Long Oxen Poems
Long Oxen Poems. Below are the most popular long Oxen by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Oxen poems by poem length and keyword.
Thou shalt stay long in memories
As waterhole to unwind in sweltering June,
From crusty school grounds ah to refreshing farmlands
That beckoned us from morn to noon to moon.
And how we arrived in a bullock cart
Moving in tune with the pace of unfolding night--
Mere eight miles taking all the night apart
To reach when dawn was kissing the day light.
I was one among the cartload
Of kids, adult ladies possesst by sleep,
All adult males walking by the dust road,
Kids excited, sleep lost in starry leap.
The oxen pair when called out each to each,
The cart-man when cleared his dry throat,
And dawn in sight, stars too were caught in sleep,
We reached, duly wrapped by a dusty coat.
Soon when I heard a strange bird sing
Close by, proclaiming brief reign of a dawn,
A few more too called as if confirming,
What symphony welcoming a new morn!
Once there, I met my friend Mahi River
That charmed some chieftains to choose this village,
The river flowing full banks all the year,
Some memories do get cast in image.
The river was why the village ere was,
Whose life along its waters flowed,
From pre-bath chores and daylong thereafter,
And swimming till the sun to its tallest height strode.
There, munching on the choicest of mangoes
My month-long pass-time of choice was,
Men guarding fields my only foes,
Whilst roaming in lush fields, an aimless cause.
Alas, a month passes like one short sprint,
Days an endless song, sunrise to sunset,
Soon it was time to return from ‘short’ stint
To tiring old routine by elders set sans let.
A lot gets lost when from a tired old mind,
How I remember my village for long?
We often live and leave a lot behind,
Yet, deeply etched remains this childhood’s cherished song.
_______________________________
Nostalgia | 03.09.2012 | river, remember, village, visit, vacation, quatrain
Note: Madhavas, a small village in the hills of west-central Gujarat. River Mahi, also known as Mahi Saagar, one of the perennial rivers in Gujarat. This poem happened when my childhood memories beckoned me to revisit my ancestral village on this river.
Honeysuckle breathes in the shallow wind,
Life's lapel, with a side of ground scouting gopher.
Great rusted machines peak the interest
of the flower children who blossom
in their fields of hope and family.
Goliath Oxen and Thunderbirds
that burdened in oils and toils of heaven and earth,
lay there like ships fused with shoreline,
brought down by an angry sea.
"The follies of Men",
thought the Owl,
as it lubricated itself and shuddered a cowl,
admiring it's prototype as it flew by
in a curtsy dip and brotherly slant.
Sister chant.
She gave a little dance and reperched her stance.
Wondered about the Ai Owl
in Jason and the Argonauts
of magic and her sister, romance.
"Well, things are back to normal,
repopulation, the dinner bell,
down to earth things."
The eyes of the Earth are beautiful,
periscoping from the comfy nooks
to survey the land,
enjoy a little morning television.
The bones are solid and suitable
for the labors of love.
"These wrinkles are the folded fabric of time,
the bark, no different,
as it loosens it's cling,
old age has it enjoying last caress
on my earthen womb,
before Mother takes it home,
to be born again.
My seas and Mountain Dens,
caverns and open spans,
ready to deliver all over again."
I am flung against the drab ashen phonon sky, weighted with ghostly iron clad jaws of bitter winter's grip, biting the feather-flared Doves gravid with fatigue from the ill-laden onerous air. The rough-coated dog with ice-tipped ears had surrendered to the corridor of gutters in the toilsome cold, a fugitive of neglect of his own demise. In this empiric city, a shrine of humankind, vespers of frozen conflict rose up from its bowels, like sweat from otherworldly gargoyle watchmen of stone and mortar atop the surrounding spires of fortune. Beneath the steeples of holy crosses and frozen muted lights, faceless, heavily cloaked phantom transients trudged through half stacked drifts of dirty snow moving farther away from hazard, blinded in their apathy. The grimy yellow cab bedraggled on its mucky, viscous boulevard strained and bellowed as a labored oxen. Desperate, surreal sirens blaring from a distant byway echoed and purged from the back alley resort of homeless, despondent souls, laying like pale-blue corpses in garbage bins that sheltered their weakness - interred in their obscure tombs chasing their fate in a bottle of booze. And I stood frozen in the moment, displaced with the cold reality in my icebound, paralytic soul, shuddering with hurt.
ice laments silence
cloaked in bitter winter's grip
trapped in bitter spires
December 17, 2019
December or January Haibun Poetry Contest
Moments of Reflection - Haibun Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Malabika Ray Choudhury
He is on his riding mower.
He looks like me,
only he owns a rich man's house,
a garden measured in acres -
his skin is better.
No picket fences: this is upscale America.
Long drives and old stone walls; gated.
A cultural dream
pioneering into new luxury,
the way covered wagons once did,
canvas closed, oxen quietly moving on
into territory that's hard to imagine.
I see him standing
near his wide columned front door,
he is smiling the way I smile
when I think no one is looking.
I like him, and imagine his beautiful
wife in my arms.
He left the wagon train,
to strike out on his own.
They found the green valley,
gold seams under their feet,
and the land already posted,
to keep others out.
Courtesy of Marx (albeit Zeppo,
Harpo, Groucho, and Chico), whose
acts (along Seuss iz Zacks Fifth
Avenue) brought generations of
laughter to Vaudeville, and then
the Silver Screen adlibbed, linkedin,
and ransacked skits zoid material
Bing very loosely based on his best
known writings (Oh Pee Yet Of The
Masses) by Karl Marx (no relation
to Bros Grin), and Friedrich Engels
whar they whiz instrumental qua
Cingular Capitalone political philosophy
paradigm as spit, and (shoe) shining,
seducing, and salivating players trans
formed Msn Netzero Linkedin Petsmart
Aleck outlook and pinterest, when their
collective insight did cents how masses
(i.e. bourgeois) took a rakish (otherwise)
up standing Norwegian bachelor farmer
for comic relief to break monotony of
agrarian obligations, and serve up one
heaping healthy portion per production,
sans whatever whims would crop
up by infusing thespian showdown
incorporating commune nic cache shun
(disproportionate) app peals studded terrain
with locked havens avast re shtetl ment.
Hoi Polloi re: common folk in sore need
of distraction and belief in a brighter side
of life, than saliva dehydrating brute nose
to the grindstone pathetic existence, yoked
as oxen to plows, where plodding tattered
shod feet scraped a pencil thin line, whence,
seeds sprinkled into futile ruts forecast angry
birds to shutterfly, twittering like bada$$
beastie boys Dharma bumming while On
The Yellow Brick Road.
Inn ascent bystanders avian avatars initially
supposedly sprung from ergot, mushroom
and/or smut spores, whereas the myth of
one mortal idol (Matthew Scott Harris) did
rival Vladimir Ilich (frequently corrupted into...
Flora in its way, fauna in its way; work hand in hand.
Uniting all, keeping the health of habitats intact
Does my existence incorporate another extant?
Do I live and let live as coconuts and palm trees act?
Plants breathe carbon dioxide, grow, and breathe out oxygen.
Oxygen, in turn, enables animals to nourish
Who does more harm? Who does less? Tiger, oxen, or vixen?
It's consciousness and conscience that should make morals flourish.
The growth of one's self is mirrored in others' growth as well.
When one's attitudes change, change in another too is seen.
Should change be stirred or in an equilibrium-spell?
Does any concept, here, hold a precise path in between?
Concepts clench; philosophies progress; theologies throb
Birth, growth, and death are plays with many a multihued garb.
Canonical, orbit, elliptical, prodigal, crown
come back to me reasons and signs and be found in these
Stardust, Sirius, be the scourge of Thebes and of the Sirens of Hades on their knees
But not to service their own but to hide and be weak in thee
The Papyrus reeds wallow in the wind
the fowls skip amongst the mirages,
in the dirge of passion wind dale
in swoon in unfair/fare play in khartoum
In the hands of the divine to scale
Fields, through which the herd drives in dew
and weather it in his due well, oxen and Ewe
The sea flows out of the shore into undersea caverns of mines
The sun comes out from the horizon,
and gemuinely shines
the "sun is my light, and is at your door"
the moon and sun united, light ignites akin forever more
The sun shines from below and rises above like a Phoenix of radiating love
the moon and sun united, satellited relays moonlighting this trove
Great sins of omission
are not in anyone's book of
What I Plan To Do When I Grow Up.
Henry Ford,
his automated
and then incorporated
financial investment company,
did not intend to emancipate us
from family farms,
Thereby disenfranchising
our sense of secure
and fertile wealth health,
interdependently sufficient
organic homes,
silent rhythmic rural memories,
Fading views and feels of cannons
pulled by slow-marching horses,
mules,
plodding oxen,
ghosts of elders past
monoculturing aggression
at slower blade-drawn pace
Sometimes domestically violent.
Sometimes military chronic stressed
LeftBrain against Right's longer kinship memories.
And sometimes more polyculturally enriching
rural WiseElder tree memories
of nurturing ponds
and domestically peaceful milk cows,
curious cats,
tribally defensive,
and embarrassingly rutty, dogs,
horny yet happy crickets,
Flirtatious cycling
recycling moonlight
and radiant enlightenment of daylight
and dualdark co-relational resonance
of night play.
To sustain Original forested home
and extending family
we need parental and school support
for cooperative resilient communities,
secure and healthy homes,
habitats,
wombs.
Whether rural
or suburban
or urban
But mindful
that rural tribal homesteading
and cooperative diverse economies
and multicultural politics of healthy nurturing,
solidarity with home place
and wealthy polyculturing kin,
mutually share one
humane-divine ZeroZone Planet
Inside calling us back and forth
toward Polyculture Zenithing EarthSoul
embodied within
GaiaEarth
Ecologically gracing nutritional homes
poly-theologically re-membering health within.
Trivializing grace of WinWin commission
co-arising global communion
is not in my book of
What We Have Hoped To Become.
Or even in my textbook studying
What I Missed In School
Surly you have put
your word to pen
the winds have carried them
have dispersed them upon the globe
the game pieces are in place
and the populace lives under
dense clouds of darkness
though not awake aware of determinations
a war machine
funded with flesh and gold
as oxen under yoke
who have no say in what their masters plow
They HAVE been forewarned
surly your WORD has come full circle
you have called out the future
and given knowledge of fortresses
battlements and shields
The 1st WAR your minds
The 2nd WAR your hearts
The 3rd WAR your flesh
the full destruction of corruptions
Surly your intentions have
been fully shown for any knowing
the instructions of the King
but they have been led astray
and loved to have it that way
You keep sending your servants
the watchmen who view into distances
to tell what was far off has come close
The Temple and the Bride
are nearly completed
the invitations to all the guests
not one single soul is exempt
of participation
freewill will have a whole new meaning
you can choose the royal law of Life
or be driven off the cliffs
by unruly angels
because the ideology of WAR
and fear driven by rulers
whose behavior is so corrupt
that we liken them to being demonic
Come now where is your reason
that you should choose WAR
over the avenues of peace
everywhere you turn is a sign
and it says beware
wake up wake up wake up
before you sleepwalk
into death
COPYRIGHT © 2012 C Michael Miller
via Duboff Law Group LLC
Take this saw and axe we have to clear the land.
What, you mean the heavy machinery got here first,
the concrete is setting as we speak!
Can I borrow your flat-headed screwdriver?
Ikea have half-made another thing again,
I will make a skillet full of low-sodium bacon
if you help me put it together.
You say the wilderness has returned
and there is a shortage of oxen and wagons.
The frontier begins at the back of Walmart now
where the natives take their lunch-break.
Amazon have sent the wrong log cabin again.
We can make a camp in the wild woods
behind the small industrial unit.
By the way do you have a shovel and ladder
to get us all out of here?