Best Scythes Poems
The Farmer and his Corn
Snug and warm beneath the earth
The field awaits the coming birth
It holds the richness that they need
Provides the anchor for the seed
The farmer by his hand did sow
Soon he knows his seed will grow
When length of day and rain is right
And sun above shines warm and bright
The rain has come the soil is moist
New life burst forth, it has no choice
With a sudden wondrous surge
A field of green does emerge
The farmer feels it in the air
He comes to see his field so fair
Quietly, just after dawn
His brand new field of corn is born
Quickly grow those humble shoots
Drawing goodness through their roots
All hot and hazy summer long
The shoots thrust upward, straight and strong
Golden now as flaxen hair
New seeds upon them they do bear
The farmer picks an ear to eat
To check then that, his corn is sweet
The farmer comes to field one morn
Another with him that day drawn
No face had he and yet was grim
The corn all knew that it was him
A shrouded hood, his face to hide
He follows just two steps behind
The mice whose nests the stalks had borne
Know soon there will be no more corn
Not daring now to take a peep
They know for them they’ve come to reap
Both the men they carried scythes
They know they’ve come to end their lives
The farmer lifts the implement
To cut them down is his intent
A shadow fell, with mighty stroke
The farmers gone, with man in cloak.
Categories:
scythes, introspection,
Form:
Couplet
Long gone are the golden
Dusty days!
Where once, like Blazons
On Armorial Shields,
The gathered bronze sheaths
stood -
Cut through at the stalk...
Raised from time honoured
swathes.
Burnished like brushed copper
By high summers slanted rays:
That were sliced so thinly
From the thickening air,
As they brightly
Caught the hot glare,
From the grass mowers blades.
For the singing scythes,
Once wielded so ably
By strong, capable arms,
Are standing abandoned and
Forsaken:
Blunted, left rusting,
Languishing alone
In damp, dilapidated barns.
Now their songs are forgotten -
Lost within a woeful winds
lament!
Blown far out
From the green meadows;
Separated from their verses
Once sung so heartily
With purposeful,
Lusty, well practiced intent.
So think you all well,
Next time you pause
Your drawn eye,
Upon Englands rich harvests
Of ripened barley,
Yellow wheat, and stiff rye...
To dwell on the lost seasons
With melancholy tears...
And think of the old reaper
Who cuts back at the years!
Categories:
scythes, autumn, nature,
Form:
Rhyme
In life they take and take, dignity, peace. In life they trick us into nothing. Lower than soil; deeper than roots; sunk in swamps.
In death we live,
find paths past moon
and stars.
In life they destroy thoughts; desecrate bodies inside out; remove friendship; weapon spouses; alienate our children. They plough fields of fear; sow four seeds: shame, guilt, doubt and confusion; reap submission and self-harm. Their scythes we turn against ourselves. They grow... and grow.
In death we wash
our clothes in water clear
they will be new
In life our chains are made by man; their hands obscure us from the light; their hands rob us of food to feed, of clothes to cover; their hands make us shiver naked, invade and take.... and take.
with fingers spread
we wash our skin free of sin
we give forgiveness
In life we do not understand ourselves; dive head first into seas and mud; believe we are evil sinners. Puppets for far too long.
Our deaths their win
face them alive
and be complete
In life their winter will come soon, their blood will freeze, their organs crumble, their minds will scatter, food for birds, their shattered conscience preserved; they will do penance, time and again and again
We shall sit with our backs
against the tree
eat the permitted fruit
and be free
***
Copyright © Darren White
January 8, 2017
Categories:
scythes, death, life,
Form:
Free verse
Inspired by Machinehead – Darkness Within (Acoustic version) & members of society who refuse to embrace the kiss of silence…
As great intentions
Wither upon invalidated declarations,
Serenity’s crowd holds teary-eyed candles
Making silent wishes
For the venom to be sucked
Out
Loudness’ waxy build-up
Making filthy demands
In delegated hostage stand-off
To be HEARD
Cocked pistols, insignificant
Firing duds against glasshouses
Rubbing “war-torn” palms
Within cemented rubber bands
Forgetting life’s lesson
To shut their raging mouth
If they truly want to be heard
Amnesia’s warning sign to muzzle thyself
For one meaningful second
To ALLOW a merging of disappointed truths
Into their heartbeats
Salvation’s attempt to stifle boiling pressures of Sangre
From coming face to face with reality scythes
They latch onto plastic rosary beads
Fade to Black
Singing Gregorian prayers,
Removing knife from karma’s back
They strum in vain to please the Lord.
We see your true colors
Shining through
We see your true colors
That’s why we can no longer love you
Placing forced expectations
Against vulnerable humanity
To lay weary heads on curtailed shoulder pads
With foolish attempts to swallow moot points
And pride-coated defibrillators
To jump start a heartbeat, extinct
Forgetting that even self-made pedestals
Have a limited warranty
I see your true colors
Shining through…
©Drake J. Eszes
Categories:
scythes, life, people, slam, society,
Form:
Free verse
Ever flying, never ceasing, ever soaring, speed increasing,
Two sharp scythes by your side,
Leaving land behind
Journeying over land and sea,
Flying high, flying free,
Super speed, velocity,
Hawking prey incredibly.
In the air you make a rift,
With your pointed scythe-like wings
Ever moving sinuously swift,
In the air you are the king.
In your flocks at dusk you're screaming,
Rapidly whirling, whooshing, streaming,
To fly is your life's only meaning,
Swiftly whooshing, whirling, screaming.
By Sean Martin-Byrne
Categories:
scythes, bird, flying, nature, sky,
Form:
Free verse
Jade scythes
of areca fronds
slice slate air;
Medusa's snakes writhe.
Pewter arrows pierce
my garden.
I sit beneath an eave
pondering
the nascent storm.
Geraniums cloister
like vestal butterflies
in darkening loam
as a multitude
of emerald tufts
bend on the fleeing lawn.
5/12/18
Categories:
scythes, garden, imagery, rain,
Form:
Imagism
Sunlight glints off polished silver
A river reflects in its face
Water tinted a reddish hue
Sweeps along the scythes base
But iron and silver do not meet
Until the blade swings toward a rock
The wooden handle now rots there
With both bodies the river has caught
Categories:
scythes, death, water,
Form:
Rhyme
On the days the wind does blow
life gets caught up in how things should go
and winds gather up the harvest from the field to tow
to blow up harvest in good flight it may freely flow
but what of those who never know
and never feel the warm winds of autumn blow
and the scythes will never come home
and all hope of good harvest is then
forever gone
Categories:
scythes, death, fear, funeral, autumn,
Form:
Personification
Cloaked in midnight gusts,
The wind scythes the grove of trees;
Death is in the air.
Categories:
scythes, death, nature
Form:
Haiku
When the sunshine burns off the morning dew
And the flowers unfold and smile
Then we gnomes will be ready to do what we must do
We'll prepare for the party with style
We'll get out our scythes and trim a patch of lawn
Haul out our toadstool chairs and bunting
We've been ironing the table covers since the break of dawn
We find it far more fun than fishing and than hunting
The food will be delightful, as we've made a special stew
With peaches, garlic mushrooms and mint sauce
The drink will be amazing, as it's quite a special brew
Made with just the same ingredients, of course
We've party games a-plenty, yes we've thought of everything
There's a four-leaved clover in amongst the shamrocks
We'll need some luck as the tables like to wander off and sing
But we’ll supervise while dozing on our hammocks
We've invited all the fairies and the pixies and the elves
You're welcome too - to miss it would be tragic
And though the goblins are not coming - they will entertain themselves
They have lent to us their iPod and some magic
Written 23rd June 2016 for this contest... http://www.poetrysoup.com/poetry_contests/little_people_8034
Categories:
scythes, garden, magic,
Form:
Light Verse
Over lambent plains
of blond wheat,
braided spikes
rustling
in flaxen breeze,
a flock of crows
seesaws
like obsidian scythes
in cider firmament
under harvest sun's afternoon eye.
Categories:
scythes, bird, nature, sun,
Form:
Ekphrasis
In the august acclamations of weaponry
befits this uniform adorned
and in prideful boast our livery
of arsenal upon the enemy scorned
From this distant seat shall reap dead carapace
the automata's bullet indulges no refugee
to warrant such requital in fitting disgrace
the cowards of deaths technology
Bid thy to slaughter my child, to slaughtered be
in renditions dark battalions
and gather fragile limbs splatter splintered trophy
behest accolades pinned medallions
Touch pad the joy stick of war games
reload the unflinching trigger
machine gun of anonymous names
ply the graves of the unknown soldier
Set cause to profit and property
and in soulless regalia execute
this pestilent act to defile humanity
so reaped upon this bloody scythes repute
For this distant throne still bids fears menace
with guided missile acquits accountability
shall bare no witness to rueful penance
of cowards whelped by deaths technology
Bid thy to slaughter then my child, and to slaughtered be
in viscous deliverance either of these
dream thee not of honor or bravery
but in nightmares blade this evil appease
Categories:
scythes, sorrow, violence, war, ,
Form:
Free verse
Love,
if you’re a god indeed,
why are you like, then,
some dandelion?
Tell me what can I do
to keep you safe?
If a single blow of breeze
scythes you down,
how can you stand against
the heart’s hurricane?
Categories:
scythes,
Form:
Light Verse
Forgetting is a vain refugee camp,
Madonna, for still these walls get
breached, amidst the daily, frenzied
barter of honed art for bread,
While slaking arid, thirsty hours with
bits of loving, or even in deep sleep's
opiate-laced salve; your shrill wail
ricochets on palisades of silence,
Wrecking dreams, when your arms
thrust out, ghost-like haunt heart's
corridors to pained remembrance
of your hearth bulldozed to jagged
Rubble, grating deep your ample
loins that Gaza noon of nightmare,
hooking deeper yet the piercing
scythes of questions as regards
Your fate and of your son's. Again,
the mind turns, tosses on this bed
of dusty shards and tear-anointed
debris as you once more scream
Your picture-perfect, front-page,
silent pain, yet made more potent
than all sounds heard down old
Palestine when wailing, wreathed
The wretched walls bedaubed with blood
of innocents, when wanton death and
mayhem, too, by Herod's mighty hand
decreed, made firm, held sway.
Categories:
scythes, loss, people, sympathy, war,
Form:
Blank verse
Destiny demands that we be the debtor
that we sacrafice for the skin of our future,
We left the cradle of the Caucasuses to explore,
to plant the dreams of our Creator,
venturing into the virgin chaos
where the tiger tears apart the trespasser
We made the way, we made love with our Cause,
following the highway of the emerald pasture
from the Euxine to the shimmer of the Yellow Sea
finding war and wealth in the weight of adventure
subduing savages with frightening ferocity
managing frontiers with a proud mercy,
leaving behind our blood's legacy
trading safety for salt, vanity for victory,
Trading safety for salt, vanity for victory
coming home to the Black Sea
introducing steel smelting and a taste for head hunting,
scalping Cimmerians with glee
assailing the Assyrians
extorting Egyptians
respected by Hellenes
dominating Asiatic Indians
cabletowing Celts
and pouncing on Persians,
Phoenicians filled their boats
with exotic Scythian goods,
We were collectors of civilised throats,
our empire needs no roads
Our empire needs no roads,
Saka, Sauromatae, Massagatae, Tocharians, Scythians
We are One, ancient craftsmen and warlords,
our women were the Amazons
Cauterized breast and soldier slayers
Tomyris taught Cyrus
that bloodbaths belong to the losers,
the Scythian wilderness of war jeered Darius,
Zopyrion was made carrion
Alexander wisely just carried on,
to the Romans we were Sarmatian and Hun
Scythes being ancestors to the Gothic Confederation,
a culture canvassing the breadth of all civilization
migrating ever westward into the echo of the sun,
Migrating ever westward into the echo of the sun
bringing our wagons, warcraft, and women
custom of the blood oath quietly open
the wine, and honest blood spun
the two of us swearing in between a lifelong stare
will you be there
when I'm scared,
will you care
when death is there,
will you wait for me
when the war barks near,
will you honor me
when the fire becomes just a whisper,
our oath is our soul keeping
J.A.B. 2020
Categories:
scythes, heart,
Form:
Crown of Sonnets