Long Baling Poems
Long Baling Poems. Below are the most popular long Baling by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Baling poems by poem length and keyword.
Waters rise, engulf the land and other ruses
we devise to block their flow, to stem the tides.
Anxious, we are left to ride the waves
on fragile barques bereft of sails.
Such flimsy arks (mere barrel staves
and baling wire) float up the sides
of great sea-risers like defiant snails
awash in slime. In time, seabrine looses
collective holds on congealed excuses
and in salt solution we dissolve.
To silver fishes we soon devolve
while worlds and stars, giants and dwarfs,
fade from mind like boats from wharfs.
And when to darker depths we dive,
will fishes miss us? Shall we survive
apart from sky, from air, from dry?
If at last we gasp and die
will crabs cavort? Can fishes cry?
You wouldn't believe what I've been thro' lately,
I'm supposed to be on holiday, okay
but not okay - recovering from an operation,
was not my idea of any decent elation.
Then there were other things if not enough,
sometimes I say that I'm not doing this again,
does that sound familiar - like baling out a boat,
it's one helluva job to just stay afloat.
However, look at the positives - shall we?
I'm holding back - could give you a bucketfull
of the other - so what do you want to do
mon ami - take action it seems to me.
Someone said you can cure anything with two beer,
I don't think so but anyway I'll wish you happy new year!
Sawing logs, one after another
Into two feet lengths
Just for the specific purpose
Of standing them up on the ground
Awaiting the iron axe
That will create a comforting
Roaring fire in the hearth
Come this winter’s cold
Canning fruits and vegetables
To store on the shelves
Awaiting the moment in time
When they’ll be lifted out
And opened slowly, carefully
With appreciation for the color
The scent and deliciousness
Of a homegrown and canned food
Cutting down hay in the field
Tractor moving slowly, assuredly
Taking the blade to the grass
Green and pungent scented
Covering the field with what will
Be racked up into piles for
Baling and creating a treasure
For the barn to store for cattle
Gather round while I spin a yarn
'bout a young gal, grew up in a barn
With horses and cows, she had her own stall
She loved taking care of them, most of all
She'd feed the horses and milk every cow
Nobody ever showed her quite how
She worked so hard, she rubbed her hands raw
Baling the hay and bundling the straw
Well, year after year she took care of her tasks
Secretly hoping that someone would ask
Her out on a date or some such like that
But she was afraid of men and a little bit fat
One summer day the sky turned pitch black
A tornado was brewing, there was no turning back
It stormed right on in, a-whirling and whooshing, a picture of awe
All her hay swept away, she clutched at two pieces of straw
She hung on to those straw strands with all of her might
As they swilled and swirled, and flew up out of sight
The last folks saw of her, she was high up in the sky
Singin' -- "To heck with horses! I'm a bird; I can fly!"
September 10, 2020
Clutching at Straws Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Kai Michael Neumann
What a confusing time that was, I had to grow up quick
Its was fun being a child, but we took a lot of stick.
There was no money, as most of us can say
But we did all sorts of things, and learnt lots of games to play.
There were no electronic games with colourful buttons to press
We were lucky to have a skipping rope, or maybe even less.
It was never a proper rope, with wooden handles on the end
It was usually a bit of baling string, and even that we would lend.
There was very little food and sometimes no roof over our heads
But we could all keep warm at night with six of us in a bed.
It could be fun getting up in the night
To run from the rent man, that always gave dad a fright.
Rent was due we had to run, who knew where, but it was fun.
I grew up poor but rich in love or that’s what I believed
But I promised myslef my kids, would never be that grieved.
We have worked hard, and given them all we didn’t have back then,
It’s seem to have worked because we find we have now turned out two men.
They love us and help in all the ways they know how,
They say "Mum and dad we thank you, we understand things now.
When we have children we want them to be
as happy as my brother and me."
It's the big moments in life that most people remember,
But it's the moments in between which we should dwell upon.
Our lives are memories that can be very tender.
Thy only happen once and, in an instant, they're gone.
It's easy to think back to almost every birthday
Because they only came around that one time a year.
But what about the things that happened day after day,
The little things that brought so many smiles and tears?
We all remember, with pride, our graduation day
And we certainly remember the funerals and weddings.
But what about all the summers spent baling hay
And the many days on the farm we enjoyed spending?
Of course, we should remember the birth of our children
And every single anniversary celebration.
But what about when we were young and our hearts were open
Sleeping in the woods and staring at constellations?
In between the big moments is when life also happens,
So let's not remember the big moments alone.
Just remember that even the smallest of actions
Make us who we are and gives our hearts and minds a home.
BALING HAY
We three are farmer girls primarily.
named as Alice, Linda and Emily.
belonging to same peasant family
of almost same age holding simile.
All of us work hard in field merrily.
We hold skill to cut, chop and collect hay.
We are performing throughout the whole day.
Working under open sky and Sun rays.
Enjoying work staying cheerful and gay.
Panorama touching horizon gray.
Linda standing as her bundle is done.
Emily holds bunch on shoulder in fun.
Me Alice, baling to finish my turn.
Since childhood ' Baling hay', we are to learn.
Farmhouse close by: At eve, we rush, run.
We are close friends, being cousin sisters.
Not rock STAR but shine as Bailing Hay STAR.
Expert to bind bunch of hay in cluster.
We do job fast, yet try to do faster.
We enjoy festive days during Easter.