Long Barns Poems
Long Barns Poems. Below are the most popular long Barns by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Barns poems by poem length and keyword.
Our farms are sick and starved and outgrown barns,
The earth is witted, breaking our spades
Tomorrow is stranded because today is wicked
Barking on our tears
These brothers of mine are strangers
They rage the sun in this part of the divide
And walk in canopies we cannot provide
Come to the streets oh comrades
Your stomachs may be asking and your legs jittering
Still come
Come to the entering of the city
Cry to the heavens carrying fronds
Fan the firmaments and beg the clouds to let it rain
Let it rain, let it rain in the heat of the day till
Darkness is stopped from coming, taking terror unaware
And then the wolves slip and fall on their daggers
Let greedy mansion leak, and seek shelter in the hut of the pauper
Let it rain, so hardened hearts get soaked and thieves shiver
Till they are caught red-handed
Let it rain, let its coldness prevail and cool the boiling land,
Let’s its wind sweep through exposing the anus of the fowl kind,
Quenching greedy thirsts and succoring innocent dreams
Let it rain on the x and y
If they look back and see where the knot is tied, so not for
Crescent moon another man’s star die
let it rain and beat hard, and crash the shell of dubious tortoise
let it beat conflicts into comfort, till greed dies of loneliness
let it beat tomorrow into today, and led into leaders.
Our father who art in Heaven
Hallowed be thy name …
Please grant us the attainment of world peace
Please take the homeless ones off the streets
May men and women have plenty apiece
Children, their fair share of peanuts and sweets
May sickness be far from me, mine, hers and his
May good health be in abundance
May beautiful flowers and majestic trees
Create atmospheres for the sun’s dance
Keep famine and pestilence away
Let our barns and silos be full in stock
Keep hunger and starvation at bay
Make our aged as strong as a rock
May ours be an egalitarian society
Where everyone has the means to their ends
May ours be a classless economy
On which profit per person’s desire depends
May our roads be free of accidents
Our earth from natural disasters
May our vehicles get no scratches and dents
That they may gleam under the light of the stars
Keep our r0ads free from hazards
The streets, safe and secure from hoodlums
May we never encounter witches nor wizards
Who’ll, from our farms, steal berries and plums
May we all get passes to the gates of Heaven
Regardless of multiplicity of religions
That all may attain the perfection of seven
And be one with the angels and legions
Amen…
Oft' I've traveled on interstate highways to reach my final destination,
With white knuckles grasping the steering wheel in great trepidation!
I whiz along at seventy-five and for my safety offer a fervent prayer.
'Tis akin to driving the Indy 500 speeding like a bat out of you know where!
I prefer to whiz along at 25 miles per hour on a quaint country road,
Enjoying scenery sans billboards and such in a more relaxing mode!
I can stop by an eatery for good ol' country grub run by Mom and Pop,
And browse among other peoples trash at my leisure in an antique shop!
I stop by to fill up on gas and happily discover something rather rare;
The man fills the tank, cleans the windshield and checks my tires for air!
Fields of amber grain gently wave at me depicting a scene so bucolic,
And a herd of deer in a yonder copse contentedly graze and frolic!
A farmer waves to me as he tends his field of melons and cantaloupe,
And I'm thrilled to see across the way a magnificent herd of antelope!
I enjoy the witty verse of poets on Burma Shave Signs along the way,
And faded Mail Pouch Tobacco signs on barns filled with scented hay!
At the whim of each vagabond breeze, old windmills turn and creak.
Timbers rumble as I cross a wooden bridge above a rippling creek.
Although my automobile gathers dust along a road that is graveled,
How I relish traveling along quaint country roads that are less traveled!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
The field is given a name.
Battles are about where they disappear,
the ones that walk away
don't know where the hell they are.
There’s a cannon ball under that Yew tree,
there’s a skull under that Ash.
There’s a hank of dried up hair
over there, woven into stone and moss.
After the blood, peace continues destroying barns,
insignia and belt buckles fished out and sold.
Excavated jawbones order and counter-order.
The officers that staggered away
go quietly mad, or marry well.
Surviving hell takes
a lot of stump-footed foraging.
The maimed tell their jerrybuilt tales,
cracked rockers creek along
the slipways of generations.
Hounds bayed at coons.
in the hot afternoons;
that was before the earth gaped open,
before the gore seeped sideways
into the earths wounds.
Good Generals and bad
have had their deadly play,
this scattering and salvage
of the blue and grey that day.
Traveling along the Grapevine
soft green hills look like earthy fabric
folded into velvet shadow crevices.
Layers of rich, luxurious shapes
form the mountainous terrain.
As we make our way along the highway
the golden glow of the afternoon sun
caresses the flowing hillsides
oh so gently
on this cool winter’s day.
Sparse oaks flash their amber leaves
over the muted landscape
loudly interrupting introverted hues
that linger quietly over the grassy fields.
Against a whitewashed sky
hints of snow can be seen
amongst the scarce pines
while in the valley, sagebrush whip around
on a random road near run down barns
where ravens hide.
A linear network of power lines appear
marching like steel sentries
transformers conquering fields
while a formidable army of cars and trucks
hurry towards their endless destinations
unaware of the quiet beauty that surrounds.
The Russians are coming.
Picture this North of Norway it was early spring but still cold
but the days were longer, and the land was gripped by
the German army and their collaborators.
The Russian army came pushing the Germans south,
the German army tried the scorched earth tactic burning houses
and barns killing livestock, the people were hiding in mines.
The Russian army was seen as heroes, gave the starving people
food and shelter and the North were freed before the south.
The Russians didn’t linger which the deal was struck by
the USA and the Soviets.
After the war when the first election was held the communist
party won the north, which was understandable, but as time
went by and the atrocity of Stalin came to light people voted
for the labour party, but the sympathy of the soviets lingered.
This war is forgotten now; suddenly Russia is the enemy and NATO
troops are protecting the borders, from what?
But so is the politics of power, shifting alliances and the papers
to that should know better, is staunchly anti- Russian.
Beholding bountiful compassion-blessings of God* beyond bankruptcy…
Brothers and sisters, let’s be braced-up, becoming better
bouncing against bitterness borne by crises’ bondage
breaking free from backsliding midst burdens
built-up now: healed heart, soul and body
bowing to the Saviour Lord, blissful
beckoned toward hope’s beam.
Bestowed with bread and butter from the Creator’s barns …
Beloved, let’s share, battling against selfishness’ bouts
Blowing away boastfulness in stewardship business
beautified along faith-blooms of love’s benefits
buttressed upon biblical belief
besieged by divine boldness
bringing service best.
*2Samuel 22:47 The LORD liveth; and blessed be my rock; and exalted be the God of the rock of my salvation.
December 19, 2020
1st place, "Alliteration" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Eve Roper; judged on 12/22/2020.
Home they say is where the heart lives
For me home is on the prairie plains
Where one can see mile upon mile
With various jokes saying
If something runs way you can see
them leaving for three days.
A variety of farming folks
A place where family farms have
stood for generations
Years and years of growing crops
Green fields so we are called the harvest belt.
A place where the summers are hot
The winters are cold so very cold
Elevators, barns , old church steeples
Some of the most friendly people
Called --land of the living skies--
Waking to spectacular sunrise
This is the heavenly place I call home.
The wind whistled a chilly tune,
As the day slipped toward a grey horizon.
Flocks of blackbirds darkened the autumn sky.
The quail's shrill call could be heard in the forests,
As the workers put their plowshares away.
The distinctive odor of burning leaves
Floated in the breeze that struggled to live,
And people could be heard coming in from the fields.
Workers and animals weary from the day of toil,
Eager to find solace in the warmth of home,
Be it a cabin, shack, house, mansion, or stable,
To be fed and bedded was the desire of all.
It seemed that the fall pricked the sense of existence
More than the other seasons of the year.
Prompted answers to questions if all had been done
To weather the blink and dark of winter.
All that could be gathered was in the barns,
And all that had been neglected was stored in regret.
Now winter must be faced with bold resolve,
With a prayer that survival would witness springs new hope.
The farm communities of old have long gone by
Where family and neighbor worked and played together,
Sharing the triumphs and defeats of agrarian struggles,
Working with their hands and wearying their backs,
In an effort to support and advance living off the land.
Through life was slow and perseverance strained,
The genius of that day has been lost to prevailing winds,
Never to be known again or valued as wholesomeness.
But those who came from those days of yore,
Gained more than most modern folk will ever know.
That was a time in yesteryear.
Trails and rails, and winding roads
Empty barns, abandoned abodes
I've grown too tired to bear this load
In this world, I have no place
My path has led me, far from home
I find no comfort as I roam
Away from all the love I've known
I'm lost without a trace
Along this path I wander, aimless.
To history, I shall be nameless
For hollow were the dreams I've sought
The right direction, I know not.
Repressed the jest that brought me smiles
My sorrow grows with passing miles
Upon myself, Ive brought these trials
I haven't the strength to face
I left the place where I belong
Too stubborn to admit I'm wrong
Despair is for those, who wait too long
There are too many steps to retrace
Disillusioned by my hopes
My soul is not equipped to cope
For hollow were the dreams I've sought
Of inspiration, I know not.
Tomorrow my sorrow shall grow even more
So distant the faces of those I adore
So deep is this anguish it clinches my core
I long for a loving embrace
All that I've gained, I would eagerly trade
For a chance to erase,the mistakes I have made
and return to their arms before memories fade
I ask this of God by his grace
Solitude is the burden of pride
and destiny is a heartless guide
For hollow were the dreams I've sought.
My destination, I know not.