Long Fertilizers Poems
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Oh you stalk of corn,
How withered you look now,
Stripped of honour and full of scorn
Oh you stalk!, now you bow,
you have remained standing only
as a provender for stalls and fodder
Once in full bloom, you were the
cynosure of the farmer
Paying homage to you regularly
giving you largesse
of herbicides' and fertilizers'
The delight of greenery, the envy of
weeds, the lusting of goats and sheep.
The stalk of corn of yore days.
Your peak outlast, your decline at last
Your grains harvested, gladdens the heart
of many wearied;
In dough's of pies, in puddings and porridge's.
The pangs of hunger you salvaged for man
and for beasts
Your seeds await your demise oh stalk
of corn,
To take your place in the vicious cycle
of life by the farmer
Oh corn stalk, you are bowed and
withered waiting for the set time.
Corn stalk, I salute you, take a bow
for now.
You have fulfilled purpose and destiny.
(written on 20/09/2016)
Sometimes, I can hear that happy, bubbly brook
bouncing over stones and under the wheel…that giant wheel.
It would drone along groaning a wooden song;
each night luring the brassy sun ever toward a distant skyline
by soft chattering of cog on cog and mesmerizing clockwork.
Other times I’m haunted by the gritty rasp of stone on stone
and swirling tendrils of fine dust doing a serpentine dance
through heavy air, reaching like so many ghoulish fingers
grasping desperately before dissolving;
coating my memories and that dusty wood-planked floor.
Yesterday I yearned for simpler times when
I would lazily strum my second-hand guitar
from a mossy log in the shade of our old gristmill.
Plucking those plaintive songs of young heartache
or gleefully accompanying cardinals in a nearby thicket.
But today all that remains is corporate.
Steel rollers chain driven by diesel motors.
A dried up creek bed cutting an over-burdened field
of chemical pesticides and fertilizers to grow
everything but food for my soul.
6/3/2018
Written for The Gristmill Poetry Contest
Hosted by Craig Cornish
Come on my friend
to hear the music of rain
To hear the music of rain and to enjoy
Protect the green of this earth
To protect green and fertility of this earth
Plant trees and worship trees as more than your God
To give shelter to the next generation
Throw all your hacks and saws in the sea
Throw all your chemical manures and fertilizers in a deep pit
Use all green manures and natural nutrients
To safeguard the water and air
from all poisonous pollutions
Globe is His reward to all inmates
He gave this as a paradise
We should not spoil for our selfish needs
It has to be left as pure and good
to our forth coming generations
We are from her womb
that should not be made to suffer
We had taken our food from Her breast
that should not be stabbed to our lusty needs
Come on my friend
to enjoy this earth and it’s wonders
She is ready to serve you for a long
save Her and love her as your dear mother
Spread this Love as a mission all over this globe
Hold all your hands together to weave a new ozone layer
Gift that layer to your dear mother!
The Lord is my master;
I shall not want.
He makes me plough a small
farmland;
He leads me beside as I sow to reap.
He restores my strength;
He leads me in the paths of
honesty
For His name’s sake.
Yea, though I walk through
the valley of manipulation*,
I will fear no poverty;
For You are with me;
Your Discipline and Your Sacrifice, they comfort me.
You give me voice in the
presence of my enemies;
You bless me with resilience;
My gratitude remains ever.
Surely humbleness and content shall follow
me
All the breaths of my life;
And I will dwell in the house of the
Lord
Forever.
* In farming we do manipulate by using fertilizers, insecticides, genetic modification, hoarding for better price & search ways to avoid heavy loss in investment.
SPRING GARDEN PREPARATION (20150213)
After the winter season
But before the rains begin
Catalogues of heirloom seeds
Delivered just in time
Earmarked and prioritized
Farmer’s Almanac consulted
Given planting periods
Horoscopes included (but useless!)
Individual seed varieties ordered
Junk mail shredded and added to compost
K (potassium) added as potash
Lumber purchased for trellises
Mulching around transplanted seedlings
Non-Genetically Modified Organisms only
Organic fertilizers only, too
Planting by phases of the moon
Quick-fix pesticides are anathema
(Round-Up kills everything--US, not just weeds)
Seed boxes keeping seedlings warm
Testing the soil for minerals and organics
Unleashing ladybugs and pollinators
Vertical gardening to conserve space
Watering just enough, but not too much
Xenocide, killing unwanted weed species
Youngsters helping (or hindering)
Zoning plants to vary root depths
Delicious green and red apples,
Grow in the farm by hard working people.
Carefully transported to the fruit stores,
Displayed for the shoppers to adore.
Then they were in my possession,
Planned to give them to a dear friend,
Who used to love and enjoy them,
But all of a sudden, the fruits and me,
We, to the recipient, became aliens and enemies,
And hence we both were rejected as his favorites,
Somehow just because we related to the dirty system,
by the definition from this person.
I would rather let the fruits rot and become fertilizers,
Than let him be the fruits' consumer.
Who knew how to use negative and aggressive language,
Unkind and hurtful words towards others.
He must have sold or lost his soul to the evils,
In the Lunar Calendar month of the ghosts and devils.
A spirit month was the traditional name by Asian.
It lasted 28 days, but ended my friendship forever,
After knowing him for six months, six days and six hours.
I thought he could be my friend forever.
By the Way was his private surname,
66 was his nickname and
6 was his favorite number game.
I must CONFESS that I never saw our roses as family members. But today,
I DIGRESS and cannot deny that those roses at our home were as much a family member as any pet had ever BEEN or any other flower we had ever SEEN. We loved THEM, fed, watered, and treated her and HIM extra special
with fertilizers to help them grow and retain their innate beauty. When the sun beat down upon THEIR blossoms, and we were forced to RATION their water, we FAVOURED them with tender CARE and apologized for our ACTION. They forgave us, understanding that our love never WAVERED. We had so many roses, we simply named them all, ROSE.
082322PSCtest, Eight Lines of Rhyme-Your Favorite Flower. Tania Kitchin
Rhymes in caps
Eight Lines Of Rhyme - Your Favorite Flower Poetry Contest
Enter Contest
Rhyme poetry form only.
Deadline: Friday, September 23, 2022
2 poems of the maximum 35 allowed have been entered.
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin
God’s is the realm beyond man’s understanding.
Underway is rapid and rabid deforestation of God’s domain.
As science expands, so does the chasm
between God and men.
Men think.
Thinking gives men science.
Men love science.
Men love themselves.
So they push God back.
They love God less.
They need God less.
They think.
By countless prayers
God would provide bountiful harvests
or terrible famines.
Science provides pesticides, fertilizers
and genetically amplified crops.
So the chasm expands.
By unquestioning trust
God would heal the sick and lame
or forgive the sinner.
Science provides vaccines and medicines,
it explains that genetics determine behavior - there is no sin.
So the chasm expands.
By candlelight,
monks and scholars would study scripture and
draw nearer to God.
Science provides electricity and the internet
where religion is a mocked antiquity.
So the chasm expands.
The width of the chasm is the reach of the Hubble
--and still--
God dwells beyond the realm of man’s understanding
across the chasm of man’s pride,
in the realm of faith.
Waiting eagerly and sorrowful in the silence
for a prayer,
for some trust,
for some lost soul
to find Him.
For when science fails a man,
he looks across the chasm for God
and a perfect love bridges the gap,
provides bounty,
heals wounds,
forgives sins, and
grants light still.
Despite what
men think.
06/12/15
*this was more like a stream of consciousness/free-write than a poem.
Stretched along the silent winter garden
thrives a cold, dark dirt blanketed in olive decaying leaves.
Beneath the food of natural fertilizers, life emerges from its long hushed sleep
in sprouts of pale yellowed seafoam tender tiny greenery
with shoots of seaweed blue tinged daffodills
that push aside the hued lime grass carpeting.
The faded colors lost in the long white winter, rises,
in emerald peekings of a snowdrop wrapped in hazel eyed hues,
lush colors bleed into the awaiting shamrock meadow below,
escaping the melting and discolored snow.
Life springs forward to welcome the new season.
along the roof moss grows freely along the edge in pickled shades
thriving and living as a neon florescence in the sun
and the world is once again,
reborn to pistachio and clover imagery
lying where the green grass grows again.
When did grass become a religion?
The perfect green, weed-free lawn
The goal of every homeowner?
Whole companies now exist solely
To maintain this suburban vision
With “lawn control” fertilizers and
A multitude of weed killer sprays,
In the process destroying habitat
And poisoning butterflies and the bees
We need for pollination of fruits,
Vegetables and a host of flowering plants.
Constant watering depletes reserves
And wastes our precious resource.
Hail to those who have dandelions
And chickweed growing in their lawn
Or those who plant native grasses
And hardy local plants and flowers.
Hurrah for those who opt for vegetable
Gardens in the place of lawns and who
Plant shrubs and flowers that attract
and nurture the elements of nature.