Long Harvesters Poems
Long Harvesters Poems. Below are the most popular long Harvesters by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Harvesters poems by poem length and keyword.
When I was a lad in the 50s, there lived a man named Mr. Mac. He resided in a farming community in Northern Mississippi. Two of his sons are the source of a story living in my heart. It's a story of two brothers who may never grace the pages of a book. However, their memory is in my heart, and lest they are forgotten, I must tell you of them.
They would best be remembered for their ability to drive tractors and handle farm machinery. As in history, so presently, the grand old market economy remains in motion. With few exceptions, whatever the market will bear is what will be paid. Also, back then, labor laws never applied to the people I knew. Billy and Bubba were very productive and knowledgable in their field of endeavor, but simply farmworkers.
But they were more than simply field hands and tractor drivers; more than merely brothers who worked hard and drank liquor. I'm certain some remember the truth of their lifestyles. But there was so much more to Billy and Bubba than cultivating fields and drinking liquor for cheap thrills; more than cotton planters in spring and harvesters in the fall. If one simply saw them sitting on combines or drinking wine and whiskey to wash away their pains, then they never really saw them giving themselves so graciously to others.
The demons attempted to destroy, wreck, and ruin their lives, but they were blessed with a praying mother whose prayers never fell on deaf ears. In their valleys of drunkenness, when overwhelmed by their enemy, their troubled souls found no other source to cast away their pain and ease their sorrows. Even so, the light of goodness managed to shine through. The devil's darkness never cast a shadow over their mother's prayers.
Somewhere between their home and the cotton fields; between dirt roads and cornfields; between tractors and liquor stores; between birth and burial; Billy and Bubba were gentlemen with caring hearts and kind spirits. They were men who smiled without force and greeted with respect. Tall and handsome men, mild, gentle, and harmless. If or when the history books of the 'B' brothers are opened, let it be said that there were two good brothers named Billy and Bubba.11012007PoSpCtest, Strand Select L, Brian Strand. 3P
Posted072817
On a Sussex farm works a golden haired girl
Surrounded by guys as she makes their hearts twirl
But her love and soul are miles away
In a Highlanders heart, she hopes to meet one day.
Its nearly a year since they were first in touch
As she's grown to adore him oh so much
Her delight will be, is too invite him down
And show him round her lovely town.
Her joy and smiles, as she holds his hand
Her heart pounding as she feels a million grand
Stopping for cuddles as they share a kiss
With her Highlander she's in sheer bliss.
The countryside where this English Rose stays
Flowering crops grow and animals graze
Noisy tractors Harvesters reap
Under a blistering sun, the baaing of sheep.
In her yellow dress, flowing golden hair
She takes his hand, as they climb the stair
Above up here is where we keep the hay
Again she takes his hand and down they lay.
Facing each other they start to kiss
This English rose in her mind she wish
To share her body with her Highlander
To adjoin their bodies as their loving stirs.
As they undress each other on this summers day
Bare skin warms the golden hay
Passions flow as their hands explore
Loving scent from their loving pores
Joys and sighs, they feel their bodies mix
Emotions and feelings in adrenalin fix.
Warmed and content,consumed in each others arms
Two heavenly bodies sharing each others charms
Kissing and cuddling on the flattened hay
As they stand up and look where they just once lay.
Dishevelled clothes, hair astray
This loving couples summers play
Standing embrace their bodies quiver
Holding hands they head to the river.
At the river bank they undress each other
Under a shaded green leafy cover
Her naked body and long golden hair
Makes him proud to be standing there.
As they enter the river
They caress and wash each other
Under this shaded leafed cover
They kiss and embrace to share their love
Under the leafy tree, chirping birds all above.
Heading home hand in hand
This loving couple feeling two million grand
They head to bed, spooned and cosy
This Highlander and his English Rosie.
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/love.php
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“we woke up early one morn, ego shorn
it felt as though we were in form
nodes within stirred, boundaries blurred
our head and heart, with love, concurred”
Do I anticipate, be I forethought,
plan, cautious, store-bought, or am I free thought,
or should I turn and be an afterthought?
Flipflop, reverse or have a second thought.
Mayhaps I be the one in the mirror,
behind the glass or in front, be clearer.
Tell me true, tell me blue, or who's nearer.
Where does consciousness stand; bring your shearer.
Former victims serving others in need.
Lost times we wonder who does a good deed,
deep in prayer, our sins washed, we succeed.
Reclaim, recover, get back, now we're freed.
When we crossed the lines, didn't think it would count,
after all, 'tis a concocted account.
No rhyme or reason, or scheme to surmount.
Pique cross fallacy or clarity fount.
Reincarnation, its majority
tether nature's beast and humanity.
Genesis claims Eden and Ark, singly.
Man and beast aren't one, Christianity.
Pews be filled, constant prayers forgiving.
Pews be emptied, constant those be sinning.
Our measured worth is primed for exampling.
Pews new souls earn Heaven's Gate opening.
Our eyes were opened, filled with empathy.
And see what's meant to be, and not to be.
We're led astray, but here we stay, Glory!
We had learned all about Jesus's story.
They'll be messengers, one true, and one naught.
They'll be harvesters, most rot, others fought.
They'll be winged handlers, who'll descend when caught.
They'll be winged handlers, who'll ascend those brought.
Oh, hail the champions of the couch potato throne,
Whose true inspiration is laziness alone!
From the depths of sloth, great inventions arise,
A tribute to those who prefer their dreams to the skies.
The remote control, a marvel of our time,
No more adjusting; we’ve reached our prime!
With just a flick of the wrist, oh what a delight,
To change the channel without leaving our site.
Cleaning is tedious or so one did claim,
So they invented the vacuum, and we’re forever in their fame!
No more scrubbing and toiling on hands and knees,
Just let that machine do the work, if you please!
Ah, walking, who wants to do that, I say?
It’s tiresome and boring, let’s drive instead, hooray!
With vehicles zooming, we speed past the grind,
Why take a stroll when you can leave all that behind?
And farming, oh farming, what a back-breaking chore,
One bright soul thought, “Let’s mechanize more!”
With tractors and harvesters, the fields are now neat,
All hail the lazy who made our meals sweet!
So here’s to our sweet lazy folk, we salute you,
Your capacity for finding ways to do nothing is true!
With fantastic bliss, you redefine hard work,
Living is hard enough; let’s not go berserk!
Work smart, not harder, is the motto we cheer,
Why sweat and toil when the solution is clear?
With AI to assist, the future is bright,
Let’s embrace our laziness; it’s our shining light!
Laziness, dear friends, is no longer a jest,
It’s a celebration of comfort, and we’re truly blessed.
The bulk of our science, our knowledge, our creed,
Born of the need to make life easy indeed.
So let’s raise a toast to all those who conspire,
To find the easiest way, lifting our hearts ever higher.
Impressive achievements from the effort of none,
In the heroics of laziness, we’ve already won!
Sitting watching a June summer king establish his reign over hazy hills and dusty dales,
I could just hear a sharpened scythe's ring across green fields cutting away at the corn,
With the hustle and bustle of the annual hay-harvesters bringing home a brand new season,
Happy sunburned workers work the open fields gazing skywards smiling at the noonday sun.
Hay hangs out to dry in the trees of the narrow footpath's and down haw thorny little lanes,
Everything now prepared and Mr.Summer rolls up his sleeves working to help with harvesting,
Each person delighting in deep cool grass in the shaded part an abstract of lovely flowers,
Then paddle in a cool stream washing the chaff dust from feet thus ending a hard days work.
The shadows of leaves dance along the streams a silhouette waltzes upon the silvery water,
Lovely azure crowfoot salutes from a bank to a forget-me-not an old friend from last year,
A purple compfrey dips its leaves to sweeten the water joined by a warm and gentle breeze,
The birds sing from the trees and in the hedgerows while the nightingale tweets a sad tune.
On trees chestnuts begin to grow and acorns young and green sitting in their little cups,
The nuts from the hazel and the apples on trees in orchards promise a ripe autumn harvest,
Gooseberries for pies, currants and strawberries ripen growing in the hedges of old lanes,
June has taken his fair turn making spring shoots grow strong, ready for the later fruits.
The cuckoo departs and glow worms emerge on a summer's night and glows a tiny little glow,
Along heath and over the meadows across landscaped fields dotted with pretty wild flowers,
The June summer heat gives strength to nature making grass lime green next to red poppies,
As the summer harvest quietens the work nearly done people rest and reflect on golden mead's.
(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 and 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 and tie them in bundles for burning; but gather the wheat into my barn."
"He who sows good seed is 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, and the enemy who sows them is the devil.
The harvest is the end of the age, and 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, and they will collect out of his kingdom all who cause others to sin and 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)
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:
Coffee beans, a world in a grain,
Roasted and ground, a caffeinated refrain.
Born in the tropics, where the sun meets the shade,
A journey unfolds from bush to brewed cascade.
In the highland realms where the arabica dreams,
And the robusta thrives by mountain streams,
Emerald hills with leaves of green,
Cradle the cherries, a ruby sheen.
Harvesters toil under the sun's warm kiss,
Gently plucking the beans, pure coffee bliss.
Hand in hand with the seasons they dance,
A delicate choreography, nature's romance.
From the fields, the beans embark on a quest,
To the roaster's chamber, where flavors manifest.
The symphony of crackles, a transformation in heat,
Awakening aromas, a sensory feat.
Medium, dark, or a blonde delight,
The roaster's art shapes the beans' flight.
Aromas unfurl, as flavors entwine,
In a fragrant journey, both robust and fine.
Grinding whispers echo in the morning air,
As anticipation rises, a ritual to declare.
Into the press or the espresso machine,
The grounds prepare for their aqueous sheen.
Brewing, a ballet of water and bean,
A liquid alchemy, a potion unseen.
Espresso, pour-over, or a steaming cup,
A daily elixir, waking spirits up.
In coffee shops bustling, a caffeinated hum,
Baristas crafting creations, a skillful strum.
Latte art blooms, a canvas of cream,
A masterpiece fleeting, in each sip's gleam.
Coffee beans, a humble seed's legacy,
A ritual, a culture, a worldwide legacy.
In each fragrant cup, a story unfolds,
A journey in every sip, as the coffee beholds.
Ruth’s Choice
Crossroads on a maize and dusty colored road –
Sorrowing eyes look past
Golden days into eyes of tears –
Grieving –
Words swallowed go unspoken
Choices for daughters,
Not born of the same womb,
From a daughter brought here by hunger -
Called now to return
By a well-worn path
To hills of olive trees -
Remain or leave to travel
Where barley fields
Flow with kinsmen’s voices
As the season lifts your hair of cooper fire;
A blessing on the road releases
Silken bonds and wedding vows –
Yet a pledge of faithfulness
Rejoins two hearts to walk together
While one heart, divided by tears, remains
Carrying pictures of these faces
Painted forever in this monument of memory
Pondering the unknown road
Disappearing into a shimmering morning;
This road remembers empty barns –
The way back to the hillsides –
Back to the beginning
Reunited
With faces wearing delight and compassion
To encircle sojourners
Carrying sheaves of retrospection
To plant among the seeds
Of harvest that never left
This soil;
Gather now and glean –
In humble steps behind the harvesters
Then sleep upon the threshing floor
Where love reignites sowing
Seeds in a field left fallow
So an honored name not disappear
As wind blows through the grain
And sings of sons
To change the world.