Harvest Time Poems - Poems about Harvest Time

Autumn is Harvest Time

Fall's bright colors are taking flight like birds on the wing
It's the right time for a clime change and seasonal transformation
brisk winds whisk leaves in plight and can no longer cling

Autumn sends a note that portends a change is in the air
Months of holidays and sublime door displays in celebration
of prime family feasts and Halloween

Harvest Time

In autumn, I came upon a garden of errant souls
And saw several souls sequestered there.
Some were well-known and some were fools,
But others were only tarrying there.
Though the sanguine souls were tall in bloom,
there were stunted souls among them.
I wondered why tall souls gave the short ones room;
And, in the end, accepted them.
Tears flowed from the

Harvest Time

October is the time 
to harvest that which
summer days did 
sow.

Enjoy one last flash of
brilliance before we 
succumb to winter’s
snow…

Harvest Time

The breathe of summer is nearly past
Oaks and maples collect dreams, belief
Pouring out the tenderest promises, gentling
The spirit with a grace so warm, like a whisper
Caressing the moon with soft tendrils of firefly
Kindness, kindled by the soul who remembers
When the feelings were more pure than temptations
Who render the moments helpless, left yearning
For the laughing smiles,

Harvest Time Birthday

The birthday of one our dear friends, Julie,
we three wanted to celebrate duly.
It was harvest time, we went to the farm,
shining golden wheat was reflecting charm.

We walked excited in the morning gale
to the edge of the field with stacked up bale.
Each one of us picked quickly one of these,
clutched them with our arms and carried

Harvest Time

young frogs quacking loud
they have grown thick and ugly
It's rice harvest time

Harvest Time

Harvest Time
Haiku: by Tom
12/26/2020

Fields are truly white,
labor needed for harvest.
there's so little time.


John 4:35 KJV
“Say not ye, There are yet four months, and then cometh harvest? behold, I say unto you, Lift up your eyes, and look on the fields; for they are white already to harvest.”

Floral Harvest Time

FLORAL HARVEST TIME


autumn blossoms shine
as no longer they do bloom
it's now harvest time

10/28/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2020©

Harvest Time

Pretty girl slithers through the fields                                      
Bell around her neck swings out a cry
Under the howling moon a

Harvest Time

Summer season has wrapped up
on the southern prairie plain
the multi-patchwork of fields
ready for upcoming harvest
heads of golden yellow
wheat, rye and barley
glow in the amber sun
the wind creates flowing
waves with the hearty stalks
while birds and deer
find a very  easy feast
the rains are not wanted
as the threshing begins
dryness is the key
to get the best yield
of the

Harvest Time

The Harvest

Black, starless late September sky, the moon a golden scythe mowing down the old, harvest time. They had forgotten to close windows and chill will settle in old lungs, spitting blood. 
 Church bells toll.
 The old priest is still on holiday; the new one is clumsy, hasn’t 
 had a bath and a

Harvest Time

Harvest time

 Golden acres of wheat 
soon the harvester will cut you down
make you into bread and fodder 
I remember when you were tall as me
and the north- west wind  
tried to flatten you but you
bent with the wind 
At sunrise rose like a peace- army
Hell bent on becoming flour

Harvest Time - the Redemption

HARVEST TIME - THE REDEMPTION
There are no roots to see, not with our eyes,
that stretch from earth, umbilically below;
not even to the sun, to realize,
but there must be a  chord we do not know;

Are we not on a fruit, still ripening?
Perhaps we are the nectar from the tree,
Awaiting harvest time's great siphoning
When all are

Harvest Time

Changing seasons, the empty barns mew
efforts on the field is about to born
abundant products from seeds so few
a handful can give a bag full of corn
one more year for extreme hunger to hiss
luck has heavily rained on every sow
pregnant is the skies, the rains do not miss
green and greener are the fields in a row
demanding

Harvest Time

HARVEST TIME
There are no roots to see, not with our eyes,
that stretch from earth, umbilically below;
not even to the sun, to realize,
but there must be a  chord we do not know;

Are we not on a fruit, still ripening?
Perhaps we are the nectar from the tree,
Awaiting harvest time's great siphoning
When all are ripened; it's our

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