Long Ploughing Poems
Long Ploughing Poems. Below are the most popular long Ploughing by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Ploughing poems by poem length and keyword.
Oh sweet fig of the night
The master has cursed your day light
You stand on the desert sand
Searching the whole night for me
While courage climb up your slender tree
I have met you somewhere in thin air
As your voice floats through the atmosphere
I can hear the mummers and whispers in the breeze
And the night shadows yearning after me
but the universe has carved out the center of the heavens
with a pick axe . a power saw and a garden fork
and the birds watch from afar in amazement
But the fig tree would not bend
it stood there planted firmly in the earth
Absorbing the energy of the whole wide world
And I watch the night vigil marched solemnly
Through the desert town and the chip monk gather
around singing an elated song in
solitude for a twisted fig crown
What does fig taste like?
Strawberry and date to wet my appetite
The taste is burnt out in the sun
And honey mixed with flowers and nuts
is appealing but only the taste is revealing
If fertility was the gift of life I would not
have made so much sacrifice
ploughing the dry thirsty ground
upon which gravity is found and
the night keeps running after me
as I searched desperately for my fig tree
Abundance and sweetness waits patiently for me
I can feel the energy floating over the Galilee sea
And the olive sprouting all around greet the fig trees
at the edge of the sea with love and dignity
Something good is going to happen to me
And heaven and earth will flourish again
When the lions are driven out of the den
The region will be fertile and everyone
will have a new found friend
and taste love, peace and joy again
despair will be blown into the sea
And courage will penetrate the fig tree
Fig will spring up everywhere
And you will have much to eat and much to share
The contention will be over, and everyone will cross over
The fig will provide nourishment for soul and it will
Teach you how to be bold
You stand there looking at me
What do I have to do with thee?
I am going to Egypt and turkey
To look for my fig tree.
Warning of a Worm
I am from this earth speaking with tears
To protect me and to protect this earth
We are in trillions in number serving you
as a preserver and protector of your soil
You are ruining your earth by chemicals and acids
in the name of modern cultivation
You are poisoning the earth and it’s nature
to get more yields with in a short span
We are ploughing and softening the earth
Your chemicals ,manures
Swallow our trillions as billion and millions
In a one dark day
We will be no more and you will be too
Your food and water has already changed and
already Your path has changed against to nature
From the hard and dry land
You can cultivate currencies and coins and
You can consume tablets and capsules as food
You will import oxygen and water
It is not my curse my man!
Just my premonition and a precautionary call to all of You
When hope sinks and the light in the valley grows dim, look in the direction where you are coming from, and where you are at now and consider where you would have been, if you had not made that move. The process was hard and long and you made many enemies as you travel on but a miracle burst out of the night and daylight began to sing your song.
Do you remember the time when no one was on your side, and the sharks surround you but the universe covers you. And when business was down and no one was coming to the town except for hustlers and news makers, the market fell flat and destiny was riding on your bare back; nothing positive was in the news, but you kept ploughing on until you could sing a brand new song; and all those that deserted you, came back to haunt you, everyone wanted a slice of the cake and the lined up in droves by the gate. And I said to myself live is worth living.
The road you are on is a strong one, the road you are on is built with solid steel, you can test it in the fire when you make the new deal, there is nothing better than the one you have here, they will be crowding the shore and everyone will be asking for more, there is nothing better beyond your door.
I will put a price tag on it and ships will be lining up for miles on the sea, and the trucks on the other side will flood the city for my steel.
The road I am on is flooded with hope and the multitudes is loading on the boats, there is no turning back now as this is only chance to experience a new life and I am ready for the adventurous ride.
This is a solid boon and I will see you soon.
(i.m. Kathleen Shaw)
The flower face of the sun bloomed on you,
the corona of light
easing the passage, caressing you.
Catwalking on the bright side of life;
the false jollity, aching to laugh.
Embraces, your body in a bowl of arms,
brave waves, the last goodbye.
My own desperate clutching, as if
I were a tree sucking at the sky.
The delicate frosting on my birthday cake -
a sugary irony.
How quickly the coronal of anniversary flowers
became a wreath.
Choking on the three hundred miles
to your resting place,
the car eating the road.
Tension-riddled, the family squabbles
snapped at the air.
Alone in the pristine, starched hotel room,
propped between pillow and sheet,
stiff as rigor mortis,
my eyes ploughing a newspaper,
thoughts turned introvert and febrile.
A white envelope holding the small silver gift
of your necklace, an oyster cradling its pearl.
Your gold ring playing its warmth
on my finger, thin and white,
the September sun shining in it.
A passion flower clinging to its wire hoop,
sweating out the fragrance of late summer.
Defiant and slightly shocking in my bright patchwork skirt;
a vibrant rainbow flying in the black leer of the cortège.
Your husband
easing the great weight of his grief with valium.
The voice of the vicar carrying,
stentorian, across the echoing expanse of church.
In your diaphanous dress you were a bride
embracing your bouquet -
the mourning arum's white head bowed.
Fine linen shrouding the table, pink curls of salmon,
water glasses floating their tiny icebergs.
Plumbing the depths of your wardrobe,
the outfits hanging limp as fish.
The room gasping in late sunlight,
heady with your Florentyna perfume and oxygen cylinders,
the light lying glassy and quiet.
Your loving memorabilia yielding to damp autumn earth.
My eyes opening to your immortality. An immortal truth.
I gazed beyond the hills smiling at the daffodils, screaming at the rain as it thundered on my window pane, nature erupts beyond the valley, carrying sticks and stones and fishermen dead bones; they have been fishing at sea with big boats and big nets and a gigantic fish flattering on the deck. The ocean with all its glory is choked with fashion and pride, the waves are getting high and the wind is raging havoc in the sky.
I watched the waves come and go and the boats dancing to and fro as the terrified passenger grip firmly to the side, waiting on a miracle as they fight to survive.
The water kept climbing and the sun kept shining and the captain of the big boat make a roundabout turn and break the course of the wind.
Courage stood strong as the boat speed along, running a hundred miles per hour with the wind cutting through the sweltering temperature, the people stood still looking at each other. They knew something was not right but they were determined to survived; what do you do when you are trapped in the middle of the sea and you have nowhere else to go? You have to persevere with the will to survive.
The water began to rise and the boat began to dip and dive, the passengers began to panic but captain Jones kept his composure. Water start flowing into the boat and the people began to shout but the captain kept ploughing on hoping to reach dry land.
They had no phone signal and water was up to their waist, but they all bind together and held each other’s hand and start to sing a woeful hymn, like the one John Wesley sang when he was out at sea and desperately needed company. And just as they thought of it a miracle appears out of nowhere.
An empty boat came along and save them one by one; the captain was the last to let go, he releases the steering and climb over into the other boat and they watch the boat slowly disappeared into the ocean floor. The hills beyond the valley is deep.
I emerge, worn out
from the long hours
that stretched sleepless across
much of the night. The morning
reveals my work, a headspace
of holes dug by the burrowing
machines of thought,
a few scattered bones
and a brain full of junk.
I spend the day repairing
my inner plot, raking over
the holes, reburying the bones
and using the junk to make
a scarecrow I can hang
above my bed. By evening
I'm done.
One morning, when I finally
get a good night's sleep without
being holed by the burrowing
machines of thought
ploughing through my head,
I'll probably wake to find
the buried bones have taken
root and the scarecrow
snuggled up beside me
in my bed.
We must de-industrialise i hear..By some pallid strange
Specimens; let this be clear' in order to devolve to sustain'
We must resort to mass slaughter? Oh the idiocy.' And such
Strain the cattle are creating co2.. its the stuff of creation
And part of it.' Is that not true.? Yet still we must strive to
Mine lithium ore..Quite a destructive passtime.' To obtain
From raw.? Yet the goal is sustainable farming and such
Like ploughing with horses? And lighting candles well its
Not really that tough.' It can be done.' I'm not saying it
Can't but we'll need all the livestock.' About which some
Rant.' To do the impossible mankind ever tries.' And fads
Are ubiquitous as are callumny and lies.'
Artist wannabe
I’d love to look the part
Feel and act the pro
Feel it deep within
Imbued with inspiration
Exploding with creativity
Living the life of a hermit
Ploughing through it
Or dancing through it
Not bound by rules or confines
One day I know
I’ll shed this heavy cloak
And live the way I’ve dreamt
Abandon all possessions
Become the butterfly
I was always meant to be
Freed from shackles
Just create create create
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology book ~TO BE YOUNG AGAIN~ 2023
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on December 31, 2018 for contest MY LOUDEST FEELINGS sponsored by CAREN KRUTSINGER - RANKED 2ND
Daylight shines like miracle in my face
and I have to complete the final race
the weather is fine and I just cannot
get you off my mind, I am lost in the
depth of the sea and there is no one
and there is no one there to rescue me
The waves are tossing me up and down
and the vessels are circling the sea
as they approach the polarize city
the people are hanging low and
they have nowhere to go
come and save me before
the giant waves arrest me
Soft is the wind that blows
showing me which way to go
ploughing over steep mountain
skipping and dancing on my window sill
while the destiny waits on the wet shores
Come and sit with me
and let me tell you a story
walk with me to the shore
and I will tell you how to open the door
listen to the voices beyond the sea
they are crying out for thee, open
your mouth and breath fresh air
and the universe will accompany you
when you get there.
chance the sun and brave the sea
a new life awaits thee, listen to
your intuition and you will conquers
the challenges on the land
The battle is raging over there
and people are dying everywhere
the roofs are gone and the people
all gather on the empty lawn
comforting each other while
they hope for a better tomorrow
there is nothing that they could do
they just stood still and watch the devilish
wind creates havoc on the hill.
It is not quiet over there
the storm is still raging everywhere
And the people are scattered all over
lift your courage and come I will
walk with you in the sun until the day is done
come and take this chance with me.
THE HORSES
There was grassland with a river crossing, a natural barrier.
White horses on one side, and muscular brown horses on the other side.
If one looks well, there are foals of mixed race, they good genes and will
in time carve out their land, higher up, near the hills and water.
When farmers wanted a horse for ploughing, they lassoed a brown horse,
for lighter work, like driving the ladies to the church in a buggy, a white horse
was chosen mainly because they were malleable to handle.
Tragedy struck, developers bought the land, houses were built, filling
the grassland with noise streets and polluting the river.
The horses fled to a sparse mountain slope on the grass, and many
starved, their life span short, and the puma was a constant threat.
The horses mixed freely they had to when their survival was at stake.