Never pick crops before harvest ,
?Because the sun won't let me rest.
?It was rotten yet never became ripe,
?This is what I got after all that hype .
?
?It bore the seeds of despair,
?It's something I can't repair.
?Stuck in a quagmire of panic,
?Should I...no I tried that tactic.
?Though the seeds looked promising,
?Nothing good comes from fantasizing.
?Thought picking it before harvest I'd still find it in a good state,
?I knew that those fruits were nothing but rot in my fate.
?
?For the bare land that bore them always buried my grudges.
?I guess my heart is hard and never budges.
?For every thought I plough, it sows the seeds of rot and I reap the pain .
?
Failing fidelity
arrogant - promise broken
A tiara of lily of the valley
The night with
- deceitful moonlight
Foxtrot is a dance for two
Beauty clearly dims, excess fears grow,
Yet your love glows constantly in me.
Its goodness my heart each day will know,
So your tender care becomes my plea.
Life means nothing, only prayer’s quest,
It’s your love that grants life true meaning.
Sadness ebbs swiftly, as hearts attest,
On your sweet love, my soul is leaning.
Read slowly to unwrap very well—
Then you’ll hear love’s true voice speaking loud.
Deep in the heart its pure feelings dwell;
Its diction can even make foes proud.
Just know lovers make new odd pledges,
None too heavy for their souls to keep.
Don’t ever be a doubting Thomas—
Sow love in my heart, and joy you’ll reap.
A lazy man sings
Of how much work his desk brings,
But too lazy is he
To do anything but sleep.
A lazy man gives
So many explanations, yet still
Nothing, nothing but sleep.
A lazy man's wish
Is to one day be rich
But not a day does he
Sow, so he can reap.
I walked in to my least favorite words,
‘Last call.’
We didn’t have an alternate plan;
What now?
So the streets will meet our mayhem;
Inflamed;
Should have given us your refuge;
Reap this!
Now we burn what you told us to write;
Riot!
The harvest that came from when deep the aim
All those seeds that we sow and beget
In life's little game we then reap the shame
Of those deeds that we grow to regret
Humbly;
With no disrespect,
Or ill manner;
Were I Jesus,
I’d build my church on her!
Simon Peter would deny me thrice,
But I could rely on her. I can.
She’s never let me down.
So, on her I’d build my church,
The foundation;
She’d be my rock.
And in her I’d plant my seed,
Assured; come harvest, I’ll reap!
Whatever you may think of this,
Precisely, it is as I mean!
@rudd_poetry
#PoetryNeverLies
#MyLife_MyPoetry
The sky
reflected in the harvested field
that laps up against the walls of
the Church of Saint-Paul de Mausole.
A surge of incriminating waves
upon which the Word is cast,
its roots in the church
that’s defined in outline
against the random aspect of the sky:
a nirvana,
or heaven –
not to be dictated to
by mere mortals.
A modest harvest
loosely stacked against the outer wall
representing the total sum of souls
still hoping for salvation,
but excluded
from the church’s close.
You shall reap what you sow.
Except in the darkest room
In it a figure would loom:
No time to cameras zoom,
Present as clean: filthy room…
Does capture like a good pen
Pimples up to painful ten,
All the smoke-stained teeth of Ben
And proves not the cock a hen…
Mirror: the Steadfast Biro
Misses out not feared terror:
Things which mortify Sarah,
Even a typing error.
Eyes which had ceased to taste sleep,
The ones, no alcohol, weep,
Pairs upset by an old jeep;
Men who don’t sow but do reap!
A failure to watch one’s weight,
A leaving of things to fate:
One who’d for casual sex wait;
Also, who shall become great!
- Certainly it is not all harvest
That Will Bear Healthy Fruits,
do not Wait for Harvest of Fruits
From Rotten Seeds "...
Who Plants Rain,
Reaps Storm ..
Who makes Vineyard,
Reaps Grapes
And we keep on falling into tomorrows,
A spinning particle with a soul,
In harmony with the spheres,
Sure as clockwork,
Till that final moment,
We meet dust,
We become wind,
And then we are for a while -
a phrase, a song, a scent.
Falling then, into yesterdays,
Each descending further -
Soundless, breathless, lifeless.
Why then should we be, as if
'forever' is the blood in our veins?
Have we not heard the phrase -
'life and death'?
Till the soil farmer, till!
As you live -
sow, water and reap.
For only then ...
the swan song can be of
a 'life full of years!' …
That dirge laments not...
For the epitaph sings of victories
Hosea 8:7: "For they have sown the wind, and they shall reap the whirlwind."
Reap the whirlwind
By Michelle Morris
13/01/2023
Let us be careful of our actions
For they betray our thoughts and feelings
If we focus on the darkness
We will do damage instead of healing
If we sow the wind
We will surely reap the whirlwind
The consequences of bad actions
Will always find us in the end
Whatever you believe in
These are constant living rules
For every deed we choose
Will always come back fully
Let us be careful of our actions
Let us be careful of our thinking
Let us focus on the highest good
And allow love and light to twinkle
© Michelle Morris, 2023
Pour burdens upon the arms of God
Thanking bountiful reap of good
Philippians 4:6
"Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God."
--------------------------------------------
The imagery of death as a faithful companion rather than a cruel thief, gives this piece a comforting, philosophical weight.
_________________________________
I wake one day, again for long to sleep
To just find out if life or death is fake,
And learn, man’s here to sow, and scarce to reap.
Death lives with life, all through our life to creep,
And crawl along--- a slithering old snake,
I wake one day, again for long to sleep.
A faithful friend, a quiet bond does keep,
Death never once would dream a life to take,
Beware, life’s here to sow, and seldom reap.
Life’s just a tiny blip of time, no leap,
It strives, in fleeting time the most to make,
I wake one day, again for long to sleep.
We live, forget, and miss the truth so deep,
We try to swim but sink in life’s small lake,
And learn to sow, sometime later to reap.
To garner light before the shadows creep
To burnish our hereafter do we wake,
I wake one day, again for long to sleep,
Life’s just to sow, let death decide to reap.
_____________________________________
Villanelle | 05.10.2012, revised March 2022 |
Meditation does not merely work for me
It uplifts me in a quintessential spiritual way
I am able to release my conscious to initiate self-hypnosis.
This reach into the upper limits is a wavering line.
When I am in my meditative relaxed state things happen
That do not happen when I have not released myself
Sometimes I feel gusts of energy whip in and out
Over my head, under my arms, faster and faster.
My hands often begin circulating like windmills
Faster and faster and faster and faster and faster
I have no need to stop this impulsive energy
It is a reflection of my spiritual self
When I am in touch with my soul self,
the best parts of myself live a joy I cannot get anywhere else
My day is full of happiness and gladness.
A reminder that I am a spirit person trapped in this flesh body.
The negativity in the world shuns away from me.
She senses my aura
Likewise, the positivity runs toward me with open arms
I reap what I sow.
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