We were not so poor
To be ungrateful
For what we lacked.
Full plates in a heated house
Made it seem undue to complain
For lack of poetry or a candy cane.
Ne’er a penny in a bush
Nor gift under the tree was for us
With corn, milk and eggs a plenty.
We dared not wish for more.
Each night we knelt in thanks
Before dreaming of a hotdog,
Birthday cake, Christmas
Gift, or a dime to buy
An ice cream cone.
The weeds we kept at bay
The trees chopped expertly
Our toil stayed the rest.
We were not so poor
To be unthankful
For what we lacked
As we hoed the corn
Milked the cows
Feed the chickens.
Starved of play we were
too busy making hay
To be ungrateful.
Consider the man in the street if you will
what's he doing there standing stock-still
maybe like the chicken he's crossing the road
and half-way over with nothing better to do
only slowed to admire the view
perhaps he's pushing his luck
for remaining stationary no doubt about it
he'll be hit by a van car lorry or truck
let's hope it's not so as hearing them coming
the man in the street beats a hasty retreat
making hay he hits the ground running
and his narrow escape's a clean getaway
to dawdle or dilly-dally down all his days
If
you say
Adam Schiff
should have his day,
maybe get a whiff
of power, making hay
on the nation’s fiscal cliff,
then you’re bright. You know Chick-Fil-A
(not the same thing as a secure SCIF)
is where bit-coin investors go to play,
the merest capitalist hieroglyph:
Coca-Cola, too, has feet of clay.
So, Socialism: jpeg? Gif?
Develop it in your tray:
to know the truth, just sniff.
This won’t go away.
You’re cool? You’re stiff?
Straight, or gay?
One riff –
PAY.
Haven't got time for those cynical people
They're never gonna drag me down
Life's too short for whining and complaining
In their own negativity they drown
For twenty-four seven it's non-stop paranoia
Can't imagine living that way
On the sunniest day their sun doesn't shine
I rather spend time making hay
Suspecting the government's watching us
Taping us each time we pee
Had no idea things had gotten that serious
Why such interest in little old me
Well I'm just gonna go on my merry old way
More important things on my mind
Like feeding Dufus and my Persian cat Lily
A good way to stay sane I find
Haven't got time for those cynical people
There's exciting stuff to explore
This friendly old planet is beckoning me
So I'm off to open more doors
To Luck,
Thanks for being there though you sometimes "suck".
To Hope,
Thanks for showing up when I almost gave future an envelope.
To Joy,
Thanks for your loyalty to our alloy.
To Favour,
Thanks for being my strength's saviour.
To Faith,
Thanks for appearing out of the blue when in concession tub I choose to bathe.
To Family,
Thanks for the warm space to embark on the journey.
To Friends,
Thanks for taking paths off for some crosses, making hay days and sometimes some weak-ends.
To Humanity,
Thanks for teaching me "priority".
To Life,
Thanks for the opportunity to live and die!!!!
The Clock watcher
I am the clock watcher
I watch it all day
From the cock crows in the morning
Till we stop making hay
I am the clock watcher
And you might ask why
Is my life so dreary
As the clock ticks on by
I am the clock watcher
And you might wonder
Am I waiting on death
Or am I waiting on thunder
I am the clock watcher
And some think me weird
But it’s okay to be different
And better than feared
I am the clock watcher
And some think me wrong
As they go through their day
With a smile and a song
I am the clock watcher
Please don’t pity me
For I fix the clocks
For the church and clergy
Such a sweet tweet from you
Well it's just out of blue
How I cherish you can't guess
For you're my mommee ace
Want to see you in modern get-up
With scarf around thy neck covered up
A Rolex or Casio shining on wrist
It will penetrate even the mist
Treat to see you just play
Basket ball - making hay..!!
Memories of long ago
A simpler time of sunny days
filled with laughter
watching the clouds go by
Helping on the farm
feeding and bedding all the animals
making hay on a hot summers day
cleaning barns was great when done
walking bean fields pulling weeds
picking rocks so will not reck the machines
Helping in the kitchen
meals plus lunches
Mom and I would make a coffee break snack for mid morning workers
then lunch was put in the oven
an afternoon cake and coffee had to be made
supper was when the work was done
Washing clothes
a long days job as the new wash machine mom had was too good to be used
a Maytag ringer in the basement was the clue
Never ending work on the farm
Sadly I heard this old man say
If I had his looks I'd be making hay
In the sunshine or rain
On the grass, or on a plane
Guess I'll just perform a solo ballet
I'm cooking as if possessed
My kitchen is in a culinary mess
Pots, pans and bowls galore
Some I've never used before
Surrounded by a million books
With recipes, I've longed to cook
All meals planned to eat next week
The perfect meal I've yet to seek
My husband sits with cutlery posed
Ready to try one of those
Strange looking things on his platter
All the time getting fatter and fatter
Sitting down too much each day
Doing crosswords. making hay
The house has acquired a delicious aroma
We think we deserve a cooking diploma
We've made Aji De Gallina from Peru
Bo Kho spicy stew
We hope this lockdown that we're in
Stops very soon while we are still "reasonably slim"
Other tasks have gone to pot
Because of all the recipes I've got
I will have to quit this unhealthy yearning
Must run now our dinners burning
Idle hands at work
the devil making hay…
dark shadowed scythe waiting.
John G. Lawless
©5/19/2019
IF YOU PULL A LONG FACE : Part XXXV
IF you pull a long croquet face
While picking your teeth index and thumb over molar
Canines will drip corrosive acids on knuckles and nails
E'en if you lose anonymous self in a crowded alley
If you pull a long twisted itching face
All through childhood while making hay
You risk being stung by bluebottles and fleas
Right where you may not much like 'em to stay
If you pull a long self-conscious face
Guilt straining your under-your-wear during play
Tell-tale signs beyond control those stains on lace
Parents by Law only keep teens so long as they obey
If you pull a long pre-maturé face
E'en a Mahatma Gandhi married at puberté
At 36 assumes Brahmacharya celibate sacrifice
To libido's extra-marital experience falls prey
If you must pull a long pedo-de-filed priestly face
Pull it not on homeless orphan or pious nun gone astray
Tussle all alone the Devil in you from pantry to pillow-case
Or else the Man in Hu-Man would drive the Wo-Man gay
© T. Wignesan - Paris, February 21, 2019
Money Honey
By: Miracle Man
10/12/2018
Ad agencies inform customers in a brazen way,
Each day that the sun rises they’re making hay.
Attention getting commercials are so designed,
To take my cash by planting thoughts in my mind;
They think a sexy lady will encourage impulse buying,
But she, like most products, I find uninspiring.
Some spots are outrageous and many are quite funny,
Most turn out to be me squandering our money.
They always tout things that seem to be of great use,
And with lifetime guarantees they attempt to induce.
Sometimes they succeed convincing me of my need,
While their account rise’s I watch my credit card bleed.
Yearend I’m bombarded by causes needing assistance
And when I don’t respond, another letter of insistence;
I always feel depressed on those times when I’ve refused,
This joyous time of year I shouldn’t feel so abused.
she’s a wildflower
that makes the honey bee buzz
they become as one
when penetration so deep
threshing machine approaches.
© Harry J Horsman 2016
To you my villanelle I plight my troth
A poem both dignified and full of play
I love your form and elegance ,oh both
In your form I’ll never insert oaths
Neither will I boast of making hay
To you my villanelle I plight my troth
I’ll take you in my boat to the North Coast
From you I expect no reward or pay
I love your form and elegance ,oh both
You are a welcome visitor to host
Though you look both diffident and fey
To you, dear villanelle, I plight my troth
And when my friends come round we’ll drink a toast
To wordsmiths and to poets on their way
We love your form and elegance ,oh both
On my bed at night I gently rest
Knowing that I wander as your guest
To you my villanelle I plight my troth
I love your form and elegance ,oh both
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.