Long Wheat Poems
Long Wheat Poems. Below are the most popular long Wheat by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Wheat poems by poem length and keyword.
November first two thousand nineteen...
abuzz with Autumnal thrum
Divine myriad biota amidst
heavenly Lily of the valley
(Convallaria majalis),
he didst imaginatively greet
Edenic heavenly terra
incognita immeasurably sweet
nature's ensemble proffering
Gaia's quintessential orchestration
resplendent sensational treat
natural splendour regaling,
this fellow wayfarer
happenstance gifted autochthonous peoples
espied proud specimens unobtrusive
planted armada, viz sleek bodies fleet,
of foot while me accidentally
risking, schlepping, traipsing... offbeat
winessed unschooled tribe,
yet verily synchronized,
primed, muscled... athlete
their soundless rhythmic swiftly tailored
flit to and fro upon poetic
unshod calloused feet
carefully, gingerly, lightly...
I shod dully tread nsync
toward drumlins upbeat
mouthing, kneading, imbibing... glorious
ebullient choral unadulterated feat
extemporaneously kickstarting crisp and neat
pow hour full rhythm across
analogous macroscopic excellent spreadsheet
inducing their sonorous symphonic
roundelay unfamiliar tweet,
whereby flora and fauna future meal to eat
oblivious regarding mine seat
dated existence, which quiescent aesthete,
yours truly basked,
froliced, luxuriated... complete
as once innocent hymnals kindled atrocity
this observer, spectator aghast white as sheet,
how civilization's machinations didst deplete
terrestrial firmament within one fell stroke
eradicated once pristine unbroken
promises chiseled to cheat
rightful owners expansive swath
over yonder til ocean and land did meet
Europeans scoured seas one after another
lumbering bulwarked fleet
exhausting resources while simultaneous
mowing down aborigines
grotesquely analogous harvesting wheat
indiscriminate deliberate genocide
decimating indigenous tribes beat
defenseless against microbial
weapons of mass destruction,
thus only within third blind eye
courtesy invisible paleface with tenderfeet
strictly envisioned Perkiomen Valley
once abundantly populated
with ample game during cold and/or heat
paradise unbroken stretched hinterland,
where place names mock to pay hollow tribute,
where native peoples no longer replete
vinyl city amidst amidst graveyard
lovely bones turned to dust
paved over by mainstreet.
I found you on the humbled wheat fields,
Out in the dramatically flattened open
They used to stand so tall, and now,
In only a moment…all fell before you
So very little, in contrast,
You towered over their severed stalks
Your light radiated and pulsed from your frame,
Leaving rainbow-electro ripples in the sky
You beckoned me closer and closer,
And as I glided toward you in terror and wonder,
Life itself became pleasantly unclear
The word, how
Remained on my parted lips...
Instantly, all that mattered was your existence,
How you swayed back and forth so enchantingly,
Teasing the wheat that bowed before you
Your eyes, intelligent, dreamlike, and wide,
Having seen beyond my every capability,
Knowing answers I have died over every night…
I was drawn to you like the honey bee to the giant hyssop
Though instead of brushing against fragrant petals,
There was a looming gloom of potential doom
Marvel drowned out all such fear as I drew ever near
As questions, so many questions, ached to be articulated
This inquisitive soul salivated in your shimmer
With a prayer for all humanity to see what I see…
When time became merely a silly story rhyme,
You answered every question like a parent to a child
The awe of your wisdom burned my stubbornness,
For in that moment, learning was living
No science, no reliance,
No fact, no future to fumble
Only truth today
Was fed to a child who once thought she knew all
Screaming and pouting in hopes for victory
She knows nothing until she grows taller than the earnest wheat
To fall effortlessly at your strange, alien feet
Inspired by the song “Tiny Alien” By Katie Melua
“Just how far can you fall,
When you still feel so small?
Will you love me through the sorrows, tomorrows,
Whatever the future will bring?
Tiny alien”
And for the contest sponsored by: Silent One
If I have not walked in nature,
Once a day,
If I have not heard a bird sing,
If I have not crouched before a blade of grass,
If I haven’t prayed in front of an old tree
Covered with climbing ivy,
If I have not seen a tiny insect fly
without fear of the hour,
If I have not seen a field sparsely covered with ancient wheat,
If I haven’t shivered in front of a red-throated
curious about my presence,
If I have not regretted his absence for long seconds,
If I have not laid eyes on leaves
or stones without destiny,
If I have not walked in nature
once a day
If I have not seen the Ajonc in winter
and the poppy in summer, modestly red bright,
If I have not been dazzled by the flamboyance
of a mimosa,
If I have not looked up to the poets
and clouds of the sky,
If I have not left the neighborhood tired of everything, and posed
1000 questions to nature,
I’m losing my mind, I’m going crazy like a cockroach.
Men do that too often.
shoulda read the fine print
I got headaches, eyes are dry and they hurt sometimes
should have went to a doctor to see if I was fine
trouble seeing words up close
going down the street speeding rapidly
couldn't see speedometer doing 50 in a 30
shoulda read the fine print
Trouble seeing words up close
At a restaurant thought the menus said ketchup
but read desserts
Aching eyes, eyestrain also ordered gluten
instead of wheat grain
shoulda read the fine print
At my lawyer doin business
Tunnel vision guess I didn't see the paper
Signed my life away
Got in a bind now I itch
shoulda read the fine print
Drawn a will didn't read it well
Sign off! Left everything to Jezabel
Shoulda have read it better
Now I'm going steady with a black widow
Probyopia, I can't see good...
I told ya!
Guess, I could have squinted put the paper closer
Can't see with or without the glasses
shoulda read the fine print
01/17/18
FOR CONTEST: shoulda read the fine print
SPONSORED BY: John Lawless
The sun was sporting a radiant yellow,
with headlong pause, upon entering her space.
Tanned and serene, cheered by warm fellow,
Larissa’s slightly demure, emanating grace,
framed in the joyful shine of bittersweet tangelo.
Sungaze tints her bucolic gown, each thread,
a xanthous treat in the field of convergent reap.
The stipple wheat, its ocean of resonant red,
veils her pretty feet, as the sun gently falls asleep.
Autumn stumbles out, as Summer slips into bed.
Larissa Laluna with short crop of hair, breathes
in cooling air, the moon playfully turns her white.
The baby’s breath and roses, her sallow wreaths.
A figurine of snow, softly pirouetting at twilight.
Hope’s found in indulgent seasons she unsheathes.
Tapping on her bare shoulder, a yellow rush,
while pastel tulips color the lady’s countenance.
The bounty of seasons, Larissa’s paragon-blush.
The harvest moon, the gypsy’s discountenance
of rivers of green, blue sky, and a sunny paintbrush.
10/4/2021
Emile Pinet’s Quintain (Sicilian) Poetry Contest
HMS
Kyiv, cultural hub of Eastern Europe
ancestral home of ancient Slavs
bombardment implacable
by the Russian tyrant's corps
a despot dismissing Ukraine's nationhood
a democratic thrust
shackling Ukraine for its wheat wealth
and mineral gain
marching black boots, green tanks that roll
demands for political control
when free will's deemed a provocation
love of country
love of freedom
Ukrainians fight onslaught, relentless
inestimable courage
'gainst the Russian foe, its war crimes with a
molten flow
while the West slips to a sanctions blow
pilgrimage of military ware
media clips of Ukrainian children, women, the frail
mass flee through rubble, shell shocked
a trek that strips the soles of feet
from Russian air strikes
an indiscriminate killing
humanitarian crisis overflow
"War of annihilation!" Ukraine's president cries
blood soaked strife
by the Russian bear in cagey deception
quest of domination
arched back of aggression
a world order dissolving
in the violent pitch of chaos
people shredded like cheap currency
their mythic status to fight on
to salvage freedom's shank of gold
too many "why's" to answer for
nimble evasions
should the west look away from
rattling war's expansive cage
Poem composed: March 18, 2022
A fleck of wheat along the bay
A quiver in the grass,
While daybreak shifts and ripples on
To mirror clouds that pass.
Warm breezes drift among the trees,
So calming to my ear
And only wistful eyes can seize
This dreamy atmosphere.
Then stars lend glitter to the night
To beam upon the dew,
Which fondles passion with glazed charm
As lovers thrill anew.
A time to dance, a time to grasp
The heart of summertime--
And nothing else to break the flow
Of moments quite sublime !
2019 Poetry Marathon Mile 22 Poetry Contest
Re-submitted 3/04/2019
8/6/8/6 rhyme scheme
Like a welcome Summer rain, humor may suddenly
cleanse and cool the earth, the air and you.
—Langston Hughes
RAINING IN SUMMER
The little teapot leaned over, steam pours out,
sizzles on the pavement. Trickles, sprinkles,
waters the subsidiary gardens that sprout -
those pointed out by a grandson. My wrinkles
curve up as the rain skillfully waters my willow,
my patch of roses and lilies, scattered and rare.
With Summer storm, I ruminate on a long time ago.
This grand-generation of blessing, not yet a prayer.
Drip…drop…splosh! The hope of the window pane.
We dream, as the outburst streams down to spill
our dreams, like seeds giving more than the mundane.
God saturates our lives with more than we will.
It’s raining Summer all over this land of honey-wheat.
Though droll and gray, a grateful soak gifts a sun rise.
My flower petals, leaves and boughs bathed in heat
and nourishing drink, replenishing the owls, and other wise.
Ker-splash, the puddles of inky-mud, stain the shins,
leave me, us, them, refreshed and sodden with grins.
The city of Jerusalem
How great for this is where our
Divine mother had become known
When the spirit being came to life
That we might become a child of God
The apostles began to do the work of Jesus
For this spirit of God was now dwelling within
To tell of His love and spread the spirit
They had many people begin to come to them
This brought fury to the high priest
And the religious and law leaders
They told them to leave or be put in jail
But these same disciples that walked
With Jesus and witnessed all His signs and wonders
Which all scattered when Jesus was being sacrificed
Had now come to know don't worry about man
But God which has power over death and life
They were walking and talking in the spirit
It was in this moment we can see John 12-24 in
Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die,
It abideth alone,but if it die it bringeth forth much fruit,. These pharisees who claim they were wise and knew the scriptures never knew the meaning for Jesus was telling them what He was going to do and God had blinded there eyes so they didn't have a clue.
For they wanted self praise of man to sit in there appointed chairs and wear fancy clothes . The tomb they placed Jesus in didn't hold Him. So now there jealousy of the apostles was to surround them in Jerusalem and place them in jail,
but the jail could not hold them.
In there attempt to keep the spirit of God from moving but God had already spread it to the Jews and Gentiles and all who call upon Jesus . This must have driven them mad for they killed one and now they have multiple walking and talking as Him, God wants to dwell within each of us don't let the wisdom of man religion keep you from it are wait on man to save you. Seek and you shall find the hidden treasures of this life, but you will be surrounded as they were to try and steal your joy and spirit but they shall also see if it is of God its not you they are fighting but God. And none shall snatch one out of the hand of God.
Love you all
effervescent swirling clouds
in turquoise summer skies
float like flocks of fair sheeps
in far away exuberant fields
beneath are cyclopean cypresses
touching celestial bosom
in deep periwinkle and corn flower
whilst wheat fields
are golden fleece
waltzing with the west wind
oh, how can I forget
the paradisiacal poppies
sitting placidly along the wayside
like your eyes glisten
in your pensive mood
unaware of my presence
9 March 2021
Notes:A Wheatfield with Cypresses is any of three similar 1889 oil paintings by Vincent van Gogh, as part of his wheat field series. All were exhibited at the Saint-Paul-de-Mausole mental asylum at Saint-Rémy near Arles, France, where Van Gogh was voluntarily a patient from May 1889 to May 1890. The works were inspired by the view from the window at the asylum towards the Alpilles mountains.(Photo and info credits to Wikipedia)
All Yours (March 22) Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Brian Strand
1st place