Long Tilled Poems
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AUDIO: Vienna Boys Choir, 'Pachelbel's Canon in D Major'
Trees II By Alfred Joyce Kilmer's Admirer
Methinks thus I
shalt naught e'er see,
A poem lovely
as this here tree,
Doth sun thus shine
its countenance,
Gift tree whose loft,
spreads its expanse,
Its girth above,
neath midst remained,
Flicks of light burst,
like windows stained,
The trunk weighs down,
the cradled youth,
Internal weave
exploits the root,
Limbed tree who hath,
purged forth hugged vein,
Thereon, ventures
long with its frame,
Styled tree stabled
in wonderment,
Our learned life begs
our testament,
The tree tilled naught,
nor didst we toil,
Providence hath,
sprung from the soil,
God giveth life,
sips and savors,
Graced from seed thus,
tree He favors,
Seasons race on,
timely fashion,
The Divine hath
shewn compassion,
A poet writes
in praise of trees,
Songs made of these
sweet melodies,
'Tis well-rehearse
endowed in verse,
Fool cool's elbows
and stubbled toes,
A quill at ease
a chapter seize,
Joyce 'Trees' as goes
only He knows.
2020 December 23
(Sanatoga, Pennsylvania location)
I luxuriated as inkling of spring 2021
offered sneak preview today
March third as temperatures
reached low fifties Fahrenheit.
Yours truly began reading
one paperback book
(I purchased three),
and absorbed daily dose of Vitamin D
while secretly ensconced
within favorite nook.
This middle aged rue stirring bummer
favors warmth, boot haint no stranger to cold,
when dark hen stormy wintry days
eggs hit from Arctic portal enfold
ding Atlantic Seaboard
in a blizzard of bitterly, blindingly, and
brutally sub zero temperatures
from an occasional nor'easter
fiercely gripping hold,
the majority years, sans this prolific
recalcitrant scrivener lived
in various and sundry abode
housed within Southeastern
Montgomery County, Pennsylvania
with 19473 current zip code,
and during my boyhood recall,
how massive ice sheets did erode
the (then) opened expansive farmland,
in preparation for planting time,
where runnels of frigid water flowed
with childish cheeks exposed to glowed
after hours upon
many a green acre got tilled and hoed
despite feeling energized and refreshed
with arms and legs ne'er frozen
aye didst eagerly await with exuberant yen
kickstarting thy body electric
experiencing hearthstone nook
designed and built by Christopher Wren
after heading indoors counting fingers
and toes to make sure, I still got ten
soon hearing the chorus of fauna,
and floral kaleidoscope of color
aground or taking wing
thus, upon thawing out thoughts
drifted toward approaching spring,
the season revitalizing
dormant natural inhabitants,
whose excitement (like mine) didst ping
announcing the debut of fecundity
nsync with screeching
from the lizard king
who entered and did break on thru
doors of fame and fortune
becoming out of this world legendary
rock and roll icon,
nevertheless, he joined twenty seven club
for permanent fling.
If you could see as I in midnight’s hue,
On moon-lit strolls beneath mosaic lace,
And held my hand once more where angels flew
When time was marked by Heaven’s lilac grace;
And if you viewed the garden robins tilled,
Where blossoms bloomed with life to hear their song,
And grew enriched by mist from clouds that spilled
As notes of joyful rain all season long;
And if you climbed the tree of Summer’s bliss -
Freed from guardian maze entangled vines
That now entrap the heart of love’s first kiss -
And then you peered the stars in search of signs:
You’d find aglow what always makes me cry;
You’d see your self-reflection’s lullaby.
2/8/2017
Submitted for: Chimera World
Using these words:
mosaic, maze, moon, guardian, garden,
angel, heaven, heart, midnight, clouds
Now I wish
...that the chuckles
of a child had graced my home...
...that the feet of a tot
had drummed my floor...
...that the laughter
of an innocent had filled my air...
Now as I wither away
I remember the house
I toiled to build
And tilled to make a home...
But my barren body
Made not my sensible house
The home of any tot...
Now I wish...
...that I was pregnant
in the morning
and it miscarries at night...
For this is not my doing
But a work
Of the cruel friend...
...fate!
Waste of youth
I did not!
Hope I hung unto
Home after home
Place after place...
Yet...
Never did it come for once!
Still... As I wither on
I wish I have a kid
To till my toils...
But...
As I go
None will weep for me...
And all ends
In a waste.....
He told them another parable: “The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed, which a man took and planted in his field. Though it is the smallest of all seeds, yet when it grows, it is the largest of garden plants and becomes a tree, so that the birds come and perch in its branches.”
Matthew 13:31?-?32 NIV
From the beginning this small mustard seed
Looks foolish to all other seeds
They are puffed up in own soil
For they seek to grow on their own
Not planning on water to flourish
In the need to start a sprout
Just to be left dead from drought
Some that get a splash of water
Will start to sprout but then
The rocks block out the light
But this small mustard seed the farmer
Tills up this land to start afresh
Places in the best soil
That is fed by a living fountain
The seed sprouts up seeking
The leaves are being pulled towards the light
Receiving strength within to grow upwards
The farmer watches and knows it's need
To remove any weeds which try and hinder
All the hard work the farmer has done
That this seed might reach its height
To grow above all the plants
Into a living tree which has overcome
All the obstacles which seek to destroy.
This within strength is here to stay
To allow this farmer which tilled the soil
To receive all glory from His hard work
For without Him it would have died
This seed is the spirit and word of God
That we might see we are dead
Without His spirit to resurrect life unto one
It starts off small for one to take notice of change
But one must stick with the spirit
Which placed this life within
God knows our hearts and minds
more will be revealed the more one seeks
The more one dies to this world
The more one will grow above the weeds
But someone will ask, “How are the dead raised? With what kind of body will they come?” How foolish! What you sow does not come to life unless it dies. When you sow, you do not plant the body that will be, but just a seed, perhaps of wheat or of something else. But God gives it a body as he has determined, and to each kind of seed he gives its own body.
1 Corinthians 15:35?-?38 NIV
Happiness is heaven, ecstasy gratifying
Sensual and satisfaction zest and delight.
I am quite confident; it comes all the year round.
It comes in the springtime when new buds appear
And nature's perfume fecundates the parks.
The season is warmer and children can play,
Listen to them, it’s laughter all the way.
It comes in summer, with hot and humid days,
We lie near each other savoring our ways.
The sea is calm and bathers can enjoy
Both a refreshing swim or some cold lollipops.
It comes in autumn with air that's so crisp
As the first snowflakes bring down the red dry leaves.
Thanksgiving is organized, a sumptuous feast.
Tilled harvested fields prepared as the chill is a beast.
But wet windy winter comes cold and hoary days
Snowfalls cover the roads and all stay snug in homes,
Everywhere fireplaces radiate warmth and shelter,
For many people think that happiness is not far away.
And so, as the year draws to a miserable end,
Let’s open a bubbly, and happy greetings send.
It was the rat and the snake that ate each other.
It was the love in them.
It was the buttercup and the lupine that devoured the bees.
It was the insectivore legs that tilled the crumbling fields.
It was the crumbling fields that carried the legless off.
It was the fox that shook its head that sprayed red.
It was the upright shadow that wrote a crooked bible.
It was the moth that ate the angel – the angel with no mouth.
It was the angel with no mouth that spoke the loudest,
It was the love in him.
Remember only the salt and butter,
the spice that sets your table,
not the hungry ghosts
that swim inside your shell
their bellies hollow as dolls eyes.
Cicada are the shrimp of the trees.
Gulls are the tigers of the air.
Jump high enough and meet yourself
falling down,
the way out is the way in.
It was the horse that rode the wind and made it neigh.
It was the wind that chased its tail, the swirling tail.
It was the body that grew the mind.
It was the mind that escaped the body,
that ran from the mirage, the slippery shoes of desire.
It was the angel of you
that tamed the devil, made it eat the joy.
It was the angel with no mouth that signed,
in waves and spray.
It was time,
time out of time that made the circle,
made the love within it.
My American family, has worked hard, to make life and God and country shine like the stars.
My American family, has prayed every day and every generation, to make us a better nation.
My American family, has had its ups and downs, but we always get up and stand our ground.
My American family, has suffered, they have gone to war and defended nations, loved and cared and lost many from negative forces.
My American family, has lost millions from abortion and other negative forces, making us low on the birth rate calculations, praying we choose adoption not abortion, and choice before conception.
My American family’s life is valuable, and it should be valued, and loved by its nation.
My American family, in the beginning had babies at home, and funeral in their own space, they tilled the land, and fed themselves, taught themselves all they needed in life.
My American family, had not oil or electricity, they only had themselves to learn and move ahead.
My American family, is moving forward, learning lessons, and planning our future success.
My American family, is strong and will succeed in all that they set their mind too, they will work and divide if they must and make way for all of our success.
Lifting prayers to God, today and always.
Oh, how sad, oh how very glum,
Goodness gracious me prater comes.
Still writing winsome words of woe,
Endlessly stopped, never to go.
Oh Lord, let not our life pass by
Let us do more than weep and cry.
Wallowing in morbid abode.
Endlessly stopped, never to go.
Whiling away the endless hours;
Scribbling sigils, claws cower.
Envy those not caught in limbo
Endlessly stopped, never to go.
Envy the prattle on the page.
At least the words are given stage.
Fields upon fields, rows upon row.
Endlessly stopped, never to go.
Feeling your life’s left no dower.
Enjoying the pain not power.
Pondering heaven on life’s gallows.
Endlessly stopped, never to go.
Goodness gracious me, prater comes,
And, all of it just, so, ho-hum.
Each word stroked, petted, tilled and hoed,
Endlessly stopped, never to go.
And, all of it just, so, ho-hum.
Leave the box, flee the asylum!
Writing, writing, writing on,
Endlessly stopped, never to go.
All this soulless, mindless, drivel.
Writing, writing, scratch and scribble;
Live above your massive ego
Endlessly stopped, never to go.
Oh, how sad, oh how very glum,
Goodness gracious me prater comes.
Still writing winsome words of woe,
Endlessly stopped, never to go.
Oh God be, merciful to me.
Endlessly stopped, never to go.
Wallowing in morbid abode.
Whiling away the endless hours;
Scribbling sigils, claws cower.
Oh God be, merciful to me.
Scribbling sigils, claws cower.
Feeling your life’s left no dower
Envy those not thus engaged.
Envy the prattle on the page.
Oh God be, merciful to me.
Envy the prattle on the page.
At least the words are given stage.
Each one stroked, petted, tilled and hoed;
Fields upon fields, rows upon row.
Oh God be, merciful to me.
Fields upon fields, rows upon row.
Pondering heaven on life’s gallows.
Goodness gracious me, prater comes,
And, all of it just, so, ho-hum.
Oh God be, merciful to me.
And, all of it just, so, ho-hum.
Leave the box, flee the asylum!
Writing, writing, scratch and scribble;
All this soulless, mindless, drivel.
Oh God be, merciful to me.
All this soulless, mindless, drivel.
joyfull tragic, quite disheveled
Wading through the endless nights;
Waiting, waiting for the light.
Oh God be, merciful to me.
Waiting, waiting for the light,
Never living your gifted life.
Writing, writing, writing on,
Until the coming of the dawn.
Oh God be, merciful to me.