Long Corn Poems
Long Corn Poems. Below are the most popular long Corn by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Corn poems by poem length and keyword.
At one time eight different Native America Indian Tribes lived in peace,
In the state of Kansas, sharing buffalo, shared lands with no lease.
The Iowa, Chippewa, Delaware, Kansas, Osage, Pawnee and Kickapoo,
Shared venison, and fresh cool streams with the Wyandotte too.
Animals found in my yard today like the snake, raccoon, opossum and fox,
Were here along with the iris, daisy, dandelion, wild raspberries so chock.
On the California gold rush trail, plenty of settlers were injured or killed.
As treaties by the government were continually broken, considered nilled.
The Kansas-Nebraska Act signed by President Pierce in eighteen fifty-four,
Stated the colonists could decide if the immediate area would be slave or more.
Kansas was one of the main battlegrounds of the Civil War
With many free staters and slavers lying dead on the floor.
The “free staters” caused a ruckus, to try to get slavery abolished.
But it would be four more years before that idea got polished.
Wheat, potatoes, corn, soybean, zinc, coal and salt, assets of late.
President Dwight D. Eisenhower, made us proud of our state.
Women got the right to vote in nineteen twelve, check the archives.
Reluctantly, but we wanted to go back to sleeping with our wives.
It’s a state with the best barbeque, and Kansas City is a cultural delight.
Come on down to visit; we will welcome you easily and leave on a light.
Written: 9/05/2019
Contest: Your Best Rhyme Poem
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
Why I think it should place: I had to do a lot of research to pen this poem,
and I am extremely proud of it.
Casserole
The word strikes terror in my family
They know it will be all the leftovers of the week
Thrown into a bowl with a couple of raw eggs
Maybe doused with cheese sauce and cooked until
it is a lovely golden brown.
Casserole.
They begin making other arrangements.
“I am dining with friends.”
“I am meeting my friend Carol at Pizza Hut.”
“I have a business dinner tonight.”
“But you are only five,” I argue. “What business is it?
Casserole
This could include but is not limited to lima beans, carrots,
French fries, creamed corn, brown sugar, hamburger, peas,
spaghetti o’s, macaroni and cheese, and a bit of peanut butter sandwich.
I thought they were overreacting until I left huge dollops of one
that they would not even taste on paper plates for the raccoons
who tippy-toes around them and did not eat them.
Written 8-2-2019
Contest: Cornucopia Cooking Contest
Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cooke
Two summers ago
Armed only with a hoe
Went to the garden
Hoping the ground not harden
Twas a nice summer morn
Just for gathering corn
Got to the herb raised beds
Thought I'd some basil instead
Pulled out my knife
To cut some spice
Spying some movement
Fell quiet as a mouse
Snake, Snake
But no one to hear
My grandson inside
Turned a deaf ear
When first I spied him
Thought he's a rat snake
Then with closer look a copperhead did make
Sticking him in the center back with my six inch blade
Thought he would crawl away but he stayed
He coiled and rattled to let me know
He was not confined to just crawl low
He stayed upright and faced me head on
I told him he best be gone
He dropped back down and started to crawl away
I caught him behind the head with the six inch blade
He gave a flop and I heard something pop
Out of my garden he crawled
To find another spot
Stay gone don't come back
But now I pack a fourty-five to garden the back side
(This needs work. I wanted to write this because I never thought that I would find a
rattlesnake in my herb garden. He scared me to death when it was over and I really realized
that was what I faced. All I could think about during the confrontation was other family
members who might be out there and get bitten not suspecting that he was there.)
Form:
Having not done the things I wanted to do
and the things I've done not being what I wanted to do
I sit here looking at lichen on the north side of trees.
Black-capped chickadees
cheerful and truthful expression
grouped in platoons, sharing the point.
The tribes travel together
first finches, then chickadees
following the squirrels every morning.
What luxury, abundance! Handful after handful
of grass seed thrown, into wind.
The corn ripe and the rye with it.
The other main families: pines, roses, peas,
lilies, daisies, heath, birch and oak.
Maple, honeysuckle, pink, mustard, cypress, mint, olive, buckwheat,
primrose, willow, buttercup, saxifrage, snapdragon, cactus.
Truth may be ascertained by considering
the truth we feel, the truth we're told,
the truth we reason, and the truth we've seen.
It is so good to be a chickadee.
To tell the truth cheerfully and joyfully
in a way that makes others want to live.
Bill and Gil met a new gal, Diamond Lil
In a sassy saloon named Petey’s Swill
She was dressed with a dolly lady’s skill
Ruffled as a male peacock with a trill
Diamond Lil educated naïve Bill and innocent Gill
Of this debauchery world they had each known zill
Her step-by-step lessons were a gigantic thrill
She taught them with the precision of a sergeant’s drill
Many of her life lessons were taught on Farmer’s Hill
Like how to make corn whiskey in a bootlegger’s still
She also taught them some interesting things at the old saw mill
They knew now how to determine if a fabric was satin or twill
Bill and Gill never got over their education with Diamond Lil
One of their most deranged jealous neighbors was Jenny Jill
Jenny tried to kill Diamond Lil with a giant unknown pill
Thus, Lil ran off with a dastardly gentleman named Mr. Bill.
Taking with her two other men she had met at Petey’s Swill
Grandpa was a very jolly fellow, so talented and so wise.
He could plant a row of corn as straight as the arrow flies!
He was a capable carpenter, never once hitting his thumb!
He built barns "'squar' with the world", never out of plumb!
He was very adept with fiddle and bow to everyone's delight,
Except for Grandma who thought the consarned thing a fright!
He'd sit for hours 'neath the ancient sycamore sawing away.
She'd heard the same tunes for sixty years, much to her dismay!
He was a good old-time fiddler, of that there was no doubt!
Why, he could've topped Roy Acuff should they have had a bout!
His nimble fingers flew as he played "Turkey in the Straw!"
Neighbors tapped their toes and listened to him in awe!
Summer nights we'd sit on the porch 'neath a Hoosier moon,
Listening raptly as he played a mellow and haunting tune.
He'd play a rousing "Orange Blossom Special" for the house,
Then switch to a beautiful rendition of a waltz by Strauss!
Grandpa's old fiddle is stilled now, it hangs upon the wall.
I suspect though that he's fiddling for the angels, saints and all,
As good old foot-stomping music from his golden fiddle flows,
And a bemused Saint Peter surreptitiously taps his toes!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Capitalization and punctuation are automatic to me.
It is what I was taught years ago, and I cannot break the habit.
Haiku is difficult for others insist on no apostrophes or caps.
It is difficult to unlearn what has been instilled and boy was this instilled.
All of those quizzes and tests, which I thought were a waste of time.
Then I began reading other people’s writings, and I was stunned.
Two, to, and too are incorrectly used so many times; too many times.
I get a sense that apostrophes are thrown in willy-nilly for no good reason.
How many times have I seen it’s when they do not mean it is, rather ownership.
To not capitalize a proper noun infuriates my internal gauges.
I am incensed when punctuation is off kilter also.
Checking and rechecking my own work to an idiotic degree.
I am such a product of the sixties, growing up in the corn state.
The home of the ITBS.
A cocooned cacophony of crickets serenades overgrown fields,
drowning out the creaking of rusted cars long since abandoned.
Maroon and sable tents blot the dilapidated ground—
bloated and weathered,
strips of fabric flapping in the harsh elements.
Legends of wraiths wander,
replicating whispers of infected insanity.
Laughter lingers in suspect echoes,
Rippling from pasts reborn in presents: futures to be later replaced by the past.
The smell of burnt sugar crackles with the purr of buttered kerneled corn: invading the nostrils with senses whose stimuli feign belief.
A faint humming of Entry of the Gladiators creeps in loudening crescendos, adding to the cacophony deigning dormancy in the field
Fragmented timelines intersecting by the call of the Barker
Stained cotton candy melts, reconstitutes, melts once more
Saturating replicating stands with insidiously sticky omens
Ghastly sickeningly sweet mori mementos
Resurrecting the dead from preternatural slumber.
Within fractured milliseconds, the cycle of the tormented deceased rise
From the ashes of unburnt airwaves,
Rippling through screaming minutes yet frozen in the midst.
A varicosed bearded woman floats aloft grassy overgrowth
Reanimated tigers lurk and phantasmal elephants howl,
Rings round the air in gaseous hush, like cigars puffed by moustachioed men of game,
Insufflating smoke with striped suits in candied reds and white.
The air rises to the resurrected show,
Cries confused for laughter tickle cochlea of the living.
Not anything.
It’s not a sleeping face in me.
Just gradual nothingness.
As if I’m being stewed, and stirred for hours.
But that’s just-
The Not Sleep World.
Dreading being locked up.
Feeling fascinated in a Not Sleep way.
Like there’s a bowl of ice cream under my bed.
Being devoured by dust bunnies.
It’s a ‘haha, panicked, wait a minute, ok’ way.
Not anything good or cozy.
Eyes blinking like corn on the cob.
The Not Sleep World.
Makes it into morning.
Like breakfast, or being.
Crazy corn on the cob feeling.
Just unbrushed my teeth and scattered.
I have work in a wavering, squinting way.
In a slapping the wall way.
Not good and cozy.
I hear them clapping.
Because I slept an hour at some point.
Now I can entertain the waking world.
I saw the devil
The mirror dont lie
Yet men can't see through the reflection
Of their soul from the mirrors of life
Could it be they dont have the third eye
Or could it be that the devil blind the eyes of men
The world now is full of sorrows
Alot of grieves in places
Is like the world is in Shakes of terrorism
Fear on the heart of the people everywhere
Religions now a crime to many
While somany call on God
Yet they cant see through the mirrors of life
I saw the devil
I saw this men from the top ranks
They got alot power
Alot power but just for nothing
From the mirrors of life they are the living devils
They dont want Peace
either do they love
Their ego is all that matters
Even when it kills the innocents
That don't mean nothing to them
They got alot power but they are blind
I saw the devil
Through this wicked men
I saw the devil
Through the mirrors of life
I saw demons in them
It effect everyone
It corrupt the mind of the Good
It makes the humble go insane
The devil lives in this corn men
The devil speaks his lies through them
The devil lives among us through them
I saw the devil yet the devil still is not far from me
I saw the devil
Alot soul the devil have killed
Through this men on the hills of power
Alot the devil still is up to through this men
They are every where in the world now
In the shades of religion some hides
In the shades of politic some shows
All in disguise of good but evil
Our generation is at war
Just as we don't learn from history
We live through a world of lies
Where the good we know now is evil
I saw the devil
The devil is not only on the mad man
In the streets
The devil is not only black
The devil is not even only just white
But the devil is in every colours of evil
Wonder why the world is full of evil
Here you will see the devil
Is in the heart of the one who don't see
Who don't have the third eye
They just look but don't see humanity
On the mirror of life
Evil are not far any more
So through the reflection of men
From the mirrors of life
I saw the devil
Sent fro