Snow, snow, drifting down on little towns and farms,
Snow, snow glistens on the oaks’ and maples’ arms.
River, river from the north, with thaw of ice it flows,
Mighty Mississippi, past my little hometown goes.
Blooms, blooms, pretty blooms, and lilacs scent the air.
Blooms, blooms paint the land beneath a rainbow fair.
Hills, hills, soft and rolling, low and grassy mounds,
Hills, hills, some are ancient natives’ burial grounds.
Stars, stars, flitting stars that wink in twilight skies,
Stars, stars, tiny stars are summer’s fireflies!
Corn, corn, fields of corn, so wide and green and high.
Corn, corn, stalks of corn keep reaching to the sky.
Leaves, leaves dance on streets while children walk to school,
Leaves that tango, red and gold, as days and nights grow cool.
Home, home, harvest home, where crops are gathered in,
Home sweet home, as I recall, is hearth of kith and kin.
Thanksgiving
Thanksgiving Day grace
Remembers abundant yields
From fields and orchards
A signature of blessings
Gratitude for harvest home.
10-22-21
Contest: Thanksgiving Tanka
Sponsor: L. Milton Hankins
ON THE SHORE A FORGOTTEN MAN
On the shore a forgotten man.
He left footprints on the water.
From him, they say, all life began.
Longs to call thee, son and daughter.
The true love knot of Calvary.
On the shore a forgotten man.
His nectar shadow danced for thee
— this crimson clover genius plan!
As this earth is waning, you can
hear the trumpets, of harvest home.
On the shore a forgotten man —
His arms open wide, pleading, “Come!”
Since yesterday, “Adams” do wade
in misty gardens sinful span,
but for tempest of grace notes played.
On the shore a forgotten man.
4/8/2018
Ten Words/Sponsor: Joseph May
Words used:
Crimson
Forgotten
Grace
Harvest
Love
Misty
Shadow
Shore
Tempest
Yesterday
A blood-red private view of morning
A second chance to climb the attic stairs.
The ceiling, ticking time, cascades
A thousand pricking darts, stampeding
Purple chariots, blanketing the sky.
The zealot's blade, so swift to still
The heart that beats an alien rhythm,
No backward glance to desolation.
Within a vastness all-consuming,
The wolf retreats to primal isolation
And howls unheeded at a distant,
Cold and quite indifferent moon.
As thunder clouds converge
And drown all hope of harvest home,
We find that, like the wolf, we are alone.
Inertia quickens, takes a hand,
At last to move the day.
The cabbage, wilting on the edge of sanity,
Bleakly views the blackened pot.
The steady chop chop chop is heralding
The grand ensemble of the daily stew.
Regardless, now the day's awake,
The perils lost in sleep are there anew.
The blood-red now transforms to palest grey.
The resurrected monotone of every day.
HAIBUN QUATERNION
WINTER in anger whips up the waves,pounds the shingle shore,whispt later SPRING in action,brings to life and feathers its nest.SUMMER ,so lazy rests the soul and flowers the land as AUTUMN ,so mellow scents & sounds the harvest home.
a summer moving flowers of spring
at the crematorium- blossom and dew,
tears dry in the wind. beauty of youth
lost in a sigh.
around the corner Fall
days of grey- stands
drab winter gloom. still and
hestitates-
then becomes winter
you msy hear me recite this quaternion on youtube under my pen name
ichthyschiro
catchmy short forms @strandpoet on twitter
Januari brings the glow, that
Makes the beech and filbert grow
February brings the rain, that
Warms our open pool again
March brings breezes hot and still, that
Make demand for doctors skill
April brings a brimstone heat, that
Scatters blisters on our feet
May brings lots of reddish tan,
Searing sun hurts where it can
June brings flies in overdoses, that
Fill the children’s eyes and noses
Hot July brings broiling hours, with
Scalding spots and singeing showers
August sun burns sheaves of corn and
Never harvest home is borne
Warm September brings the fruit,
Tropic species start to shoot
Brown October turns virescent
There you see what's Natures present
Dull November lives at last
Lets the leaves grow whizzing fast
Chill December’s obsolete
Freezer pop’s the Christmas treat
The earth looks tired
Harvest home, the silos full
Dust swirls in the breeze
Birds inspect the dry rubble
Hills long burnt by the sun, wait
Barbara Gorelick 7/11/11
Brown..for Nette's color contest
The lilacs have come and gone, so brief was their time,
fragile flowers like some, who seldom linger long,
their purple prominence a pantomime of our springtime.
Full heart-shaped clusters pump perfume so sublime
a gift from heaven, mother nature can't prolong,
the lilac has come and gone, so brief was their time.
Harvest home to birthing butterflies in sunny climes
brought low by the battering rain of May’s swan song,
their purple prominence a pantomime of our springtime.
Unmated, virginal, a merry gift, most sacred in its prime
a rust red blight upon the cloth, a crown of thorns once gone,
the lilacs have come and gone so brief was their time.
Let shoots reform and hollowed make a flute to pass time
to cheer our mother merry and sooth the wearied throng,
their purple prominence a pantomime of our springtime
Like they, we spring forth, summer, fall and wintertime
may our seed justly arise in the beauty of heart song,
The lilacs have come and gone so brief was their time,
their purple prominence a pantomime of our springtime
freshly plowed field
rows stretch to the horizon
birds feeding
earth nurtures seed
sun filters through broken clouds
rich black gold
golden blanket
waves in the hot summer breeze
harvest home
silos tower
year's bounty gathered again
bread baking
Snow, snow, drifting down on little towns and farms,
Snow, snow glistens on the oaks’ and maples’ arms.
River, river from the north, with thaw of ice it flows,
Mighty Mississippi, past my little hometown goes.
Blooms, blooms, pretty blooms, and lilacs scent the air.
Blooms, blooms paint the land beneath a rainbow fair.
Hills, hills, soft and rolling, low and grassy mounds,
Hills, hills, some are ancient natives’ burial grounds.
Stars, stars, flitting stars that wink in twilight skies,
Stars, stars, tiny stars are summer’s fireflies!
Corn, corn, fields of corn, so wide and green and high.
Corn, corn, stalks of corn keep reaching to the sky.
Leaves, leaves dance on streets while children walk to school,
Leaves that tango, red and gold, as days and nights grow cool.
Home, home, harvest home, where crops are gathered in,
Home sweet home, as I recall, is hearth of kith and kin.
(Can you guess my home state? It's Iowa)
By Andrea Dietrich
For Skat's MY LAND IS MY HOME Poetry Contest
When we were born into this world
we were crafted to fit together.
Fragrances of us enchant.
A seductive spice we long for and
find everywhere we nestle.
In loved ones ears, eyelids, neck,
lips, arm pits, breasts and yes
an enormous bright balloon
rests on our playful hands.
Outstretched— fills the whole sky
We're holding the Harvest Moon while
it bursts bright on crops in the darkest dome
and incubates with night light
the chants that sing the harvest home.
Come oh come to harvest home you thankful!
Rouse your tongues for your barns, so big and bountiful;
All grains and gains are safely gathered in with ease.
For your plenteous portion, oh praise the Prince of peace.
Come you thankful who dwells in God’s own field.
Worship Him whose wealth and wisdom we wield;
In tears and sorrow, wheat and tares are together sown,
But in harvest’s hour, in joy, we reap wholesome wheat alone.
To You, I God of harvest, we thankful will come!
With harps and hymns to Your holy harvest home;
Singing with Your holy angels on the street of gold,
Gladly bowing down to You, the Shepherd of the fold.
Till,scatter and then wait,
Come rain & shine-
Harvest,reap and rejoice.
Come rain or shine-
Bringing in the sheaves,
With Jesus' hand in mine-
Come rain or shine.
Inspired by Knowles Shaw's hymn
Bringing in the sheaves.
For the bounty of the earth
Come Ye thankful people come
For it is Autumn
And the leaves are coming down
Run run sweet John Barley Corn
Let's play ring around the pumpkin
As the harvest moon shines
On the jingle jangle scarecrow
For I'am just a little acorn
Bounded for another harvest home
As the wind shakes the barley
Like a slow Thanksgiving waltz
For our farmers sets the table
To a wondrous haymakers hoedown
For we bid ado to a Shokan's fairwell
And now thank we to all our God
Happy Harvest Time To All
Love Kathy And Jenny
May God Be With You
Just Another Song Working On LOL
Let Me Know What Ya Think Please