Long Harvest time Poems
Long Harvest time Poems. Below are the most popular long Harvest time by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Harvest time poems by poem length and keyword.
One mystic blue night in June
I will steal the silvery full moon,
break it into sharp-edged shards,
and sow them in the backyard
in the shadow of dark clouds at noon.
The dark devils will enter with lust
my anguished heart beating fast,
hit by the moonless night hard,
and make my boiling ancient blood
turn to thick and brown corrosive rust.
The dark brown blood of mine
the night will drink like wine,
losing the shining full moon
it will make a black one on its own,
even more dark than the dungeon.
When the wolves will be tearing
the neck of the stillness freezing,
the chilled air from the sky will alight,
the ominous bark will shred the night,
telling me it’s time for moon plucking
from the shadow of the devils lurking.
At the end of the year on a frosty night
the time will come when in bitter spite
I will turn the harvested new moon
into deadly ball of the firing cannon,
and hit hard those who lure romance
that skillfully wraps with mute trance
the innocent hearts trapped in love.
With the sickle moon’s sharp curve
I will tear open the deceitful throats,
and slash the sweet lips that gloat,
and in an instant cleverly ensnare
naive soft minds, attracted unaware.
One night in the wasteland dark,
where the starved wolves will bark
at the new moon’s harvest time,
and when the stars will be gleaming rhyme
as pure crystals in moonless sky I'll see,
the lurking imbeciles, I will bury
in the shattered moon’s ruins palpable,
for they say I am desperately despicable.
August, 14, 2017.
Contest : Hello Darkness My Old Friend
Sponsor :Anthony Biaanco
Cinnabar sentinels stand swaying in the mist of morning
through whispered hush and gentle breeze, like jewels , the leaves adorning.
Cool the streams in cresting waves float laurel barques of prizm hues,
washed past bulrush and fading ferns, through the bows of bending yews.
The fields of amber swaying grain, like dancing partners, svelte and lithe
as harvest time leaves nature's tithe, when cut with sickle and scythe
Too soon the cold of winter comes as frazil chokes the meadow brook,
and crushed vermilion petals fall in seasons ever bending crook.
Yet, now the dancing rainbows glide from crown to bough to lowly earth
where Autumn's fashion runway show, awaits next season's rebirth.
10/04/2018
As autumn's equinox draws nigh -
a turning point, fulcrum of light
the long, warm days give way to night.
The summer fades, from hot and dry
to harvest time and cooler days,
chromatic leaves worthy of praise.
A friend is gone. Her soul on high
still speaks to us, "Inscribe with words
poems of flowers, sunsets, birds".
And though we bid a sad goodbye:
to summer - autumn's beauty comes;
to friends - their soul's heartbeat still drums.
These thoughts lead to a double sigh:
a sigh of gloom - her earth path ends;
a sigh of joy - that we were friends.
As autumn's equinox draws nigh -
the summer fades from hot and dry,
a friend is gone... her soul on high.
And though we bid a sad goodbye,
these thoughts lead to a double sigh.
[Constanza]
In memory of Connie Marcum-Wong
Written 18 Sept 2022
"There is nothing more heartfelt than the enriching sound of children’s laughter." Quote_by poet
Colorful world display of spring unfurls
Painted bright and vivid, fragrant buds twirls.
The sun lay its pale rays upon the fields;
Exhale a warm ambient breath it yields.
Harvest time and mom and dad out working
The fields abundant with food; life giving.
I watch my little sister while they're gone,
Constant care on her I do focus upon.
On the narrow wooden window sit, I sit,
My baby sister's big smile pleased with it.
With yesterday newspaper I cut out
A garland of girls, with glee, she does shout.
Growing up in the colorful land
of rich fruits ripened by sunshine,
I waited for the harvest time...
imagining how sweet they tasted.
I carried a basket made of strong wick,
it could hold forty oranges or more,
farmers left them on trees for anyone
who loved to pick them after work.
The orange grove was on the outskirts
of the town with three church towers
and lovely hills bubbling with brooks;
there I sat and ate my tasty oranges.
Around six o' clock, the carroty sun
dropped below the darkening horizon
giving a goodbye kiss to the oranges
not happy to be hidden in darkness.
Until the last day of Fall I picked oranges,
I gave some away to neighbors who smiled;
grandma loved them as in her youth days...
she remembered the orange grove and cried.
Written on 24th September, 2025.
Placed first in the poetry contest
"December Days" by Karen Jones.
Placed eighth in the 2025 Poetry Marathon
Mile 19 by Mark Toney.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Christmas is coming again
I'm already dreaming of my village,
Once a year for a month
Yet the feelings last decades long
that adulthood struggles to erase.
The excitement of swimming in a pond,
With our nakedness brushed by fishes
we dare not kill.
And our mouths gulping water with roots of water lilies
that taste like bitter leaf.
Yet we never fall sick.
Then we go back home with pots of water
with our laughter echoing our goodbyes,
through the dark night that cut short our fun.
Leaving what was robbed from us to linger as dreams.
Surely it's not the pond that brings the fun,
but the innocence of our childhood that the water conveys.
We talk the language of conviviality
that our swimming pool at home never teaches.
Not that the village pond can teach—
but it brings together true friends,
sharing the same colours, language, and culture.
In its depth we learn the language
our parents once spoke.
As they built the camaraderie
they wove into our laughter.
And the farms too.
Otherwise we would have believed that:
yams and cassavas grow on tall trees
like mangoes and oranges.
But the farms teach us at harvest time
that goodness is nurtured in the ground
before the fruits of its happiness
shine for our eyes to appreciate.
And the grandmas especially,
they make us believe we are small gods:
who have to be placated with whatever they desire,
so we feign illness to get more of the care.
Trust our grandmas
they never got bothered
by our indulgence.
They loved us deeply, until their final breath.
golden light recedes
a gentle sigh the breeze makes~
nature`s cycle spins
the day`s orb, once fierce
now tells a quieter tale~
mountains a witness
tall trees toss a moan
summer reign reaches its end~
time begins to bend
before amber blush
leaves sing with a buzzing sound~
the sky lends its ears
sunbeams softly fade
cicadas cease their loud tunes~
stillness in the night
birds prepare for flight
warmer climes waiting for them~
summer`s sweet farewell
summer softly close
a string of moments held dear~
memories remain
a final warm breeze
carries scents of sun baked earth~
harvest time at hand
air, once thick with scent
carries cool whispers to space~
a prelude to fall.
Yesterday I remembered how we watched
the crimson sky and beautiful sunsets.
I often get misty eyes thinking of you and
how your favourite team was the jets.
My darling we had a passionate love and
we fell in love during harvest time.
How could I have ever forgotten how you
stole my heart, is that a crime?
But now as I recall memories of the past
I hurt right down to the core.
Because I can never walk along the beach
shore with you anymore.
The tempest wind blew, a big dark shadow
came and our boat shook, I alone survived
on that horrific day.
Sometimes when I am alone it's like i'm stuck
in a movie that never ends but continues to
play.
You left here way too soon, the only thing that
gets me through is the Lord's amazing grace.
Sweetheart you are forever engraved in my heart
and I can't wait to be reunited with your handsome
face.
10 Words Contest
Sponsor: Joseph May
*Fictional Write For The Contest
4-8-18
1.Crimson
2.Forgotten
3 Grace
4.Harvest
5.Love
6.Misty
7.Shadow,
8.Shore,
9.Tempest
10.Yesterday.
Saints & Sinners in the Church / God's Patience with Sinners / Final Judgment
MT 13:24-30, 36-43
He proposed another parable to them
"The kingdom of heaven
May be likened to a man
Who sowed good seed in his field
While everyone was asleep
His enemy came
Sowed weeds all through the wheat
Then went off
When the crop grew
Bore fruit
The weeds appeared
As well
The laves of the householder came to him
And said
'Master, did you not sow good seed in your field?
Where have the weeds come from?'
He answered, 'An enemy has done this.' His slaves said to him,
'Do you want us to go and pull them up?'
He replied, 'No, if you pull up the weeds you might uproot the wheat along with them.
Let them grow together until harvest;
Then at harvest time I will say to the harvesters
"First collect the weeds
Tie them in bundles for burning;
but gather the wheat into my barn."
"He who sows good seed
The Son of Man
The field is the world
The good seed the children of the kingdom
The weeds
Are the children of the evil one
The enemy who sows them
The devil
The harvest is the end of the age
The harvesters are angels
Just as weeds are collected and burned (up) with fire
So will it be at the end of the age
The Son of Man will send his angels
They will collect out of his kingdom
All who cause others to sin
All evildoers
They will throw them into the fiery furnace
Where there will be wailing and grinding of teeth
Then the righteous will shine like the sun
In the kingdom of their Father.
Whoever has ears ought to hear." (Taken from MT 13:24-30, 37-43)
J.
Form:
The October wind is chilly, cold.
It heralds the onset of Winter.
Harvest is ending we're putting up stores,
Getting ready for Winter to enter.
There's pies, cakes and breads and canned goods galore,
Family and friends come over.
It's time now to rest and visit awhile.
Too soon the festivities are over.
All Summer long we worked and we toiled,
Preparing for Harvest Time.
Then we worked harder than ever before,
To bring in the harvest sublime.
When Harvest is over we celebrate.
We visit, we party, we share.
We give thanks for the blessings that we have received;
For God's goodness and bountiful fare.