Best Harvesting Poems
As nectarine wanderings of
plum shadow wishes collect
neath apple cider lips now
sticky with nectarous flowings
upon pulsating peach blossom petals
dripping of ripened sighs…
a saturated smile appears
as I imagine harvesting
the fruit bearing orchards
of your desires
Deep water divers
collect slowly cultured gems,
pearls from dark waters...
How do we harvest light?
We dig through the darkness.
When light is a turnip
Growing in the rocky Newfoundland soil
Digging through the darkness
Hands bloody and torn
Digging into my past
Through trauma
Stories and roots
Block the path
Rocks and fears
Make the work
Challenging, draining
Often I need to rest
Light is the quest
The digging worthwhile
Golden ears listen
A great gift given
Lessons come
Light lessons
Unlike dirt
Undone by
A good scrub
Light permeates
Till you and it are the same
No washing required
Wishing you love and light
Gordon Martin
February 1, 2019
growth, nature, rain, seasons, summer, word play,
MIGHTY SUNFLOWERS © TANKA
Sunflowers in fields
Bowing to the rising sun
Turning faced upwards
Withholding their mighty stocks
As all roots knit asunder!
growth, nature, rain, seasons, summer, word play,
HARVESTING © TANKA
Rain drops call from clouds
Wet the now blackening soil
New roots drink thirstily
Crops now grow from planted seedlings
Harvest 'feed' aplenty!
Harvesting
The bright of the morning
allured to reap crops
Grasses on the ground,
admired decision, full of love
Glow from the east,
Accelerated births of desire
of all creation of the earth
whispered do that.
Rising sun for the day
A farmer's mind for the cultivate
Intrigued and motivated, rain of a week
Can create problem for the harvest.
A stitch in time saves nine is a lesson
Before rain, harvest of this season
No idea, how the summer will ease.
From the morning will be better to reap
Before noon half should be heaped
The spirit and break will be fresh after lunch
To day is the bright day, mind suggests harvest
Imagining such, the farmer entered into the hut
Day became brighter, farmer cut the product
Members of the family were tying the knots
Evening fell towards twilight,welcoming night
Birds were returning towards nests, being tired
Happy in the mind begot, seeing the field in calm
Harvested paddy will be thrashed before rain harm
Habitat of butterflies and insects saw paddy down
They bundled their luggage,moved for next ground
As usual next morning the farmer saw the field
Became glad, his harvest will be sold this summer.
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.
I have been finishing up Sacred Economics during this time of fall harvest and thanksgiving. I have enjoyed this read especially as I add in vocabulary and analogy from my background in Permaculture Design and Community Development.
Eisenstein's economics of a more beautiful world
follows the ecologic of health,
like a richly embryonic egg-yolk
pulls its developmental compost
from environmentally vulnerable,
ubiquitously transparent,
gooey natural norms.
So, this gives me cause for regenerative thanksgiving,
in this Earth-optimizing time
of Co-Falling and Co-Arising Harvest.
One illustration, my additions in brackets:
"The money [health] system we have today
is the manifestation of the scarcity mentality
that has dominated our civilization
[and threatened our wilderness Commons]
for centuries.
When that mentality changes,
the money [health] system will change
to embody a new [eco]consciousness.
In our current [competitively unhealthy] money system,
it is mathematically
[and logically]
impossible for more than a minority of people
[and species]
to live in abundance,
because the money [health and beauty] creation process
maintains
[yet also struggles with]
systemic [economic and political power] scarcity.
One man's prosperity
is another man's poverty."
0-sum, win/lose
health v pathology
me v you
mind v body
yang v yin
man v woman
1 v 0
full v empty
transcendent v immanent
commodity v humanity
competitive
all v nothing value system
Ignoring Earth's ecologic
of cooperative empowering health care,
like a richly embryonic egg-yolk Commons
pulling in developmental compost
from environmentally vulnerable,
ubiquitously transparent,
gooey win/win enlightened
bicamerally intelligent norms
Individual ego-static Left
languaged passions
AND
individuating eco-ecstatic Right
languished co-pleasures
like thanksgiving
and joy
and boundless compassion
for others
as for ourselves
loving others
as health-wealthily co-invested
as win/win possible
in this TaoCommons Time
in this sacred
vulnerable
and transparent
EarthEnvironment
Doing our win/win best
to sing and speak
wealth's passionate wisdom
while dancing and acting
health's co-pleasuring rhythm.
I’m put upon to ponder the problem of poetry
& thus, I proudly or, perhaps, perfunctorily,
Ponderously pronounce with a preponderance,
Even a plethora, of p’s:
Poetry is pithy, prankish and perky,
Pertinent and impertinent, too
It’s prophetic, pathetic, pragmatic and proud
Poetry pretends, preaches, points out,
Points to, and down, and under
Poetry’s petals promise purity and peace
Poetry’s pristine, picky and pale
Poetry is practical, prudent, is pregnant,
Gives pause
Poetry’s precise, prayerful, powerful
Poetry’s presence is portentious and playful
Poetry’s a mosaic portrayal, a
Painted portraiture, perfect, profane
Prosaic, it is not,
Preposterous, it is
It is ponderous, political, porous, pontifical
Peripatetic and perennial,
Prescient, pedantic, possessive and puerile
Perfidious, perceptible, perplexing, perfectible
Poetry perseverates, preserves, perseveres
Sometimes perplexing, never perishable,
It pulses it prowls, it probes and it pries
Poetry is a perverse, precocious, pubescent prankster
It prances, and preens periwinkle plumage
In place of deep purple prose
A persuasive, peculiarly pleasant peacock,
Poetry promulgates poems!
Poetry, dear poet, exists
Poetry, dear poet, persists
Poetry, dear poet, persists and preoccupies
Poetry can never desist
Poetry perpetually propagates poems
And that
is the problem
with poetry…
Phew!!!
Every Day a Harvest
Every day a harvest,
Every man
Every woman
Every child.
Looking back at harvesting,
The trail of daylight for laughter
Brought from life
The successes bring you joy and happiness.
Stay away from the corners of despair,
For they can shame you
The disappointments
For they may only be disappointed.
Every day a harvest,
Every man
Every woman
Every child.
I’m behind her eyes throughout the night,
I’m playing with her dream.
She doesn’t realise it’s me that knows,
Shadows aren’t as they seem.
I make her feel comfort, safe and secure,
As snug as a bug in a rug.
She doesn’t realise my smoke’s more than toxic,
A dreamy sort of drug.
With me in her mind she’s protected, guarded,
From everything that is real.
She thinks this is how sleep’s meant to be,
A sleepy slaughtered kind of surreal.
I’m the genuine authentic nightmare man,
Stealing dreams from every night.
I’m the guy that makes her sleep with nothing,
Harvesting her dreams by candlelight.
We have grown accustomed
to Business As Usual
Yang dominant ways
to teach kids
to live egocentrically apart.
We also have Old School
Yin recessive ways
to listen to children
teach each Sacred Other
how to love ecocentrically
together.
Yang alone
is about WinLose
Either/Or evolution
competing against
other competitors.
While Yang with Yin
is WinWin
Both/And revolution
for cooperative evolution
with GoldenRule Others.
We have transporting systems
and communication metasystems
as we have memories of past well-worn lanes
meeting imaginations for well-born futures
together, yet apart.
We have musings, amusements, and musical
Left with Right transport systems
and beloved, loved, and eco-dancing lived
DNA eco-light and ego-dualdark
RightBrain restorative resonant systems,
wu-wei
Tipping Points
bilaterally co-arising ZeroZones.
Transporting ZeroZone resilience
is our long-term communication
WinWin undertaking
overtaking competing WinLose governance
of ego- and eco-centers.
Cooperatively transporting
restorative justice projects
invites new health-care communications,
feedback systems
about more resilient purposes
communicating Left-Right
Yang-Yin
Ego-Eco nuanced
WinWin stretching approaches
building better health care governance.
We might prefer governments
transporting and mentoring trust
creating PositivEnergy Democracy
communication systems
eco-inclusive co-investments
in neighborhood cooperative projects
empowering family health-coinvestments
empowering WinWin transporting communications.
We have BusinessAsUsual
Yang governing ways
to malform Left-and-Right mindbody balancing kids
to live LeftBrain dominantly apart.
We also have OldSchool natural-spiritual cooperative
Yin recessive transporting ways
to listen to WinWin imaginations
teach each secularLeft-sacredRight
resiliently co-investing Other
how to love ecosystemically
aMusively Left with Right
together.
As a child in a churchish home
I learned to love a lord
I could not see
Was he there?
Absolutely!
Apparently.
Where do I find him?
What if he’s not?
Where do I find her?
What if she’s not?
He? Her? It?
Every Sunday we would sit
In our sparkling Sunday best
Bonnets. Ties. Polished shoes.
Wiped noses. Buttoned vests.
Worshipping.
We kids sat still.
Furtively counting beams or windows.
No child moved then.
Those days were different
After the war.
When we’re far from those who bleed
the memory recedes
as does control.
Now it is all noise.
I go to a temple.
I see crowds.
I smell smoke.
I go to a church
I see crowds
I smell incense.
I go to a mosque.
I see crowds
I smell nothing.
Which is real?
Does it matter?
Harvesting Youth
Harvesting youthful energy
Takes time and vitality
Diamond and ruby
Hand and machinery
Poof goes the jazz hands
A trimmer in the extremities
And tapping shoes
A person off beat and balance
Heavy feet drag
Brittle bones crack
Speech is paused and delayed
Breathing comes heavily
Blind is the eye
Wrinkled are the hands that
Held youngins
And tended to their cry
Made tomato paste
And sweet potato pie
Now in a broken place
Climbing out of windows
And wandering streets
Become commonplace
Laughter bring eyes to tears
In the heart a song plays
In a dream one is doing the mashed potatoes and the twist
Where must I go?
To a zoo?
Talent show?
Playground?
Museum of art?
An amusement park?
Sitting in the breeze
Underneath a maple tree
Birds chirp
Bugs bite and hide
Must I ponder upon the morrow?
Marckincia Jean
Free verse
06/27/19
HAPPY HARVESTING
She moves to capture; he puts her in check.
She wears alabaster; on her ears and her neck.
She sharpens her knife; he reloads his gun;
They threaten each other; before they are done.
She hikes up her dress; exposing her hips;
He tells her no way; as he’s kissing her lips.
She makes a dismissal; such as talk to the hand;
He jumps up to challenge; right there where she stands.
She goes to the closet; in a jester to pack;
He tells her good riddance; don’t ever come back
A master disaster; with very few rules;
Till death ever after; use or abused
A Hallow time reckoning; with sour ball gum;
It’s a masked celebration; for the old and the young.
The witches of Salem; the warlocks of doom;
Either love them or hate them; in the middle’s no room.
She’s rubbing her eyes; to wipe off the tears;
He wants to leave her; He’ll kill her he fears.
Selling his freedom; to get what he wants;
Knowing his weakness; with her beauty she taunts.
A match all too perfect; for the liar that cheats;
It’s a waltz so familiar; for the dancer with beats.
Harvesting Pumpkins
From villages in Iowa,
Indiana, Minnesota and Nebraska
and from towns in the Dakotas,
Wisconsin and Michigan,
there stream to Chicago in spring
parades of lithe girls
looking for boys
who will look at them
but who find instead
men who will wine them
through summer,
who will wait until fall
to thresh in the fields
one summer can ripen,
men who will watch
till a pumpkin falls from the vine.
This is the courtship
village girls dream of,
laugh about, hope for.
Come fall, these are the men
who fill silos of girls
from Elkhart and Davenport,
Ely and other small places,
lithe girls who in spring
come to Chicago
looking for boys
who will look at them
but who find instead
the reapers, the men.
Donal Mahoney