and Murshid-tatva (about the guru), Bhatiali deals with Prakriti-tatva (about nature). Probably the most renowned poet of this form is Jasimuddin. Some of Rabindranath Tagore's songs can also be categorised as typical bhatiali.
Seagulls rush inland crying birds
gathering on the highest peaks perching
then silence takes hold as darkness envelopes
Today watching the eclipse all alone crowning someone special
warm inside deep thought hope a thousand miles away
grace of beauty tears drop in a silent wish
Held within breathless whispers deeply a cold breeze blowing kiss
dark mixing with light in a harrow crescent as the moon moves
in front sparkling diamond smiles sunshine thoughts of sharing love
Sad memories drifting clouds pulling deeply tides turn
angel rays brightly sparkling treasure feelings inside the ocean
swells warm waves hand of a greater being touches one glowing dream
unrhymed trycet
A chambermaid whose name is Marlia
Had the most terrible diarrhoea
Whilst scrubbing a loo
She needed to pooh
Poop flowed freely from her posterior
It splattered on the newly scrubbed door
Gloopy poop was all over the floor
There was a huge mess
It covered her dress
Her poor tummy was ever so sore
WRITTEN BY JAN ALLISON
Marlia was filled with sorrow
A clean dress she had to borrow
flies were attracted
The mess compacted
clean up required a harrow!
WRITTEN BY LIM'RIK FLATS
If only she'd have taken a Tums
No mess would be left on her bums
she's still in despair
a stench in the air
To the scent of poop she succumbs
WRITTEN BY TIM SMITH
Marlia was dumb, thinking it was just gas
But it was much more that she had to pass
The day was torrid
Her stench was horrid
Now everyone knows Marlia has no class
WRITTEN BY LIN LANE
Marlia tried hard to sneak out
the trail of her poop left no doubt
Lysol was sprayed,
Her funk still stayed
cause her poop kept running out
WRITTEN BY DANIEL TURNER
Poor, poor Marlia stunk up the room
Her hubby left and she has no groom
He ran for the hills
No more night thrills,
Now she's alone and her life is doom
WRITTEN BY ALEXIS Y
21-07-17
Lying still on the class room floor,
brown paper for a bottom sheet.
All the children were gathered round
and my outline was complete.
A cookie cutter girl was I
in bright black paten leather shoes;
with a gathered skirt, puffy blouse
of blue polka dotty hues.
Drawn silhouette, a paper doll,
not ashen as deaths cold harrow,
and I regret, my parents get
left Hiroshima's shadows.
Eight years gone the Rising Sun
was challenged in an earthy sky;
for bombs Little Boy and Fat Man fell
and two-hundred thousand people died
The Man of Steel, old Stalin
passed away in Russia this year;
the hot cold war was in full bloom
and our children hid in fear.
Beneath our desk tops we scrambled
as the shrill sirens shrieked away
the Committee of Five ruled Russia
and Khrushchev was on his way.
Dwight Ike was in the White House
as a veteran, he'd fought hard
the GI bill was now in affect
and bomb shelters filled our yards.
And little girls with ringlet curls
still made dollies on paper sheets;
while the doll shadows left by WWII
bombs blackened in Japan's streets.
*On August 6, 1945, the United States used a massive, atomic weapon against Hiroshima, Japan. This atomic bomb, the equivalent of 20,000 tons of TNT, flattened the city, killing tens of thousands of civilians. While Japan was still trying to comprehend this devastation three days later, the United States struck again, this time, on Nagasaki. Nagasaki was bombed on August 9, 1945 only three days after the bombing of Hiroshima. And we worry that other countries may develope atomic bombs???
Descending eyes piercing the starry nights
Deeper yet, unto hearts of men
Crossing thresholds shattered darkness
Behold, the fallen angels unbeknown to sin
That of weakest appetites malign
As heaven's tears spilling city streets
In futility cleanse what's evil-wise
From beneath, us vagabonds of broken wings
Empty rooms loneliness desperately
Weary hearts for yearning error in love
Far off stares and blank faces, harrow in oasis
And inspirations forgotten, never peering up
Divine light cease upon closing heart
Earthly flesh feeding frenzies
To another piece of faith withdrawn
Humanity continues on and spirituality dies ending
Some pretentious fly toward false sanctuary
Never escaping whispers, persecutions within
Hissings soft, but brimstone in our heads
Countless fallen angels iniquitous deprivation dins
"Criers" define us as the times most desperate
"God, forgive us, please" hollow words that we pray
"The wicked must be punished" God's eternal now and tomorrow
His arms outstretched further still but, where are we today
A vile visage has been there since ages ago,
Around the corner, scythe in hand, waiting.
He knows life’s course must take me there
On a one-way journey I have been evading.
I cannot know when I must make the turn,
But age and health offer foreboding clues.
His countless clones harrow other corners
Waiting to collect mortality’s final dues.
A heart flutter reminds me of the corner.
Bone and blood perceive what is inevitable.
The finality that awaits is only a step away—
A chilling specter that’s gravely regrettable.
When the snout of lush abundance is full and flowing,
when all prey and creature-kind spill upon the verdant swards,
then it is that I worry night and day,
for the stoat, fox and hawk are at work,
they scythe in the whelm and nimiety, they hack and harrow.
The kits and chuckling’s are many, the light too bright;
for then the foragers forgoing fright, are palpable and open.
The long-eared nibblers, hairs on scattered rodents laid bare,
they scutter, skitter and twitch much in the open
greatly prone to be pounced upon;
their paltry pelts all unhidden, and being many,
and not running, they are huddled; yet not strong.
If this slew not ease, if the grabbers not falter,
if the singled-out dither, the glut not wither,
then the green snake will climb to where nestlings hutch -
they all so easily plucked and quickly snatched.
I worry for the wee brown birds; mottled shells still unhatched.
I fear a winnowing, withal a harsh hazard of gorge and sate.
I fret for the freshly delivered, the teeming,
the newly produced, all the bounding bounty
for those too easily found and so, arrived too late.
A picture appeared on my phone today,
on the proverbial page I perused.
A view of an evil most vile,
villainy veiled behind verve and vim.
Sadists from Auschwitz,
smiling in a storm.
Shoulders shrugging,
to shield from the sky.
No hint of the horrors,
the Holocaust they heralded.
Not haunted like the humans they harrow,
but hyenas, howling, in high humor after the hunt.
Their consciences clear, their cruelty concealed,
their cheer chills me to the core.
They caused such wicked calvary,
a calamity that echoes into the current century.
Yet they dare to delight,
while they deal in death and dread.
Their depravity so deep that they grin,
as they decry virtue and destroy millions.
But what mortifies me more is,
how mundane their mien.
Will we fear the next fiends fittingly,
or in time... if their faces feel like friends'?
Give me wine, give me poetry
and a hug to shake off these blues;
give me the sunniest and bluest sky:
give me glimpses of an unstressed tomorrow...
without masked faces that cry behind them!
Breathing freely means absolute freedom,
but the loss of it imposes a new norm;
what can distract people from forgetting death,
and stare at the solemn preacher who must harrow
dying souls for their destination of fire or bliss?
What can cheer up folks and make them laugh?
I'm preparing for my departure, lest fate is gracious:
let the laborious life I lived be an example of boldness,
I've held onto my beliefs, I carried no animosity or envy:
all I had was from God, not from the hands of charity!
Give me earthly delights, give me soothing music,
my assigned time could be nearer than I expect:
I have no throne, no crown, no riches in my treasured chest;
I'll leave as naked as I came...humbleness has never left:
how calm must be the exodus from life into death...
without groans, without moans; and with an exemption from debt!
I'll render this transaction to the Almighty with easiness...
no resistance to prevent what He desires: His wish is too intrinsic!
Blithe fools traipsing through bleary hollow
Airy sprites in hovering tents shadow
Brooding sylvan fringe shrouding light with her swaying willow
Jaded beams peep through the crenelated steeple's window
Sprouting thickets bristling with spiny tendrils each step harrow
Creepy vermin frenetically scurry under foot from burrow to
burrow
A musty dampness shivers intruders; beneath feet liken's slimy
residual doth grow
Whistling winds hauntingly whisper a doleful strain
Ominous portent overhead; hoot owls continuously bleet their eerie
refrain
Perilous pitfalls surround; ensnaring cracks, crevices unwitting lives
drain
Poisonous foliage ensconses the beaten path distilled with its
potion of pain
Jagged course nearly run; wayfarers enlightened by each
cumbersome travail
Weary itinerants seasoned on nature's, menacing plain
Pensively treading the last mile over the rough, foreboding terrain
Circle the wagons,
We must protect our love,
Arrows and spears
Let them fly above
No one will take me away
No one will make my last day
I have too much to lose
Since loving you
I'll fight against all odds
And do what I must do
Shoot your rifles,
Unlease your arrow
When this day is over
No way can you harrow
My love concrete
My nerves of steel
I'll beat you all
And you'll feel
My fist of rage
My refusal to give way
And you can return with more soldiers
Another day
I'll tear your hearts out,
Spit on your grave
And I'm not claiming
To be so brave
But hurt my love,
And all bets are off
I'll throttle your neck
I'll seal your fate
And show you the
True face of hate.
Shaun was a wee little man,
Who was known to sit quiet and plan.
He'd not put on shows,
He looked down his nose,
On those who tried to look grand.
Shaun for himself was prepared,
And helped others for he really cared.
He'd oft lend his hand,
To help beast or man,
Whatever he had he would share.
Other lads in the town called him callow.
They teased him and oft they would harrow,
This small, quiet man,
Who'd lift not his hand,
For these youths were crude and quite shallow.
One Spring day they came upon Shaun,
As he sat in a glade one fine morn.
They'd thought to have fun,
Once again with wee Shaun,
Of a sudden they found he was gone.
Though they searched and they searched all around,
Wee Shaun just could not be found.
The town blamed the youths.
Said in them was no truth,
For they'd treated him like the town clown.
And Shaun stood and watched in delight,
Hidden from all in plain sight,
For he'd changed his visage,
Just so he could visit,
And watch as they locked them up tight.
It seems there was more to Wee Shaun,
Than they knew and now he was gone.
He just disappeared,
And everyone feared,
The youths knew what happened to Shaun.
He returned to the glade the next morn,
And all there welcomed back Shaun;
For the glade was his home,
And no more would he roam,
For Shaun was a leprechaun.
No hearts and flowers for me on Valentine's Day,
so Cupid, don't take aim with your arrows.
My heart will not allow love to sweep me away.
For past passion there was a profuse price to pay.
I was wounded in the breast like a felled sparrow.
No hearts and flowers for me on Valentine's Day.
He destroyed my love with evil words not held at bay,
and snuffed it out like a candle flame atop the tallow.
'tis why my heart will not allow love to sweep me away.
There is no consolation for the sorrowful blame I lay
upon the shoulders of the man who acted like Pharaoh.
No hearts and flowers for me on Valentine's Day.
All the love I had to give was loaded upon my heart's dray,
and he dumped it in the gutter like dung in a wheelbarrow.
My heart will not allow love to ever sweep me away.
Hear me, Cupid, and don't try to lead my heart astray.
I've already been crushed and plowed as if by a harrow.
No hearts and flowers for me on Valentine's Day.
My heart will not allow love to sweep me away.
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January 22nd 2016
Valentine's Villanelle Contest
Sponsored by Dave Will