THE NEW GARDEN
Another Eden,
political fruits hanging;
harvesters, greedy:-
Cleopatra
“How good it feels to stroke the finest linen
and to know that yarn spun from the drop spindle
came by planters, harvesters, and so many others,
and is dyed thread woven on the loom into fabric
and then sewn into garments for me to wear.”
And I saw that the artist’s finest paint
was to take the brush and stroke
the depth of a goddess to whom the people of Egypt
immortalize as the ‘Queen of the Nile,’
and wasn’t that what Cleopatra was all about?
Pale daughters wash between their ears
always requiring a shine
playing chicken
They ignore the red traffic lights
claiming they want a real life
A life without jewels
They jostle for manufactured joys
Tempus Fugit
How they age disgracefully
hollow like a shell
They gain your trust
then play cat and mouse
Viva la difference in reverse
they are only harvesters of
an autumnaless garden
Blessed
Are the Seed Planters
And the Harvesters
When they are in Him
And sent by the FATHER Elohim
Planted also those who plant those the seeds
We are also Seeds from the Father
AMEN
3/18/23
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr ©2023
The country road split the wheat field in half
A murder of crows seemed to prefer the right
Hope they leave some to winnow from the chaff
Crows seem but wavey lines against the night
A spectacular sight in the twilight
Fields of wheat in the final golden stage
Ready for the harvesters to earn their wage
Golden grains that hungry men have desired
This art lifts up some memories to engage
Remember the dirt road our love once required
Artful work: Crows In The Wheatfield by Vincent Van Gogh
Written: February 11, 2023
Inside the season
behind a warehouse
the wind got away
The cause was dark
beyond those trees
I rode away
I saw the moon block out the sky
Facing eastern winds
I sought the harvesters
meshing an epiphany for St George
abundance beckons...
devil's squeal of glee...
~ harvest shared... only with me...
________________________________
'When you reap the harvest of your land,
do not reap the corners of your field or
pick up the gleanings your harvesters
drop. Leave them for the poor and the
stranger. I am the Lord, your God.'
Leviticus 23:22.
My Autumn bridge has come for me and bids me come abode.
Hats off and a warm welcome to her cooling sun of Fall.
Come O gentle winds and also Autumn showers.
O hurricane, we pray you to minimize your pain.
May Autumn trees in recline sing of their beauty.
Satiate the land with your trees of golden leaves.
How sweet the sound of harvesters gathering the grain.
O Autumn friend, rain down prosperity on every living soul.
100422PS
Smite many men
That I am a whore
Who labor's only
That the sands of
The hourglass shall
Speak me strange.
Nut's the having
That harvester seek
Harvest.
And fruits ripened
To be stored.
That worship of both
Shall profit the harvester.
And celebration of
Harvest will make
The harvesters speak of
How the harvest shall be
Shared.
Works of men
To the needs of people!
"Hooray! for those quiet voices that channel out the choices,
Hooray! for the harvesters they give birth to the chaos.
In those the sums of life lessons learn reality class courses,
Why weeping mourn for that that is torn love losses.
Hooray!, I say it's okay to be alone in Christ is Okay?"
8/5/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021
At the pink dawn, birds on a wing,
All nature in the glory of spring,
Autumn campfires under bright stars,
Thrilling summer sounds from guitars!
Hummingbirds in the Tuesday fields,
Whistling harvesters with the yield,
Christmas carolers in deep snow,
Gay cicadas with their rare show!
Crazy crickets and humming bees,
Whistling moonlight wind in the trees,
Joy in meadows, joy in the woods,
Joy all over the neighborhoods!
A naked bleakness dressed with sparkling stars,
Dance sweetly taffaria fairies wands,
Auburn burnish Terra foundation scars,
Strewn light rods frock poise for their eager bonds.
Savor sparked light, plated of painted blends,
Generous crops hatched for harvesters pluck,
Heap hued leaves for dives of little friends,
Grand to behold as worn eyes are awed struck.
As the sinking filters down to deaths floor,
Achromatic crystals shroud their being,
Neath browns fertile soil rebirth of its core,
Hibernates for pardoned Spring, their freeing.
Limelight a year; birth, life, dying and death,
Mirror fleeting truth and our fragile breath.
*taffaria; Fairies' wings are made of a special material called taffaria. This ultra-strong, silky and transparent material is clear at first glance but has all 7 colors of the rainbow in it. Red, purple, yellow, pink, blue, green, and orange.
2019 November 04
RhymeZone
PS Grammar Checker
Howmanysyllables;
14 lines x 10 syllables - 140 syllables total
October, a month full of browns, red,
and orange colors; glorious
festive golden foliage.
Leaves will then begin to
fall, lie scattered on
the ground. Birds and
blooms that were
here now,
gone.
Full
Hunter's
blood-red moon,
a time to hunt
since harvesters have
reaped the productive fields
preparation for winter.
A time to get together with
loved ones for Thanksgiving and birthdays.
8/22/2019
Poetry Contest : Autumn Or September Or October Nonet
Sponsored by: Caren Krutsinger
Thanksgiving (French : Action de grâce), or Thanksgiving Day (French : Jour de l'Action de grâce) is an annual Canadian holiday, occurring on the second Monday in October, which celebrates the harvest and other blessings of the past year.
If the wind is blind the storm should see
And if the storm is blind the wind should
See
If time is a bow then we are all victims
If work is for all then we are liars
Turn to time you know it that greed
Has turn to a flowing habit
If the cemetery is blind then we are dead
If the market is busy then we are nothing
Turn the journey of fame you know it
For the idle ones are made harvesters
If the Church is a light and the people
Are not witness then we are wheels
Of no motion
If the school is a salvage of hope then
We have not started
If hospitality of man is helpful
Then we are murderers for not building
On these thoughts.
Infestors in our lives abound
In our pleasure, our leisure, our treasure
Found on the ground our feet pound
In the illusion seizure and amnesia
We grow when blows
Whip us at the core of our faith
When sorrow throws
With fast breath
On our neck they breathe
Our bliss to steal
In their seethe
Of anger they deal
With a smile on the face
They show and draw
In depth and on the surface
In each claw bereft of law
In your flesh they sink
With rolling eyes
To blink, wink and clink
In the pyres, in the fires
They light without a fight
Giggling, wriggling
As their grip grows tight with every bite
Infestors sting in their bling, on their wing as to your sorrow they cling.
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