Best Hoed Poems
just like their love of fifty years
that they held very dear
the lilies and the irises
looked radiant that year.
they had no need to prove their love
just a knowing glance instead
and a gentle squeeze when holding hands
beside their flower bed.
when both felt tired from bending down
and working in the heat
they spoke of seeds and bulbs and things
drinking tea upon the seat.
having rid the soil of all the weeds
he hoed and raked the earth.
the yellow line of daffodils
spoke more than words were worth.
and when their lawn was cloaked in leaves
from the sycamore above
they cursed and sighed just being themselves
in the autumn of their love.
and as he sat there mourning
the passing of his wife
he looked upon the garden as
A CELEBRATION
of her life.
Categories:
hoed, death, garden, life, loss,
Form:
Rhyme
Oh how sad, oh how glum,
Goodness gracious prater comes.
Writing winsome words of woe,
Endlessly stopping, never to go.
Whiling away the endless hours;
Scribbling sigils, clawing, I cower.
Oh how sad, oh how glum,
Goodness gracious prater comes.
Envy those not thus engaged.
Envy the prattle on the page;
Stroked, petted, tilled and hoed;
Fields ‘pon fields, rows ‘pon row.
Oh how sad, oh how glum,
Frantic fretting, fear comes.
Wading through the endless nights;
Waiting, waiting for the light.
Writing, writing, scratch and scribble;
All this soulless, mindless, drivel.
Writing, writing, writing on;
‘Till the coming of the dawn.
Categories:
hoed, satire
Form:
Rhyme
“Being crazy isn't enough.” ? Dr. Seuss
Jabberwocky's growl
Jabberwocky howl
howl at little girls
howl at the moon
moon with your pants down
moon over Manhattan
Manhattan nights
Manhattan Knights
Knights in White Satin
Knights with Bat ears
ears of a donkey
ears of a rabbit
rabbit across the street
Rabbit Run
run for your life
run the stocking
stocking up
stocking legs
legs on a flamingo
legs under the table
table talk
table manners
"manners" said Alice?
"manners" said the Queen
Queen of Hearts
Queen of the May
May I
may you
you may
you can
can can
can do
do what?
do who?
who said that?
who yoo-hooed
yoo-hoed a yodel
yoo-hooed on cue
cue up the table
cue ones and two's
two's are for pairs
two's for tea
tea totalers
tea bags
bags for a season
bags for a reason
reason or not
reason be damned
damned
not
Debbie Guzzi
8/8/15
Categories:
hoed, analogy, crazy, word play,
Form:
Blitz
Oh, how sad, oh how very glum,
Goodness gracious me prater comes.
Still writing winsome words of woe,
Endlessly stopped, never to go.
Oh Lord, let not our life pass by
Let us do more than weep and cry.
Wallowing in morbid abode.
Endlessly stopped, never to go.
Whiling away the endless hours;
Scribbling sigils, claws cower.
Envy those not caught in limbo
Endlessly stopped, never to go.
Envy the prattle on the page.
At least the words are given stage.
Fields upon fields, rows upon row.
Endlessly stopped, never to go.
Feeling your life’s left no dower.
Enjoying the pain not power.
Pondering heaven on life’s gallows.
Endlessly stopped, never to go.
Goodness gracious me, prater comes,
And, all of it just, so, ho-hum.
Each word stroked, petted, tilled and hoed,
Endlessly stopped, never to go.
And, all of it just, so, ho-hum.
Leave the box, flee the asylum!
Writing, writing, writing on,
Endlessly stopped, never to go.
All this soulless, mindless, drivel.
Writing, writing, scratch and scribble;
Live above your massive ego
Endlessly stopped, never to go.
Categories:
hoed, naturewords, writing, writing,
Form:
Kyrielle
It was a Wednesday;
a day woven
into prison blankets and dish towels.
A day to assess hours unnoticed.
A time of trivial hungers.
The hard heft of earlier times: -
not fitting into anything,
teenage fluff and huff. Heartbreak,
rearing and loss. The fallow traipse of age.
The clinical clunk of clay feet.
Making room in a grave-yard moon,
for faces mislaid.
Those hard rows were all well hoed.
Washing a closed face in a misty mirror.
Listening to the coffee percolator.
trying to shave before its last burble,
ears catching the dark drops of a winter rain,
he creeps again too close
to a hole in his mind.
He should not be doing this still,
but the hole keeps tugging him.
He must keep throwing raw meat
into that roaring silence.
The hole is deep, and the end of it, is no end.
He wishes he could at least,
install an elevator.
for his ghosts to ride up and down on.
It would give him time
to drink more coffee, and write
some polite, well-adjusted poetry.
Categories:
hoed, poetry,
Form:
Blank verse
You till your own garden,
you sow your own seeds
You harvest the memories,
you feast on the breeze
You water those choices,
both made and unmade
Your truth deeply hoed
—veracious to lay
(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2017)
Categories:
hoed, truth,
Form:
Rhyme
{gone}
I think God took you away.
That blissful- ancient mist of man.
Simply swept you up one day
with a big turtle hand.
Turned you into a pillar of marble,
in place of your warm, sweet skin.
Scribbled a few words to replace your smile.
Cold numbers in place of a shimmering rainbow... 1969-2001.
My nuclear winter...how devastatingly cold.
{gone}
Thoroughly hoed my Eden mind.
Velvet flowers uprooted by a R.I.P. current.
To make room for plastic words- plastic flowers
sprinkled with salt and sorrow.
{gone}
Categories:
hoed, death of a friend,
Form:
Free verse
Oh, how sad, oh how very glum,
Goodness gracious me prater comes.
Still writing winsome words of woe,
Endlessly stopped, never to go.
Oh God be, merciful to me.
Endlessly stopped, never to go.
Wallowing in morbid abode.
Whiling away the endless hours;
Scribbling sigils, claws cower.
Oh God be, merciful to me.
Scribbling sigils, claws cower.
Feeling your life’s left no dower
Envy those not thus engaged.
Envy the prattle on the page.
Oh God be, merciful to me.
Envy the prattle on the page.
At least the words are given stage.
Each one stroked, petted, tilled and hoed;
Fields upon fields, rows upon row.
Oh God be, merciful to me.
Fields upon fields, rows upon row.
Pondering heaven on life’s gallows.
Goodness gracious me, prater comes,
And, all of it just, so, ho-hum.
Oh God be, merciful to me.
And, all of it just, so, ho-hum.
Leave the box, flee the asylum!
Writing, writing, scratch and scribble;
All this soulless, mindless, drivel.
Oh God be, merciful to me.
All this soulless, mindless, drivel.
joyfull tragic, quite disheveled
Wading through the endless nights;
Waiting, waiting for the light.
Oh God be, merciful to me.
Waiting, waiting for the light,
Never living your gifted life.
Writing, writing, writing on,
Until the coming of the dawn.
Oh God be, merciful to me.
Categories:
hoed, confusion, death, depression, introspection,
Form:
Kyrielle
Ages ago bygone childhood delighted
especially Florida (sunkist) grandpa
Harris (Aaron) indulged jais nais sais quois
kibitizing lovingly, mirthfully
naturally offering pleasing qualities,
rendering slender tanned
under venerated wristwatch (analog),
x2c yielded zealousness.
thee paternal grandfather
oft times visited our rural abode
at that time one sturdy estate
(originally called Glen Elm) wildlife crowed
within the plush wooded tract (slated, parceled,
and mapped) to explode
with cookie cutter lookalike slap dashed,
shoddy tinderboxes (vinyl city) growed
on formerly untamed, uber virgin woods,
perhaps early boondocks getaway hoed
and plowed, but indomitable (once abandoned)
nature relished reversed grape seeded tracery igloed
yet 'pon reflection, I ponder how early occupation knowed
no habitat foresaw wreckage
when decision via wealthy Leipers,
(wealthy owners of The Bell and Clapper)
unanimously crafted mode
das operandi to build stately sturdily summer country villa,
(circa early 1900's)
which residence whittled down to 324 Level Road -
demesne comprising about a half dozen acres
eventually acquired by Boyce Harris
February 28th 1968 - mort aged toad
a near singlehanded undertaking to create thee abode
whence majority of thine lviii years spent,
now crafted in poetic code
Categories:
hoed, fun, grandson, introspection, nostalgia,
Form:
Elegiac Lyric
headland harbored primitive biota abut
mint for exotic sole terrain sustaining
sole terrain sustaining seeds, spores, spermatozoa, ova
seeds, spores, spermatozoa, ova , et cetera gut
preserved within mine follicular pores, sans
I secured per woof and meow wing warp organic matter
heir in to fore shielded from elements akin to thatched hut
aware wrenching kamikaze eradication
of countless critters from many Godaddy longlegs;
creepy crawlers, hops scotching,
shimmying with schmaltz, moon walks, et cetera
lost when germ warfare obliterated vast majority
since advent of civilization ordained Proletariat and Plebeian Primate
(cherishing, fostering, insulating bon mot infinitesimal dot re: future mutt)
dogs and also cats off limits
asper demise of other creatures decimated – tut tut
atop thine noggin housed (within thimble size nut)
rare and near extinct flora and fauna, what
species of plants and animals, whose preserve comprised
equivalent of indigenous village people huddling within microscopic yut.
Thus, this bipedal simian angst riddled at experiences
forced at figurative crossroad
when itching scalping a dead giveaway clue
to lather up hirsute growing via bald faced code
at further expense invisible life forms such action would erode
fast dwindled diversity, hegemony, longevity
i.e. population except *****Sapiens who didst goad
forefingers needed to massage and scrub thine scalp
as like a field getting hoed
sometimes applying solely cold water knob to un load
a healthy plethora, where gushing shower head would send them
down the drain perhaps displacing their meal times,
or feasting on louse see pie ala mode
aware that survival odds regarding
getting thru water treatment plant, premonition aye node
and greater chance to avert total mortal kombat avoided
if I trekked to Antarctic anti pode
so...similar to other occasions necessitating me
to lather 50 shades of gray –
as if subjected to being snowed
quite aware many people would avoid me like the plague
(which reaction eagerly embraced) if knotty,
oily, straggly natural headresss
hence, this outlier surrendered and got gently toad
value of hygience – and lost as if playing tictactoe x/oed.
Categories:
hoed, anxiety, confusion, fun, funny,
Form:
Narrative
I chopped and hoed and planted seed
... dug a swimming hole
I picked and shucked and canned the corn
.... killed an ugly mole..
I read some books then read some more..
.... climbed up the old pine trees
I fell right down and hit the ground
.... Skinning both my knees....
I played a song .. and danced a spell
... on Grandma's metal drum
and though she tried to look away
... I heard my sister hum..
Now that it's time for back to School..
.. I hate to hear them say..
Now write some words that tell us how
...you spent the holiday!
Categories:
hoed, adventure, education, funny, holiday,
Form:
Free verse
Heidi hoed, hurting
her back..."Get a tractor!" cracked
her chiropractor.
Categories:
hoed, health,
Form:
Haiku
I have pinched, pruned, planted, fertilized and even mowed...
I have dug, dressed, divided, harvested and hoed.
Then I thinned, trimmed, transplanted, sprayed, sowed and staked...
Then I wheeled, watered, weeded, rototilled and raked.
I loosened, limed and layered, that's me; gardening by the book...
But there was one thing I neglected, I was so busy I forgot to look.
My flowers were as beautiful as could be...
And I was so busy I didn't see.
TK<
Categories:
hoed, flower, garden,
Form:
Light Verse
In the chapel wherein Joe laid, his son stood, those final moments, needed.
A reflective image of one’s boyhood flooded through his mind,
fourteen years he has lived, yet somehow a hope of emulation to carry on
with a family tradition.
nature needs balance
a wild beast if uncontrolled…
dawn’s chorus each day
His Mother, has need of him and his five sisters, two of whom as yet
school age. The happiness they knew was to till the land, dwell within nature’s simple things, but many tears hamper this midsummer day, leafy pasture Joe knew so well, allied, his roses dip their heads in a suave way, the village folk salutes his final ride. Yet no more time to grieve, next day animals to feed, pastures to be hoed, seed to sow knowing he’d understand, if winter’s inclemency stretches into spring.
at the end of day
sunset rolls along the moor…
a time to reflect
© Harry J Horsman 2021
Categories:
hoed, emotions, family,
Form:
Haibun
Her spirit lived in the garden's bright blooms.
Tended with a solemn vow that he'd kept.
Their scent reminded him of her perfumes.
While planting, his sad heart mournfully wept.
Tended with a solemn vow that he'd kept,
Although years had passed since her tragic death.
He hoed and weeded, Autumn leaves were swept,
fulfilling his promise to his wife, Beth.
Although years had passed since her tragic death,
he still carried fresh flowers to her grave
in bouquets with lilies and baby's breath.
Sorrow engulfed him like a crashing wave.
He still carried fresh flowers to her grave
Their scent reminded him of her perfumes
Sorrow engulfed him like a crashing wave
Her spirit lived in the garden's bright blooms.
June 6th, 2021 ~ Photo #5
Pantoum Rhyme Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Eve Roper
Categories:
hoed, garden, lost love,
Form:
Pantoum