Bushels Poems | Examples

Upmarket Gardener

Fred entered his shrubbery
in a horticultural society gardening contest
and wising to wager on the outcome
as to which bush was the best
bet his hedge to win
and yet at the time quite mature
Fred’s Famous Fertilizer Co., Ltd.
went badly belly up in manure
sadly out of business
broke bust bankrupt for ever
as altho' he had bushels of bags
he couldn't get his 'sh*t' together

A TIME FOR FALLING LEAVES

FALL, THE MOST BEAUTIFUL TIME OF THE YEAR.  WHEN A BLUSHING 
AUTUMN COMES TO PROVIDE US WITH APPLES HANGING OFF FLOURISHING TREES, IT IS TIME TO TAKE IN THEIR RUBIOUS COLORS.  AS THEY HANG 
FROM THEIR STURDY STEMS WE ADMIRE THEIR MULT-COLORED SHADES OF SUNBURNT YELLOW, GOLD AND BROWN. 
INSIDE THE ORCHARD WE SOMETIMES FIND LADDERS, GREAT BIG BUSHELS, 
STRAW AND LINEN HATS WORN ASKEW, AND SOMETIMES BIG GOLDEN SMILES THAT SAY, " I'M LIVING IT UP! "  
WHAT BETTER PLACE TO BE THEN UNDERNEATH AN AUTUMN TREE, WHERE 
EVERYTHING SHIMMERS WITH NATURAL LIGHT.  
LEAVES DANCE AND SWIVEL BEFORE YOUR EYES, THEN SLOWLY LAND IN THE PALM OF YOUR OPEN HAND. 
THE SUN GOES DOWN AND IT IS TIME TO KEEP SILENCE WITH THE BASKET 
MOON AND THE CELESTIAL EVENING STARS. 
SO GO AHEAD AND EASE INTO THIS SEASON WITH A QUIET SOUL. 
HELP THE APPLES SAY GOODBYE TO SUMMER.   AFTER ALL IT IS AUTUMN, 
A TIME FOR FALLING LEAVES THAT SIGH.

The Searchers

God bless the searchers
wandering through this maze
that we call yesterday and today
the pollen of living on their bee faces
they flicker into our lives
then back to shadow for awhile
their sky mirages always brightening our eyes.

Along the bent path they pick up
bushels of pollen and thimbles of poison
legs growing ever heavy 
from the mercuric risks they embrace.

They're the purist type of brave
walking into the pugilist of indifference
with bloody bee faces.
I'm envious of them 
God bless the searchers.

Demeter

Harvest my love in reverence
Loft these bushels to sift in air
Husk them to hearts of prayer
Sow true my coming endurance

For each Soul cocooned like mine
Must weather through the coming
Longs nights of less than nothing
No promise to germinate storyline

Push back the harsh breath of ice
Keep us wrapped wholly well spun 
Turn cheek to kisses blown by Sun
Flower us to bloom in fragrant spice

thank you for the apple pie

Bushels of apples are in tubs and bins all over the place
A variety of kinds, yellows, reds, none a disgrace
We cut out the bad spots and turn them into pie
Fresh applesauce smells make the harvest men sigh

Let’s make some cobbler says Gran as she rolls out the dough
She sprinkles it with sugar and love, making it just so.
I ask if I can fork the top and she says “I cannot see why not”.
But after a few piercings she yells out “now, stop!”

Apple cider is made along with apple butter for Gramps.
He brings home some farm workers, some of them look like tramps.
They use polite words and say “thank you” again and again.
Some leave with an extra piece of pie, wearing a great big grin.

Chessnut memory

7 Dec 2023  5:43 pm
A distant memory upon the winter breeze
The spring scent of fertile chessnut trees

So broad and strong standing tall against the storms
Producing bushels of sweet sustanace and burs of thorns

I remember when I stood so strong against the wind 
Branching out to produce and provide a home and win

There were many storms and burs of thorns 
That produced sweet sustance of memories adored

Like the nuts of that tree my family is scattered
I am alone with not much that matters

The tree was cut down by those who knew not its great worth
Nothing left of it to remember but grass covered earth

One day I to will go down, only a memory in someone to be found 
And as the tree I will be grass and ground

Apple Picking Time

It’s apple picking time.
Let’s to the orchard go.
Rise up, my sleepyhead.
You must not move too slow.

I will grab a ladder
and put it in the truck.
You can gather our pails
to use for what we pluck.

To fill our bushels full
with apples green and red
is our goal, so hurry up
and get out of the bed.

I’ll show you, son of mine,
how apple pickin’s done,
We need to get there with
the rising of the sun.

That’s the way we did it
when Grandpa was alive.
This thing he so enjoyed
I’m eager to revive.

I saw the other day
that many apple trees
looked like they were bursting.
We’ll pluck their fruit with ease.

We’ll have a merry time,
and later you’ll know why.
Once we’re home I’ll bake you
a yummy apple pie.

Sweet and juicy apples
we can eat every day.
One a day, don’t you know,
keeps the doctor away!

Leftovers we can’t eat
as applesauce I’ll can.
I’ll make pies too for friends
and you, my little man!

Sweet Rendezvous

Orchard of rosy apples, ripe and sweet,
gleaming radiance in picturesque fields.
trees weighed down in the bounty treat,
gifts wrapped in love, reckoning yields
squashy white flesh in crimson shields.

cute plump cheeks, clustered ruby balls.
Who painted them red? brimming galore
in shadow of summer, an autumn befalls.
Bushels and cartons teeming to the store,
the golden and green, delicious ever more.

Joy plucked and picked in scarlet glitter,
wind, frost and rain tempered all through.
enchanting aroma of cinnamon in butter
with baskets of apples, it's picnic, Yahoo!
Solace of a sanctuary, sweet rendezvous.

Apples In Autumn

Bushels of apples are in tubs and bins all over the place
A variety of kinds, yellows, reds, none a disgrace
We cut out the bad spots and turn them into pie
Fresh applesauce smells make the harvest men sigh

Let’s make some cobbler says Gran as she rolls out the dough
She sprinkles it with sugar and love, making it just so.
I ask if I can fork the top and she says “I cannot see why not”.
But after a few piercings she yells out “now, stop!”

Apple cider is made along with apple butter for Gramps.
He brings home some farm workers, some of them look like tramps.
They use polite words and say “thank you” again and again.
Some leave with an extra piece of pie, wearing a great big grin.

Yet Pushed, Ever Onward, I Dare Tread

Yet Pushed, Ever Onward, I Dare Tread

BEHOLD, I wade into darkening mists,
My journey, clarification of Fate
When I balked, black ghost said, I insist
Hurry destiny cries, it is too late,
Strolling deep within, horrific the sounds
So strangely pungent the circling winds
In distant valleys, baying of the hounds-
I fear what that hideous sign portends.
Now so afraid, through weeping years I trod
Yet pushed, ever onward, I dare tread
My shield, simply faith in Light and my God
And bushels of truth, to me, life has fed
I pray for salvation of divine light
Blessed ending of this courageous flight.

Robert J. Lindley, 9-02-2021
Sonnet(dark)

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2021

Alidiumakalli

A 55 gallon barrel
Full of pulverized
Oyster shells
Mixed with wood ash
And sawdust
And porklard

55 gallons of
Pulverized oyster
Shells.mixed
With basalt.

Alkalinity
Alkalinity
Mind the
Bushels bouiz
Mind the
Bushels!

I Want To Discover a New Species

I want to discover a new species please
I will follow a lead or breeze with ease
Under bushels of bees I will soon squeeze
On my sore old knees, beside the spring peas

Until weather changes to a good hard freeze
This opportunity I will now seize
Naming my species whatever I please
Want to come? Join me at the oak trees

I will name my species Peco Vees.
A name I have discovered in a dream of Lee’s.
He told it to me after I used some pleas.
Come with me now, I do not tease.

Falling Leaves

Fall is the most beautiful time of the year for me, with its blushing  
Apples and fruitful trees dressed in zesty rubious healthy leaves with       
Luminous fruit hanging off its stems, like galas, granny smiths, and fuji 
Leaves of multi colored sunburnt shades of yellow, gold and brown   
Inside the orchard, ladders, bushels, straw hats and farmer pant- grins  
No better place to be then underneath an Autumn tree when every    
Golden leaf shimmer-shimmies before swiveling down at  your feet    

Leaves that dance and shuffle-shake before landing in your hands     
Earthing to the ground covering you with giant leafy  dry crispy limbs   
Arrest the night, stop the moon, hold the stars, its time to listen to the       
Voices of the night, the falling leaves have their sorrowful story to tell 
Ease into their season with a quiet soul.  Help them say goodbye to the   
Summer. After all it is the season of Autumn,  a time for falling leaves. 

September 27, 2021

Yet Pushed, Ever Onward, I Dare Tread

Yet Pushed, Ever Onward, I Dare Tread

BEHOLD, I wade into darkening mists,
My journey, clarification of Fate
When I balked, black ghost said, I insist
Hurry destiny cries it is too late,
Strolling deep within, horrific the sounds
So strangely pungent the circling winds
In distant valleys, baying of the hounds-
I fear what that hideous sign portends.

Now so afraid, through weeping years I trod
Searching, ever onward, I did thus tread.
My shield, simply faith in Light and my God
And bushels of truth, to me, life has fed.

I pray for salvation of divine light.
Blessed ending of this courageous flight. 

Robert J. Lindley, 9-02-2021 
Sonnet(dark)

Crabs

The sun goes down as we set off through bushes,
equip with homemade torches in hand,
A wish to catch land crabs by the bushels,
And stuffing our large crocus sack was our plan.

Focused to hear crabs crawling on the ground,
shoving vines and branches out of our way,
Thrilled to glimpse a yellow crab crawling around,
 I launched forward, but it scooted away.

When the soil is damp, earth crabs roam about.
Fast you must be, if you hope to catch one,
They are quick and with their claws; they lash out!
Sometimes you end up catching none.

Crabs are assumed a fine delicacy for some,
They are cooked in plenty of interesting ways,
Stuffed, boiled, stewed, and you can bake them.
It can be discovered on any menu most days.

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