Best Straw Poems
A straw man stood fixed upon timber firm,
gazing at Autumn's gilded, moonlit prize.
He, the king of Earth and the winding worm,
she, the pale darling of cold starry skies.
Left in fallow field of harvest' soiled gown,
with sun bleached woolen coat so neglected.
Besotted by her face in freckled frown,
though light falsely owned in Sun reflected.
Few seasons counted in scarecrow's race,
lonely journey, long eons moon must know.
She left locked ever more in Earth's embrace,
while he lay fallen soon in Winter's snow.
Jealous moon keeps watch o'er his button eyes,
from Venus, Mars, and star's envied night skies.
22 October 2019 - New Fall Sonnets Poetry Contest -Sponsored by Emile Pinet
......a strange color, green
Become better informed, listen to your teachers,
educate yourself....which branch will the bluejay
survey from?
The hawk, circling, choose his best option?
Bleeding soldiers depend on doctors, rich men
depend on accountants, souls depend on preachers,
tap water depends on scientists and engineers,
nourishing the parched vagaries of citizens
and houseplants.
Words fall like acid-rain, seemingly harmless,
we thought we understood rain, it falls, it
nourishes, fills our reservoirs....then leaves a stain,
a clear outline of abuse, like evaporated salt, clinging
to our shirts after a hard day, sound bite upon bite.
Still, we wade through flooded streets, hoping the
tides will descend, rhetoric return to sanity, our lives
safe, from future floods.
after the elephants parade through every mind
the straw left behind
collects promises dumped in the streets
polled, polished,perfumed
ready to sweep it all up on election day
hit pause... wait four years
repeat
wait four years
repeat
09/08/12
6:09 pm
Buck buck buh-buck-buck
Buck buck buh-buck
Buck buck, buck buck, buck buck buck
Bucka buck bucka bucka buck
A'buck buck buck.
Buh-KAW k'buck buck
Buh-KAW k'buck
Buh-KAW k'buck buck
Buh-KAW k'buck
Buck buck buck buck
Buck buck buck
Bucka buck bucka bucka buck
A'buck buck buck.
A SIGHT FOR STRAW EYES
I have a little scarecrow friend,
To his eyes I must attend,
The straw is poking through you see,
So I see him, he can't see me.
But when I saw him just last week,
I heard a tiny little squeak,
Upon my further investigation
I found a Dormouse in location.
A cosy little nest she'd made,
And there four tiny babies laid,
I made my vow to let them be
Now my scarecrow would not see.
I turned and headed for the stile,
Something wonderous made me smile,
It was a whisper on the wind,
I turned around, my scarecrow grinned.
Thank you Sir for doing right,
Mrs. Dormouse she got such a fright,
You see my eyes are her safe haven,
From wind and rain and crow and raven.
A tear rolled down my dusty face,
What magic was there in this place,
My scarecrow gave his eyes you see,
A greater love there cannot be.
I did return and he spoke to me,
And through my eyes I let him see,
A family of Dormice having fun,
Scurrying, laughing in the sun..
Dedicated to a fine poet on soup Gershon Wolf.
In an old cowboy town in Wichita
Staying alive meant being quick on the draw
The Straws and Jones shoot out
Was bloody without doubt
All killed except one he was' The Last Straw'.
Written 18th July 2019.
Where, oh where, is God?
When will the man-child stop asking why,
stop searching for the other, the greater, the bigger
the more glorious presence?
This constant need to see other than oneself as the source.
Even with a brain (and we know Frank Baum has told us
only STRAW men don’t have brains) we refuse to see,
refuse like a baby forced to eat mashed peas.
We make our children are we their God’s? Hell no!
We name this Creator (for man is nothing-if not a naming animal).
(The father says Da; the baby says DA! Da says cat, baby says CAT!)
Life cannot exist for man without a naming, a judgment, a categorizing.
We cannot GROK it (as Heinlein's Christ character, Valentine Michael Smith
illustrates for us in Stranger in a Strange Land).
For something, someone, has to have made us, yes? no?
Oh yes, they had to consciously decide to make
something as marvelously special as us, didn’t they/it?
* Please refer back to verse 2 line 5.
Where, oh where, is God? When will the man-child stop,
stop searching for the teat, stop the blame game,
accept the responsibility for fouling His own nest?
Why does God have to look like us?
Does everything we create look like us (the light bulb, the car)?
Does that mean there is NO primogeniture if He/she/it doesn’t look like us?
Wait, wait, all of Creation manifests differently, eco systems need
diversity to maintain homeostasis!
Yet we bawl like babies. WHY are You killing me!
Why must I die? What mutant child have you given me
this spawn of Satan!
This primogeniture, this God, this be all, end all, know all, BEING,
this omnipotent source either is outside of us? or inside of us?
Or are we inside of it? And, if it knows us not—
If like the amoeba, it simply divides to exist, absorbs to exist,
excretes to exist. Why do we insist on worshiping it?
Does It Know us? Does it know all of its creations?
Is it an active participant in its own creations?
Refer to the book of life, the planet earth,
the solar system, the structure of an atom.
Use the brain you were given by God
for YOU are not a Straw Man.
First Published in 2013 Sweet Dreams and Night Terrors
STRAW MAN
I poked the straw man
He remained fixed, unmoved
emotionless.
“There, I said, once again you ignored
me’. Then I felt tears flowing down
to gently touch my tongue.
Soon after he answered…
“Don’t you know by now your life is
destined to be what it is; why do you
expect more”?
Because…because….
Because what? More struggle, more sadness,
more disappointment, more pain?”
No. More answers, more meaning, more insight.
Why? Your mind can only absorb so much and
by some miracle you get what you want, then what?
Will you be happier, more content, more peaceful?
The straw man looked askew, more teary eyed,
then turned over and lay silent .
CAK 6-2-2016
So, take a gander at the Strawman
As he take's a stand
He is from every land and region
He is always' at your command
He never mouth off to anyone
And he always' does his job
In essence he is the law
Until a crow of two happens'
-To come along
To pluck away all of his straw
-
He stands' to expose
To execute a message
Thusly, he always' have a plan
That which we can understand
-
Hence fourth
-
He piers very tall above them all
He barely cracks' a smile
He wear a hat of straw
That is his style
-
He wears' a straw hat
That he probably got from the Mall
And no body know's
The full extent of it all
-
He piers above the yard
With such command
And speaks' in such aa language
That few can only but understand
-
Unless you are close to this man
You can barely see a strand
And off from the distance
He looks' just like a man
Though he is filled with straw
With bits of cotton
- Or -
What else ever may be
But, I mind you
This was to conceal his identity
Even though he has a pension
To be free
He is perfectly content
Just to scare the birds' away
Just maybe two, maybe three
Sometimes' he even scare people
The likes of you and me
- Or -
Those who should happen
-Suddenly upon him
Fore it is only he or them
GF
Just Strands of Straw
I look into the mirror,
my hair has dropped to the sink.
It is a trail of tears,
years of taking care of split ends,
fluffing and drying,
tying it up,
leaving it down…
now, just gone.
My crown of glory
it is…
gone.
Maybe
and
more than likely,
forever…
Yet the Glory of My Lord,
is ever upon me,
shinning brightly,
in all
of…
His Light!
Yes, my hair has fallen,
to the floor.
I have not.
I am loved
and
cherished.
He sees,
“me”.
Only time flickers with reflection,
from a day when the sky smiled,
and the wind kissed the skin of sinners,
as they listened to the leaves softly whisper,
beneath a cross of salvation.
When the soft breath of butterflies,
washed over the rising fragrance of flowers blooming,
as they filled the sky with vibrant colors of motion.
Now freed from the binds of time,
we are forgiven for the darkness in our souls,
by an infant born in a bed of straw.
Under a smiling sky.
How fortunate we are to receive such generosity,
from this child of light.
He came unto this earth to teach us and inflame us
with his holy touch.
He changed the world forever with his timely birth
filling our hearts with faith, he flooded ocean gates
and granted pardons and forgiveness to all who
just believed
An infant born on a bed of straw beneath a smiling sky
so we could celebrate a joyous day, called Christmas Day
A commemoration for a gentle man who saved us all
He was a perfect man who walked this earth
for only a short time ,but in that time
he performed miracles in the name of his Father.
He left behind a legacy that lives until today,
" Love your neighbor as yourself "
He is a reflection of all that is decent, merciful and good.
A reflection of his Father.
In our imperfections, we pray that we may
walk in the way of giving, thanks to him for being born.
An infant born on a bed of straw, under a smiling sky,
born long ago, now smiling down on us.
He gave his life as a sacrifice, so that we may live.
A Christmas Poem by Mystic Rose/ Frederic Parker
His hair was yellow, a piece of straw
sticking out the side every which a way
standing tall and mute, not a word; just looking cute.
life's problems not being faced
left to their own, unattended, drifting
like a straw cast in the wind,
wonder why this is considered a sin?
heartaches and worries all about, you see -
but no one to solve them, but you and me.
that's all around us do we see
straw men and problems
left for you and me.
things get solved by doing and sometimes failing
not by standing tall, mute and cute
mistakes are made
lessons are learned
trial and error
sometimes we get burned,
that's how to face the world that we see;
not being a straw man, but working together...just you and me.
These last few years have put our world to test:
Pandemic threat, political unrest,
Divisive strife, we hoped, our past forgot
As lives that mattered were, in cold blood, shot...
But nothing impacted and shocked us more
Than unjustified and uncalled war.
March 6, 2022
10 syllables per line
The old straw hat was worn,
Its top center was torn.
Some scissors and thread,
Fixed the hole in its head.
Till it is worn out once more.
STRAW MAN
The straw man guards a golden field,
His eyes are empty, like its head,
A golden heart shines in his chest. Whose hand
had put this golden heart into his chest?
Can this heart put his body into motion?
This is what the crow is thinking about, and only the wind knows
the whole truth, that the girl with the golden hair
sat at the feet of the straw man,
waiting for the fairy to promise her
that she shall provide a heart for the straw man.
Like a man made of flesh and blood,
he loves it when the wind fondles his face,
and even more when the girl with the golden hair
is sewing a green shirt made of grass leaves,
so that someone might love him too;
When the sky darkens,
when the dark clouds come down like a led curtain
(to bring our story to an end) the straw man
is standing alone in the golden field, waiting for his death.
He opens his mouth, but all that comes out of it is silence...
treacherous silence.
I cannot hear him, I don't know his thoughts,
(after all, how can an empty head bear a thought?),
but I know for certain that he can feel, and I know what he feels,
I know what he wants:
For me to take him away
into distant golden deserts,
where the sun is eternally warming;
Where there are no crows to pick his eyes,
where there is no thunder and lightning, just the golden sun
and the girl with the golden hair. It is late
(I cannot save him, being just a poet outside the story),
the fireball is coming down from the sky
to burn the straw man.
©Walter William Safar
A camel in a wildlife park
Went on a wild attack;
He kicked and bit his owner
Then he sat down on his back.
I read this in The New York Times
So this was not in jest.
The reason for the rampage, though,
Is harder to digest.
It seems the camel loved to drink
A Coke, which he was given
By the owner, who forgot and so
To rage that beast was driven.
The message here is very clear –
If you’ve a pet with humps,
Don’t deprive him of his cola
Or prepare to take your lumps.