withered cornstalks stand
clutching Indian corn cobs
faded by the sun
For long I worked in varied jobs,
Fending from bosses their dead lobs.
Retired, I find it tough
Getting not a day off
From new boss-- no more like doorknobs
Who demands, better learn
Your daily bread to earn,
Stern, she chases, all my peace robs.
But too late to regret
For having lost the bet,
Me, a harness horse oft called cobs.
________________________
Happenings | 20.08.2025 | humour, husband, horse
The two Cobs at the beach made a stop
Each then laid out their blanket to plop!
But they somehow forgot
That day's sun was too hot-
Quickly, Madam Cob's kernels did pop!
Cornfields full; midst green blades glaze
As summer lends a hand with its golden blaze.
They sway to the wind, direction it blows
Golden cobs of grass in pride simply shows.
At sunset they cower to the creeping dark
Yet, loses not its gleam and dignified spark.
Roasted on spit fire till gold turns light brown
Enjoyed with lime, spices in a summer town.
In India, we call it Bhutta, sold on streets
With Indian spice as afternoon treats.
Laid out on a husk of gold and served,
To the buyer paying the well-deserved.
Many songs have spun the cornfield silk
Vietnam has brewed the ear into milk.
Corn in summer relished by people all
Till summer gives way to October’s fall.
Corn sometimes boiled to eat with some salt
Or churned in a grinder to make sweet malt.
Some use it in cooking, soup, salads and wine
The spirit is willing when the cob is refined.
Stopping By Corn Field On A Sunny Day
with apologies to Robert Frost
Whose field is this I'm sure I know.
he's busy in the barn now though
and will not see me stopping here
to find his corn in rows and rows.
The stalks of corn are full of cheer
and cobs are tasty chased with beer;
and golden corn is calling me
to pluck and run, I have no fear.
It's late of day, no one will see
except the sun and she agrees
one or two will not be missed,
it's just a question of degree.
Heaven knows that I will weep
if I drive away with empty Jeep!
So now I have sweet corn to eat ~
sweet corn to eat before I sleep.
Deep in the earth’s bowels
We crawl through tight tunnels
Where it’s darker than night
But for glimmer of light
From small stub of tallow,
A feeble yellow glow.
Above our heads the rock
It often creaks and cracks.
We each have our own jobs.
Mine is collecting cobs.
Others sort slate and slack
From the hewn rock-face black.
Some haul full carts of coal
Up track to exit hole.
Crawling through tight tunnels,
Deep in the earth’s bowels.
Har, ya say it aren't so.
Yer holds a black spot.
Ye won't live to be old.
Grow short on the clock.
We want that, Gold.
Those cobs in a box.
Nice to know ya Munroe.
Pistol shot, flintlock.
Autumn's bounty now waits in the fields.
Sowers and keepers of the crops are
Now replaced by energetic reapers.
Dry and ready for the combine;
Brown and ripe for the harvesting;
The corn to feed the world;
The soybeans to ease hunger;
Cotton to cloth all mankind.
Like a kid fixated in wonderment,
I stop and stare along the roadside;
Observing massive machines of steel,
Rolling along the dusty fields,
Cutting and threshing and separating
the seed from the hull; corn from cobs.
The big rigs are loaded and heading
to the storage bends and buyers.
091622PS
THANKSGIVING
Butterbees glazing
Wing’d gobblings
Horn of plenty
Our honeyland
Mannah-maestro conducting
Xylophones with silver spoons
Misting maids of ‘mooners
Golden streams of Gilead
Move to Everest
Not that cold
Idaho mountains and valleys
Of beaten snow
Iceberg quakes
Gravyboat overflows
Yellow teeth
Nothing more than gobs
Those kernelly cobs
Piled the highest
Waiting for the final
Black and white whistleblow
Mothers, daughters, aunts can swipe
the sweat from brows and knees
“Pass the taters please”
Now they can’t wait
Touchdown of seats
Plenty to feed
Buzzing of the Autumn game
Pies pack in pounds in overtime
American apple, pecan, Washington
cherry, rhubarb, Atlanta peach
Pulling silly strings on pants
Enhance the week’s fun run
8/27/2021
Have you heard
a carrot scream,
when dragged outta earth?
Or the yell of green beans
peeled alive
severed cross-wise, sectioned?
Or the curdling
yell of purple potatoes
plonked alive in
boiling water?
Or the plaintive cry of yellow corn
cobs stripped-searched, naked.
All to be less-wasteful,
and draw humanely,
and guilt-free,
in noise-cancelling
headphones.
I have a question a wondering thought imagine this and that...
If a squirrel is a rodent?
Why? Then why is it such a cute little critter;
And when they procreate do they also have a litter;
With a big fluffy tail looking like a skinny malnourished cat,
...that's just to silly;
That a squirrel is just a pretty rat;
There's one in my front yard he likes corn cobs I've named him Billy;
9/30/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2020
Okay my friends now let's just see
Do I have any weaknesses of my own?
Nope, after careful investigation
I find I'm really perfect to the bone
I'm a doggone stunning specimen
Of a *****sapiens supreme
With bulging muscles everywhere
My tummy is tight and lean
So muscle bound, can't even bend
To tie my oversized shoes
Haven't seen some body parts
Since nineteen sixty-two
What's my secret you may ask
To my Greek Adonis form?
I chew on nuts and alfalfa grass
Celery and cobs of corn
Not your cup of tea you say?
So keep up your over stuffed ways
Like the very famous Goodyear Blimp
You'll be drifting away in the haze!
Words fell through my mind
in plumber’s wrenches
you walked
through a room
my hands shook
I kept pebbles in my pocket
to hold on to
you
kicked at my desire
broad hoofed
your head became
an Olmec icon
my fingers reached
reached for you
like skinny cobs
of ancient maize
Elegant is the white swan
Joined for life swimming along
When cobs and pens breed again
Then cygnets swim with them
Date: 1/21/2020
Contest: When and Then
Sponsor: Jenish Somadas
I carry a salty plate, hot and buttery,
piled high with Summer’s best corn on the cob —
kernels with a juicy crunch for a lucky towhead guest.
Fresh milk and a boy’s best friend nearby.*
A smile and a wink from the farmer’s wife.
The redheaded charmer, his white teeth
sink deep, chomp their way along each row.
My yellow cobs bright like noon sunshine —
rays of childhood devoured after saying grace.
10/7/2019
Realism Art Poetry Contest
Image #3
*boy’s best friend - his dog
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