Best Humus Poems
With the heavy load you suffer
a substance not needed
yet drags you
cushioning your efforts
and deterring your pace, forgetting that
the Train is already moving
with passengers determined
for this journey.
Why get so distracted
by passers-by focused to catch up?
Why are you tossed side to side,
putting you each time,
a step backwards?
Can't you realize that
the Train is already moving
with passengers determined for this journey?
It seems you are the only one left
and this is solely your doing
with no one to blame
and the rest,
definitely have no added advantage over you.
So stop acting weak
cos the Train
is already moving
with passengers determined for this journey.
Wake up oh Africa!
you get your independence
just to become a volunteer slave.
You live in a Mansion
yet have no place to sleep.
Stop acting like a bucket of Crabs
killing each other
just to get out
and copy the ants
united and networking
for a common cause.
You fight for just a coin
underneath the Table.
When on it is a box
full of this same treasure.
Despite knowing how to reach out
to its top,
you neglect such knowledge
and accept conflicts, violence and wars.
Settling for good enough
is worst than being bad
you blow your trumpet
when you make a step
out of a thousand more.
You show unbelievable contentment
to mediocrity and under-achievements,
but remember this!
Half a giant is no giant at all.
You have the breast plate
of protection
and all the arsenals to battle
yet you dine with the helms of poverty
and embrace the ambassadors
of all kinds of infirmities.
You walk around naked
and seem not to bother
oh Africa!
Do you exist to actualize all these negativity?
An expert of imitation
and a professional in copying
no wonder no matter your trys
you end up as number 2 at best.
Because you've neglected
the sweetness of your originality.
You milk your cattle
to nourish the west
you harvest your crops
to feed foreign stomachs
you stand on abundant humus
yet your leaves are yellow and dry.
Exactly what will happen to the ants
if their Queen puts
their fate on the lizards
is what will befall you
not until you wake up oh Africa!
Categories:
humus, africa, dark,
Form:
Epic
Ah, the fortitude of a circle
the circular wisdom
of spring to summer fall to winter
the spinning wheel’s twist of threads -
at once both self-reliant and reliant
my soul to embryo seed to seedling
the mettle it takes for the genesis;
for my poppy pod to wake and break
a tiny speck of matter a fleck of duality unleashed
I surrender my dormancy to the earth -
roots reach deep like pale squiggly fingers
..for my kernel was laid to rest to bustle to life..
while my headstrong head pushes up through the soil
I come to be.. like a new idea taking shape
a physical being grounded
while seeking the realm of the Sun
the source of spirit as essential
as the dark womb from which I emerge
with a heart budding with the universe from nothing
I sprout as a sprig from a rounded grain
conceived in a gold-dusted flurry of furry buzz..
a bumblebee's dalliance with the center of a whorl
a mote of pollen so mite-like -- but
m i g h t y
in purpose potential and power
woven together in the art of creation
wind-driven autumn rains and sips of melted snow
..mother’s milk during the passage of time..
sweetly feeds the gentle needs for my tender birth
daystar’s dabble-dance with shadows
charm the chill from the cradle of the garden floor -
warm ginger dapples flit to find me between
canopy gaps in swish and sway..
mini-spots mirroring the disk of the Sun reminds me;
the image of what I’ll become
when my solar heart shines in a petal-chalice of flame..
rapture stirs the layers of humus
penetrating my essence with a ripening
stoking my fortitude to fulfill my destiny
to break free of that which holds me down
and reach ever higher inspired by a promise;
the golden circle of solace.. the bull's-eye in the sky
whose glow does kiss and grow my soul -
my inner space of bright sure to blaze
in a blossom cup’s confinement
my soul to embryo seed to seedling
sown to assure my flowering
my earthy ascension fulfills Nature’s cycle of nativity;
above the loam I rise to unfurl
and lift my airy leaves’ uncurl up high
in praise of the light
as the end of a gray season curves
into the festive yellow equinox of resurgence
Categories:
humus, birth, faith, flower, garden,
Form:
Free verse
A future world rule by Trillionaires and Billionaires
Each country with segments of puppet regime governments,
With exceptions of course,
The drug lords the cartel those with the power
And the glory to hold what they consider theirs,
They will be the enemy, and will be a constant
Thorn in the side of the establishment.
A world where every citizen registered
At birth and death, as always, the way,
Now a blink in the cell of a hand device,
Where to veer off, constitutes a written warning
Threatening one’s employment a system
Of points and reviews. Twenty years of age,
One is introduced to a multitude of choice,
Law enforcement, United Nations, battle hard platoon,
Ablutions cleaners, Spies and Reapers, alas,
Those over educated with self-righteousness
Seen as a threat, with re-education, to aid
Choose the right path. The system will know
And will have its way, even woke, on a long chain
Will have its day, when only one-sided opinions
Are set in law, therefore, easy to dictate the terms
Of one’s life. Yet if to conform, there will be no
Slippery slopes, humans, like colonies of ants, their purpose
Granted from the throne of insatiable grandeur,
Childhood once a foundation, where one found happiness,
Education now the way to the day of recognition.
If by chance, to live with one’s flexible opinions,
Those that somehow bypass, the system, will become
The hunted until ridiculed, outlawed, then to wither
As autumn leaves, windblown proud foliage will decay,
When minds forced to cast out truthful innuendoes,
Those, embedded in hearts and minds of fallible man, his ideal’s
Firmly fixed, of earthly struggles. Once weaken,
A blend within the unwelcoming stigma of standard deviation,
Those making policy from man’s inconsequential plight,
To decompose, the humus of society to clutter the gutter,
Until the arrival of the Street Cleaners!
© Harry J Horsman 2023
Categories:
humus, social, society,
Form:
Free verse
Returning from the date, he hides impressions
into the nooks and crannies of his mind
like a fed dog hides bones and then can’t find.
Don’t, filthy dog, don’t do that! Nothing freshens
the memory like a new date. The grave
of his beloved wife was fresh enough
to dig it up. Oh, weird twists of love,
macabre curves of lust that make him crave
charm in decay, enjoyment in remains
of beauty, sentimental memories
of kisses smelling humus, reveries
of the ideal submissiveness in chains
of death. It’s almost day. “Goodbye, sweetheart”.
Oh, how time drags before nightfall tomorrow!
In sickness and in health, in joy and sorrow,
through death, until a new dawn do us part.
09.12.2019
Memorial Of A Loved One Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Chantelle Anne Cooke
Categories:
humus, death, love, lust,
Form:
Rhyme
She is the liquid night
The fluid obsidian chalice
She engulfs me
Her breath is frangipani
It is the air I breathe
She permeates me
In her starlit vision
In her saltiness
She inspires me
She is in lahara
The gifts she bares
She subdues me
Her laughter is gold
It is the sunlit day
She uncovers me
In her swaying presence
In her sand strewn hair
She desires me
She is the fallow earth
The orgasmic humus bed
She gestates me
Her touch is dewpoint
It wets my thirst
She precipitates me
In her silken sweat
In her pounding pulse
She receives me
Contest: Limerence theme
Categories:
humus, desire, love, lust, sensual,
Form:
Free verse
so, i got to thinking
about all those words
planted in my language
where fertility grew them
to leave and stalk and pod
the farmer's words scatter
my fields like seed on clod
watered by thundering flashes
awash, fertilized and germinating
progeny seedlings, my own growth
in some time-lapse photography
writhing their creamy roots
into earthy loam and droning
on through a summer daze
into fruits of sweaty labors
on humid chlorophylled days
silks sultry green, stalking me
through rows and rows as far
as i can see, if i squint
the farmer, suspended in time
stands with his hands in pocket
or on some implement toed to soil
and surveys life's prospects
for this season, before the
days bake the green back into
the humus and the cornucopia
spills the field and orchard
this verse of the farmer's song
picked and stowed away cool
eyes closed now, ears gently
strain to hear, worldly phrasing
come from where? my larder
or some ancestor gleaning meaning
and dropping it into her apron
to carry home to hungry minds
to feed them something of today
and sustain them through a fallow
solstice and the chilled breeze
any cultivation harvested over
picked clean and harrowed flat
nearly time to plow it under again
while the farmer gazes the horizon
and sips something in his cup
© Goode Guy 2011-08-22
Categories:
humus, inspirational, nature, on work
Form:
Free verse
The images plucked from a full soft drive like over blown berries
threatening to fall……blasted to the humus. Swing chains creak.
The high-backed, heart carved, chalk white, front porch swing sways;
to the kicking of your feet. Beside me, you sit in spankin’ new school clothes singing.
Together wrapped like pretzel dough, we warble, annoying the sparrows.
The bumble bee yellow and black stripped school bus is late.
The dreamy cottage bungalows’ screen porch perches like a tree house ledge
over the four story drop off. Hundred year old sentinel pines tower still above us,
limbs house hug. The occasional cone drop ricochets down the trunk
to a soft needle landing, and a bouncing roll before falling off the retaining wall
We own the world. King and Queen of the Mountain are we. I sing “Ducky Duddle” to you.
You laugh. All the joy in the world in such a small sound. Oh, how I loved to make you happy.
Two short years before, even your name was new to you..my boy, Jamie.
Categories:
humus, childhoodhouse, school, house, school,
Form:
Free verse
We had saved our precious stock of grandpa’s grape
prepared the ground and amended the soil.
After laying out the orchard, we planted cuttings with our own hands.
Fed the young vines with love and creek water
and waited for the work of the rain and sun
before giving birth to the wine.
To insure that his family would produce the best wine.
Grandpa, tho’ as straggly as his grape
cleared trees and topped them to admit the sun.
He would not purchase plants for his soil
and dug the trenches wider and accessed our water.
He was self sufficient and he propagated vines by his hand
We prevented winds from whipping vines out of hand
to best grow and mature the soul of our wine.
The vines followed the contour of steep site which brought the water.
The rows ran north and south to suit the grape - -
this presented light while drying and controlling the soil
allowing the plants to follow the eastern and western sun.
We placed much faith on the drying done by the sun.
We had one to backfill. We wished we had more willing hands.
We had two to dig holes, and one to hold the vine and tamp the soil,
as the fruit began to ripen to marry our precious wine.
A crew of four was used for setting the grape.
The Vines should not be sprinkled with too much water.
We made plans to prevent soil erosion and loss of water
to the harden the wood and expose it to rays of the sun.
The Niagra White and Riesling grape.
Both needed pruning and the waste hay cut our hands.
We made sure our methods were best for the wine.
They would mature late, even in warm soil.
We found that more humus was wanted by the soil.
Some magic was performed to deliver more water.
alas, for the reward of a not so remarkable wine.
Again the wait, the prayers, the morning dew and sun.
More work, more time, sweat and callused hands.
The next year we tried a grafted grape.
We had saved our precious stock of grandpa’s grape
prepared the ground and amended the soil.
After laying out the orchard, we planted cuttings with our own hands.
Fed the young vines with love and creek water
and waited for the work of the rain and sun
before giving birth to the wine.
Our final wine was surrendered by the sun.
We captured the prize from our water and our soil.
My hands, today, still stained with the color of the grape.
Categories:
humus, family, life, work, work,
Form:
Villanelle
If she were poor, she would go to the rough side
and talk to tough strangers with rough haversacks.
Having done that, she would go in their homes,
and taste humus and other strange food.
Having done that, she would twiddle her thumbs
and wonder what next she should do.
8/14/2015
Categories:
humus, humorous, imagination,
Form:
Free verse
The birth place of world war II
after an invasion void of any declaration.
Stamps on history’s book by feminine hands
to ascertain the first death sentence of the same human disaster.
A time frame marked its stolen identity
signifying its absorption into the world map
when three neighbouring nations rolled dices on its existence.
Roman Catholicism is advertised by the sun
in this place where it’s the pioneer of oil refinery
and the continent’s most important reproductive clinic
to border-crossing summer birds.
The father of Europe in king Kazimierz Jagiellonczyk
married off his three seeds of fertility
who were carrying rich humus
to the germination of Europe’s greatest dynasties.
Another king flatters history when he re-based back to his origin
to honour a coronation conflicting the poles’ election.
The heart of the world of European Jews
where their rescue during the holocaust was second to none
where the first artificial language, created and sustained;
and having a patriot decorated five times on physical masculinity.
It is the home to the famous Nicolaus Copernicus
and the birth place of the globally applauded Marie Curie.
The last will and testament of the expiring country
marks the first European constitutional state.
The underground salt cathedral is significant in its global age ranking.
The Bialowieza Primeral, epitomizes the continent’s last ancient forest
and the piwnica Swidnilka ranks the first
in the pride of the continent’s aged restaurants.
Its historic medicinal use of vodkas
and the blossom to the stem end direction
of peeling Bananas ready for consumption
beautifies the grit of a nation which stood firm
even after a forty and three attempts of invasion.
Categories:
humus, community, education, environment, history,
Form:
Ode
Oh the wondrous glow of an English Rose
seductive she glides along foreign skies,
words that are spoken in this tongue she chose
whence where she will dwell amidst sunlit sighs.
But what of the love she doth leave behind
subdued in the humus of his desire,
a stringent veil of secrecy so blind
creates a fabric entity of fire.
The candle burns low his autumn of life
when stood at the gate of fearful goodbyes,
upon a tropical romance so rife
chance an English fragrance with Spanish eyes.
Still through woeful tears he scans a Jet plane
waits thereof her return to ease his pain....
© Harry J Horsman 2013
Categories:
humus, miss you,
Form:
Rhyme
After all is said and done, cliché style
(Forgive me if this does not rhyme, I'm moving
Past rhyme for the sake of rhyme)
You will have gone away rich and returned for more
Because you thought you knew what you needed
To feel loaded, fulfilled and needed
You thought you knew your needs
And had articulated and defined them to a tee
You knew all the similes that ran parallel to your feelings
But those were nothing more than thoughts
Which is why a mind is such a terrible thing to have
You thought
You knew the right ingredients for happiness
Just the right mix
To make laughter and an electrifying smile
A happy ever after which, you thought
Existed in cash and came contained
In bags of gold marked with silver linings
which you carried a thousand miles
Only to end up clutching a plastic smile
Because all the nonsense you collected turned out
To have a mind of its own
So, you met yourself returning from that place and thinking
Was I better off before I became better off
Or did I believe a lie? Of course, you were drunk then
And you certainly are drunk now
Except you have no idea what it is. You're in the dark like me
And even now I hear a chorus of ayes and nays
And someone letting out a wry laugh and shouting amen
Because the bottom line is this; this will resonate
Even if it doesn't. I will let you be the judge of that
Folks trying to nod and shake their heads at the same time
Take it easy people, this is exactly what you think it is
Name it what you will. If the cap fits, I suggest you wear it
And so, cliché style, you returned
To the place from which you had returned
Because enough was not enough. You wanted more
But needed less of more and more of less
And fortunately, or unfortunately, about this you were clueless
All that glittered was just a bag full of humus
And once you admitted this to yourself a new light shone
And you wondered how come you'd missed this all along
But couldn't dwell on that because you had better things to do
In the end you gave away all the matters that had mattered
And in half breaths cursed and muttered
Words and phrases too precious to repeat in this space
In the end you were richer without the riches
And much more comfortable without the restraining breeches
From a society that had always wanted to define and control your mind
Categories:
humus, perspective, philosophy, rap, slam,
Form:
Free verse
"Babylon Candy"
“My god you
babble on”
he said.
the guy
thought he was
a giant,
as far as writers go.
She chirped,
“it’s all post humus
humour, from here on in
you know”.
Code-named,
“The Owl”,
she rolled her eyes
and hooted,
“You may as well play
with your marbles
before you lose them.”
“God only knows -
I Am.”
he replied,
“me, myself and I!
By the way,” he adds
quite flippantly,
“you think they could
choose better music...
and what is it
they’re putting
in drinks these days?
The Green Fairy?”
the response,
“Yes, The Green Fairy,
I hear he’s somewhere, here.
Lethal agent that one, excels
at camouflage.”
she elaborated further,
“The Lights don’t help.
You'd think they could
turn them down.”
Meanwhile,
back on the dance floor
of the U.a.U.
(Unicorns are Us)
Publisher’s Ball,
dressed to the 9’s
in 6 inch heels,
a silent observer,
unrevealed
sweet and sour Candy
stood sucking
on a high ball,
some long island iced T
watching on bemused,
waiting
for The Owl’s
next move…
in the bird’s
pocket, not very
well hidden, fully loaded
like a water diviner
perched
the inevitable
big gun
seeking out
The Resistance
burned,
a slow rising story.
flashforward
Hypodiegesis
Chekov’s gun -
"all guts"
the dossier read,
"and by God...
all glory."
Everything
for the
story.
(LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
Categories:
humus, journey, muse, mystery, satire,
Form:
Narrative
To be, or not to be: that is the question.
O’, to be unseen by the hands of the greater good!
Fettered with ignorance, a bliss more wanton than the love
Of a willing beauty; higher than the unknown
Depths of stars on a black hole journey; richer than
Humus long unturned by the spade of time – to be
Unmarked and bare - unknowing of what is, truly, is
The forethought of a hindsight never claimed.
Yet, to be known and to know, is the means of
The seeker, the listener, and the master of blood!
To be is within and without, the stars and the earth,
The state of no mind, and the keeper of no time;
The light in the darkest dark – unbound is this
Striving, from a heart meant to endure! But alas,
A torment follows the lit up singular, the gold
Amongst flesh, for all the world wishes to possess
Its worth; to know it intimately – to siphon its essence
From its stock piled earned, and spit each transmuted
Cell into the dust of a desperate house;
To dust beneath the feet, of unwavering laws.
To be is death - a dying into blindness, reborn
Without a stage; unseen by hands that widdle away
Their time on precarious planks, not knowing
A thing about those who see their folly,
Nor the consequence of their unending ignorance.
To be, or not to be: there is no question.
The first line here is from the Grand Master, Shakespeare's Hamlet, act 3, scene 1...To be or
not to be:that is the question....best line ever.
Categories:
humus, dedication, life, people, philosophy,
Form:
Free verse
Precious Ability
The brain, the instincts, the beauty, the health, the years the courage.
I thank him who "has all power" for these gifts by using them.!
The compassion- the creativity- the passion- the love the wisdom.
I thank him for these gifts by sharing what I have with my fellow man.
All the gifts- all the attributes endowed unto me, gives me the power to act
Feel, and rise to the occasion. I will not wait on god to intervene.
When he has created me in his own image and has sent me equipped with the armor to battle all the causes- and wars and atrocities done against my fellow man. I have the precious ability to discern what is in front of me to do.
I will not turn a blind eye and a deaf ear to the misdoings -killings-and abuses; Done to any of his creations. I will not determine what god's will is..but as i know what my ears are for- and as i know what my teeth are for
– I know also what he has equipped me to do -
And I certainly will not ignore the truth of any matter, for to ignore the truth is pure ignorance. No more than self-deception that keeps you in a trance of untruths.
Coward's waiting for God to do what he sent hue-mans to do..when ever my creator see's me slipping this question enters my mind, and I paraphrase "how can you ignore your brother's suffering and say you love me whom you have never seen.
"Some people will give a" cripple crab a crutch" - But will not speak up against the killings of blacks, children or the needy – Or even give a "hungry human some humus".
My brain, my health, my wealth, my knowledge-my courage my compassion, my passion-should all (I pray) "be used for the betterment of, and the uplifting of my fellow man.
I start by looking in the closest corner to shine my light, as long as have the precious ability to do so. And when I no longer can do my part, I pray
that I have given someone the "precious ability" to carry on...to carry on.
Categories:
humus, courage, god, life,
Form:
Prose