Long Crop Poems
Long Crop Poems. Below are the most popular long Crop by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Crop poems by poem length and keyword.
A RUTHERFORD PHRASIS 4
Grace withers without adversity,faith
is better of the free air and winter storms
we face.We to heaven up with broken brow
and crooked leg yoked together with
His free grace.What folly ‘tis to sit down
and weep upon the decree of God,better
make windows in our prison and look out
And upwards to our God.He hath a gate
Of His own,beyond the thoughts of men,
that no foot has skill to follow Him..now
or in some future then.
An phrasis verse of Samuel Rutherford
using phrases selected from his letters.
No 157;178;181;196
A RUTHERFORD PHRASIS 5
Be not like gold in chink and colour,
watered brass and metal based.Let Him
have the flower of your heart.Contend
with Christ,fear not,let your prison a
palace become.Mis-spend not this short
sand-glass;if Christ hideth Himself,wait
on,trust in the dark.Sorrow for His absence
sweet,walk in the footprints of His feet.The
footsteps of the Forerunner are clear,the
tide may seem far out,His Comfort lies
but near.He triumphs in suffering,weeps
and reigns.He is no idle Husbandman He
purposeth a crop, and on you, in due time,
will His blessings drop.
An phrasis verse of Samuel Rutherford
using phrases selected from his letters.
No 76;100;147;182;210;280;324
Listen to me read these phrasis on youtube under the name ichthyschiro
Test Pattern
Such memories
Lost long ago
In an innocent time
Before computers
Before cell phone
And video games
Kids stayed awake
Hours after going to bed
Hiding under our blankets
Waiting for our parents to go to bed
When we snuck own stairs
Turned on our old B&W TV
Watching until Jack Paar finished
Until the Star-Spangled Banner played
Long before the daily crop reports
The station shut down until morning
Then we were able to see it
Our friend, the test pattern
Circles and targets
Different shades from black to white
And that Indian chief
Seeing him told us it was time to get to bed
To sleep until morning
So we could watch Captain Kangaroo
And be kids
I enter your poem with silent steps
and in so doing have some regrets.
You boast about your autumn,
of how the leaves dance like a flame and
like golden butterflies fall to the ground.
You hail your merry harvest of pumpkin, nut and berry,
how plentiful and ripe this year’s crop is.
But in my world malevolence pierced a finger
through the fibre of heaven and pointed it at us.
You cannot alter a capricious sun or tame storms and floods.
The trickery of this world may confuse you at times
as to why autumn has forgotten us and never plans a visit.
Instead, the season gifted us an empty hand with malice.
Our scattered seeds only succeed in growing weeds,
never a harvest of wheat to make a loaf of bread.
Don’t be fooled by their bloated tums
because they’re full of hunger, not with food.
When there’s no food how can I share,
how can I give when there’s nothing there?
As long as life cares to stay with us we will forbear
and apportion fairly whatever measly aid we get.
If it be so, then so be it, today, tomorrow and forever.
The moon shines on us too, dark lives do matter,
so please save your metaphors and flippant Je t’adores,
and your similes when my children starve in front of me.
Call it autumn or what you please,
as leaves die in yours, so my children die in mine
In such a world what need for poetry?
I descried a ghostlike glimpse,
of steel breath on blunt mirror,
as my taut brain mulled scars,
from fractal bleak life motif,
zooming over skewed glass,
reflections glum and forlorn,
black ink eye ring capture,
shadow, shade, or shield,
brittle convex, abject cog,
whoa, my frail image riven
Buoyant pneuma projects,
stuck on screen mimicry,
impact ray remedial dent,
on jumpy jitter edge twin,
shaft between rotated a plus,
my geometric bent wavelength,
mere focal countenance,
epoch elapsed pier gaper,
morphing current field of view,
behind hollow sphere’s mask
Silver, aluminium, gold metal,
counterpart to my snapback,
curved aspect to visual plane,
optical illusion now infinite,
refurbish bone-weary scraps,
as sinistral dextral frontispiece,
august neck crane of aperture,
green speck tunnel sighting,
a trick of the light axial ploy,
prism dispersing faux rainbow
Jagged shard bias plummet,
obsidian or shinning copper,
glint and glare bounce factor,
mirror varnish vandalised,
leafy quatrefoil resemblance,
harsh hallucinating peep,
stiff lens on prior passage,
when aghast, shrill alarm,
might re-echo or resonate,
with latent shock imprint
Acoustic wobbled surface,
noise returns sunny splatter,
merriment exuberant audible,
etched in sonic brush strokes,
interstitial dual facade,
splits a gleam diffuse,
watch my smirk refract,
is that mirror cracked?
off its alloy succour,
stone hearted crop
Rent beads amass,
one shrunken clone,
me in smithereens,
asides a plethora,
fraught mien on exhibit
Agricultural words
I was writing words strung together
trying to stack them together and make a little story
not a poem that I don´t care to write
when the electricity took a break.
Not that I minded living inland this happens.
I had a killer ending and wouldn´t let the flame of inspiration die out.
Five hours later, the light came on; I sat too long
in the darkness, the killer ending forgotten.
As I said, I´m not a poet, a worker in the field of words
sowing and weeding, hoping for a good crop.
A farm-hand of words, I do my job and even unpaid
but proud of my cabbage and potatoes.
No, I have no orchids and roses.
Roll a cigarette, lit it and dreamily think of tomorrow
sitting on a stone fence built by heroes.
The sun was sporting a radiant yellow,
with headlong pause, upon entering her space.
Tanned and serene, cheered by warm fellow,
Larissa’s slightly demure, emanating grace,
framed in the joyful shine of bittersweet tangelo.
Sungaze tints her bucolic gown, each thread,
a xanthous treat in the field of convergent reap.
The stipple wheat, its ocean of resonant red,
veils her pretty feet, as the sun gently falls asleep.
Autumn stumbles out, as Summer slips into bed.
Larissa Laluna with short crop of hair, breathes
in cooling air, the moon playfully turns her white.
The baby’s breath and roses, her sallow wreaths.
A figurine of snow, softly pirouetting at twilight.
Hope’s found in indulgent seasons she unsheathes.
Tapping on her bare shoulder, a yellow rush,
while pastel tulips color the lady’s countenance.
The bounty of seasons, Larissa’s paragon-blush.
The harvest moon, the gypsy’s discountenance
of rivers of green, blue sky, and a sunny paintbrush.
10/4/2021
Emile Pinet’s Quintain (Sicilian) Poetry Contest
HMS
Gonna wake up
At the brink of dawn
With the d a r n little red rooster
Cock-a-doodle doodling alarm
Saddle
My horse and ride out
Cross the river to the green field about
Make sure those sneaky coyotes
Haven't had lambchop for dinner.
Then
Gonna water all of my crop
Gonna spread out
All the bales of hay
Where the goats and the horses
And the cattle stay
After
Dinner with a little moonshine
The best d a m nnnn... moonshine
That I ever made
With my woman Suzanne
6/7/2020
My first Cowboy Form poem
Try A New Style - Something You Have Never Or Hardly Ever Tried Poetry
Sponsored by: Caren Krutsinger
One day herding my animals
The other, tending our crop
Strangers out of the distance
To them, we knew not
The colour of our skin
Is with these distant men
On arrival at my village
We are herded into a pen
Our women and children screaming
Warriors manacled and chained
Treated like this in our homeland
Degraded mistreated, unexplained
The next day we witness our nightmare
Our village ransacked and burned
Six hundred marched to the coastline
Our existence overturned
The coast we eventually reach
A ship, The Brooke's sits offshore
Ferried out on their longboats
For our future, remains unsure
Many weeks at sea
Grown men cower in corners
In the bowels of this infested ship
Families have become mourners
Tilbury Docks we berth
As i look around and see
From over 600 villagers
Around 300 left and me
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/slavery.php
A hippo never went to school
which seems quite the catawampus
tho' he's no fool it's not cool
as there's no hippo campus
and wild is the hippo
while the horse may be tamed
yet both are herbivores
with large teeth to graze or crop
and altho' the hippo has an equine nickname
that's where the similarity stops
as the hippo is the horse of the river
(a horse of a different colour?)
causing him to be conflicted and confused
thus these words of wisdom I deliver
they'll walk trot or run on the sand
but the horse is not the hippo of dry land
so when he did wonder why
to clarify then classify
after several lobotomi
he was heard to query
"What kind of hippopotami?"
The autumn winds are rattlin' the leaves of corn stalks in the fields.
The corn has been harvested and the farmers are calculatin' their yields.
Golden, yellow and crimson leaves are strewn along the country lane.
Autumn! What a glorious season! 'Tis apple pickin' time again!
Mornin' frosts spread a coat of icin' atop every corpulent punkin'.
Jolly kiddies gather at parties for an old-fashioned apple-dunkin'!
Skeins of geese are wingin' south with their cousins the Whoopin' Crane.
Autumn! What a resplendent season! 'Tis apple pickin' time again!
The branches of apple trees bend low bearing luscious apples galore,
Golden Delicious, Granny Smith, Rome Beauty and so many more,
Waitin' to be plucked from California's shore to the rocky coast of Maine!
Autumn! What magnificent splendor! 'Tis apple pickin' time again!
Ah! To lounge by the fire and enjoy popcorn and cider when the snow flies,
And at Thanksgiving to gather with family to savor Grandma's apple pies!
Jars of apple sauce and apple butter line larder shelves, the winter to sustain!
Autumn! The most delightful season of all! 'Tis apple pickin' time again!
Alas, I won't be pickin' apples from my one and only apple tree this fall!
Sneaky worms, hordes of squirrels and birds have eaten them one and all!
The way those varmints robbed me of my apple crop is a downright crime!
But despite it all, I still cherish autumn 'cause its apple pickin' time!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
(Not for the contest)