Long Fertilise Poems
Long Fertilise Poems. Below are the most popular long Fertilise by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Fertilise poems by poem length and keyword.
Heart is a neglected garden,
diseased by an epidemic of weeds.
Breathless, pining for your breaths -
breathe passion into me
so bees, birds and butterflies return.
Cultivate soul with tender hands,
propagate seeds sensually.
Fertilise fragility with soft kisses,
form a vision of Eden
so bees, birds and butterflies return.
Upon dawn's delight of delicate germination,
intimately indulge deep into sensitive roots.
In storms shelter in an evergreen embrace.
In drought replenish like sacred drops of mercy
so bees, birds and butterflies return.
In what has become a monochrome existence,
paint a masterpiece of magnolia meadows,
flowing with amber, clementine, crimson and lilac petals.
For this body is yours, do not let it linger in decay
so bees, birds and butterflies return.
Sunday simple musing
Silent One
5 April 2020
Take away the coil
Preparing my soil
Ready to get dirty & toil
Time to take heed
Actions not read
We need to feed the seed
Plant & fertilise
Surprise for the rise
Male or other we summarise
Digs & water showers
With TLC bet it towers
Under God the hope it flowers
The bigger it spans
Female are the plans
Growth fast with 9+ poniter fans
To turn them not lost
From heat to quick frost
Budding season can come at a cost
Shoots from every node
All plants follows code
Gardening boosts the buds to explode
Meticulous pick & prune
Ripening real soon
Final tip. Final pick. Full moon
Manicure to cure
Holds weight, I'm sure
Protection & time must endure
No jokes, my folks
A deep scent soaks
Eager to see how it smokes
Some letters seem superfluous, you’ll cede:
but with no tulips, spring would not be spring.
We’re used to think in terms of things we need.
Desiring counts for more; it bids us sing.
I find my mind more keenly focuses
on simple schemes: the white-on-green of flocks,
or under trees, those shy, but lovely, crocuses
whose joy it is to greet the equinox.
Who’d miss a ‘b’? But bees provide our fruit.
They fertilise our shrubs, to help us thrive.
‘C’ is not useful. Yet no surly brute
would brook the brine. We need both tide and hive.
Some things, we find, we smoothly do without,
but spring’s the thing we’d never wish to flout.
This was the way it was
In my childhood days
With ancient and tried
Crop farming ways.
Up to the ankles in slurry,
Muck fork in hand,
Ready to spread manure
To fertilise the land.
No tractor and spreader
Just an old ‘oss and cart
Out in the early morning
For a good start.
Fold yard’s been cleared and
Cart filled from manure heap,
Fertiliser is expensive
‘Oss and cow muck is cheap.
It doesn’t take that long
To get used to the smell
But Ammonia secretions
Make the eyes run like hell.
Up and down the furrows,
At the end of the day you find
You’ve spent a few hours just
Watching an old ‘oss’s behind.
A nice steady pace as the ‘oss
Plodded steadily on and on
Until another field’s finished,
Another long day’s gone.
Sometimes as just a kid
I was so tired and dead beat
Took all me time to stay awake
Long enough for me to eat.
It’s all mechanical these days
With chemical fertiliser spread
Soil crumbly and friable
Insects and worms mostly dead.
So, the world has reached crisis
Caused by the modern ways
Organic farming’s coming back
With more natural fertilisation ways.
Tractors and muck spreaders
Nowadays play their part
No more standing being pulled
Behind an old ‘oss and cart.
My world’s changed for better
But I really regret the loss
That these days you seldom
Catch sight of an old shire ‘oss.
The way it was for my Dad and all those other
Farm Labourers before WW2 nchanged things.
Before we go to bed we vegetate
No need for teacher but a compost heap.
And as we vegetate, we drift to sleep
While in our dreams our little mind debates
But mostly we’re unknowing in this dark
Where God himself may manifest at will.
His dazzling darkness makes our souls be still
And wait for strikes by living ,glowing spark.
But in the morning ,we come back to strife
Take up our work and suffer every stroke.
From sapling to the oldest,strongest oak
Each must choose again its proper life
Every look we cast at others strikes
Reflects and shows us what we have become
And when there is no movement, we are done
Our mind and heart have chosen what they like.
So in our end we vegetate again
And no more rise to labour in the day
We fertilise the fields passed on our way
We show the end of woman and of man.
A daily round becomes our life and death.
We live because we’re breathed by sacredness
I remember when my Aunt
wanted a divorce,
said, "at last my time is mine
I shall live on the Golf Course".
My Uncle never played
he gave the game a snub,
thought it pretty pointless
to hit a ball with club.
He only wanted offspring,
to fertilise her eggs,
but she was bloody adament
he would never part her legs!
She never wanted family,
He wanted Son and heir.
So they found that life
became too much to bear.
So it was they split,
my Uncle he played Bowls,
Auntie she liked golf
she loved those eighteen holes.
One day while she was playing.
A great Storm began to brew.
Thunderclaps were shouting
with Lightning Bolts that flew!
She had just teed off,
then was walking past a dyke
when Thunder blew a fuse
then lightning it did strike...
( When my Uncle heard
my Auntie had been zapped,
the only thing he said was...)
"Well aint that very apt!!! "
Oh my giddy Aunt!!!
It was the ultimate birth control!
Guess where she was hit?
Between the first and second hole!
Before we go to bed we vegetate
No need for teacher but a compost heap.
And as we vegetate, we drift to sleep
While in our dreams our little mind debates
But mostly we’re unknowing in this dark
Where God himself may manifest at will.
His dazzling darkness makes our souls be still
And wait for strikes by living ,glowing spark.
But in the morning ,we come back to strife
Take up our work and suffer every stroke.
From sapling to the oldest,strongest oak
Each must choose again its proper life
Every look we cast at others strikes
Reflects and shows us what we have become
And when there is no movement, we are done
Our mind and heart have chosen what they like.
So in our end we vegetate again
And no more rise to labour in the day
We fertilise the fields passed on our way
We show the end of woman and of man.
A daily round becomes our life and death.
We live because we’re breathed by sacredness.
As I sit and watch, I notice
that colour is creeping back.
Buds are ready to burst into life
promising a good crop of fruits.
Birds flitter around collecting
twigs and other nesting materials.
Soon they will lay their eggs and
then sit on them until they hatch.
By then the garden will be teaming
with all sorts of insects and larvae.
Flowers will be in full bloom casting
colour most pleasing to the eyes.
What a wonderful time of year it is,
everywhere I look I see new life.
Butterflies starting to appear and
coat the garden in yet more colour.
While the bees start to fill it and
I can enjoy their busy buzzing as
they collect nectar from flowers
and fertilise each as they feed.
Full cycle as Spring blooms and
the lands warm up heralding the
approach of summer with warm
balmy days and scent filled nights.
His new wife proclaimed, ‘Oh my God’
I think I’ve just wed a tripod
I now understand
Your steps in the sand
You left a third trail where you trod
Those newlyweds lay hand in hand
Their union sealed on the sand
The sand made her sore
But she wanted more
And, oh boy, did he make a stand
Abstaining so long was a drag
She can’t think why he didn’t brag
Their first time: alfresco
By moonlight they let go
She thought it a pole for a flag
She cried and she started to beg
Please fertilise my willing egg
As she grabbed his member
He begged please remember
Go gentle with my middle leg