Best Sowing Poems
Upon the wind sheltered hillside,
the sharp tang of metal and the sting of salt air lay
over a field of blood-red poppies, no Flanders Field.
At years fall, fields of rape roll like waves,
in the harshness of winter-sleet, stray boulders bow,
like the backs of mothers, and daughters sowing.
Their nails torn, ragged, and bleeding.
They bleed by the moon, and son, upon the fields.
No white crosses mark their passing.
For hundreds of years, and crops of rape, barley and wheat,
small hands, soft hands, and soft thighs bleed.
They bleed daughters, and sons.
They birth the fields by consent or rape and in the fields
unadorned by silver stars or purple hearts, they writhe.
Today, as May's sun wakes the blood blasted pasture,
each precious drop blooms, a heroines soul
acknowledgement, the poppies yield.
Upon the wind sheltered hillside,
the sharp tang of metal and the sting of salt air lay
over a field of blood-red poppies, no Flanders Field.
At years fall, fields of rape roll like waves,
in the harshness of winter-sleet, stray boulders bow,
like the backs of mothers, and daughters sowing.
Their nails torn, ragged, and bleeding.
They bleed by the moon, and son, upon the fields.
No white crosses mark their passing.
For hundreds of years, and crops of rape, barley and wheat,
small hands, soft hands, and soft thighs bleed.
They bleed daughters, and sons.
They birth the fields by consent or rape and in the fields
unadorned by silver stars or purple hearts, they writhe.
Today, as May's sun wakes the blood blasted pasture,
each precious drop blooms, a heroines soul
acknowledgement, the poppies yield.
*Just 1 of the verses in my new book The Hurricane by Prolific Press
Signed copies are available though me.
The Sowing
Upon the wind feasted hillside
The jagged edges of used rocks swell
With the fatless skin of babes and wenches
Below a field of blood, no less a Flanders Field
A continuous swell of rape roll like waves
In the pallid squalor of leaking huts wooden tales tell
The scars ironed in the backs and inner thighs
The voices crying with no listening ear
Blood shines bright in moon's glow sons birth upon the fields
For eons it seems men stack rape like barley and wheat
Small ones soft ones and inexperienced virgins too
Daughters bled away dignity men their respect
Born work and ravished in the fields
Where is their medal of bravery
Today the summer sun washes over the fields
Each ray eclipses the dark memories of sin
As the sons and daughters rise
This poem was written for Joann Grisetti's Copycat contest through inspiration of Debbie Guzzi's The Sowing, one of the Greatest writers here on the Soup
Thoughts hither, slither like a snake,
Thru fetid weeds to reach your lips,
From there, that poison aptly drips,
And mixes draughts I can't partake ...
Still, farewells come as 'farewell' quips.
How low you bend to tend the plants,
That bloom with petals of your need -
A swoony tune of won'ts and can'ts,
To feed your breed of garish greed
That hides a serpent's circumstance ...
A goodbye sown to make me bleed.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Rhyme Time 8" Poetry Contest, Lu Loo, Judge & Sponsor.
Soaring through the sky above
Sowing God's Precious Love
With Golden Wings
Angels... Fly
Precious Love is given
From deeep inside
Far and Wide
Hearts within Souls
Comes' Alive.. Everywhere
Beholding Tender-love
Treasures on High
Glorious Divine Love
Embedded within hearts
Priceless and Divine
Jesus "Christ
Our Savior
Yours and Mine
God is..
SOooo... Divine
Come quickly
Be saved.. Born-again
While there is still time...
Moments here
Shall pass away
But God's Divine Word
With His Precious Love
Always Shall Stay
Come to Jesus.. For He Is:
The Truth.. The Life.. The Way
I want to Address: my write
I am Inspired by God Almighty
and also want to give Recongnition
inspired by Precious Beloved Poet;
Man of Christ- jl sadberry "Jasper"
He sowed his wild muscadines
They grew wild and free
Soon returned to haunt him
When he was thirty-three
Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.
This is freedom:
to be a planter of heart seeds.
It is not our work
to shape that seed nor give it meaning.
we should be like blind farmers
not caring where the seed falls
or how it may grow.
Even a thorny poem
may contain a heart seed for
someone, somewhere.
It is a gift that is given
by one hand,
that the other hand
knows nothing of.
The one who sows such seeds
is forever free
to take absolutely
no credit.
Each year, in spring, I remember days of the past
When we started our family, how we made it last
Looking through the window, out across the fields
Wondering if rains will come, to increase my yield
We plan for our baby and needs for the coming fall
To plant more or less, should I wait, hoping to recall
Speaking with the Father, I put my mind at peace
Remembering past years, what I should increase
With work, in the ground, your left with only hope
Look at the morning sky, will I smile or mope
That day the clouds arrive and the cool spring rain
We dance for joy, crops fed, relieving all the strain
"Spring Rain" contest entry 5-11-2012
Sowing-and-reaping’s rule is pure,
Whatever you give you’ll procure,
When you sow evil, it comes back in folds to you,
And if it’s good, you’ll have it in multiples too,
Each time you give a soul hope,
It appears when you’re on the ropes,
And when you pull a folk down,
You’ll meet defeat on your way uptown,
What you give out is coming; it’s heaping,
That is the law of “sowing and reaping”.
Kindness and love
flows freely from your joyous being,
Radiating with a luminescence
bright and pleasing upon my soul
Chasing away the ebbing darkness
that threatens to engulf me
And denies the seed of my salvation to grow
Cascading words of joy and rapture
Pour from your lips like a waterfall
Exciting and refreshing
Washing away the loneliness
Replenishing my dying pool of contentment.
Endless rays
of the mornings bright promise
Reflect like diamonds in your eyes
across my emotional wasteland
Revitalizing the soil
with new expectations and hope
So that a new crop
of pleasing feelings and thoughts
Can take root and flourish within me.
And your gentle hands
Can reap the bountiful harvest
That is my love.
does a church bell still toll upon your soul
in death your need to succeed impede greed
has shame found your name through the pain i bleed
as you watch the heart you stole become whole
the seed you sown now grown ink her mind's screed
can you feel the fraught in my every thought
as tears rain down in drops of crimson pain
my blood scribes of eyes taut not of love sought
as my voice screams your name again in vain
yet i cannot undo what you have wrought
time does not alter a memories' reign
January 28, 2020
Sowing a seed to make me bleed
Upon the wind feasted hillside
The jagged edges of used rocks swell
With the fatless skin of babes and wenches
Below a field of blood, no less a Flanders Field
A continuous swell of rape roll like waves
In the pallid squalor of leaking huts wooden tales tell
The scars ironed in the backs and inner thighs
The voices crying with no listening ear
Blood shines bright in moon's glow sons birth upon the fields
For eons it seems men stack rape like barley and wheat
Small ones soft ones and inexperienced virgins too
Daughters bled away dignity men their respect
Born work and ravished in the fields
Where is their medal of bravery
Today the summer sun washes over the fields
Each rays eclipses the dark memories of sin
As the sons and daughters rise
This poem was written for Joann Grisetti's Copycat contest through inspiration of Debbie Guzzi's The Sowing, one of the Greatest writers here on the Soup
Dee saw a seed and planted it in the garden over yonder.
The next day dawn dewed on its nectar with sweet delight.
She was sitting next to the kayak and began to ponder,
“is it I? It is I who took the lid off a daffodil for proper sunlight.”
She was in a doom mood all Winter when love betrayed
her in ways only epic sagas could ever begin to understand.
But then Spring came, she said, “NOW I WON!” And she played
in her yard with her tiny senile felines that fit in her hand.
It was always Springtime when she deified her civic life,
Ere, a season to remember that she is a surreal survivor.
She deleveled the fact she never was a mom nor a wife,
and said, “dad and sis believe in me, I’m nature’s reviver”.
She never said a murdrum peep to anyone out of distaste or hate,
for she shall never live evil as long as she keeps joy in her eye.
She loved to wow herself in the many meaningful journals she did create,
and when she died her last words were, “in words alas, drown I”.
Palindromes II Contest
Joseph May
October 22, 2018
Absolute silence pervades -
matching your face with the rain clouds
With a deafening roar the clouds burst
and your emotions
The farmer soul springs in joy,
" At last, the sowing season has come"
(C) Anindya Mohan Tagore (Bobby)
Sweet smiles are intriquing
and infectious,
strangers and folks catch it
freely like a flu.
Some simple things makes
our life worthwhile,
such as the sparkles and
warmth of a smile.
When we sow sincere
smiles, we harvest hope.
Smiles from a faithful friend
is like Sunshine,
it brightens our day and
help us to cope...
The second best thing that
put lips on the line.
The aura of a smile makes
our eyes twinkle
it steals into our heart,
chasing fear away.
smiling gives us immunity
against wrinkle
it is the wisest way to start
and end a great day.
Smiles are mild yet so
mathematical,
it multiplies itself without
conscious effort,
smiles are more like
respect, it is reciprocal,
it cruises from soul to soul,
bringing comfort.
Smiles from a solemn hear
are speechless streams
flowing from shore to
shore with great allure,
as the Sunlight gives
flowers boundless beams,
so does a smile gives men
passions so pure.