Short Bales Poems

Fields decorated
Round hugh bales of tan hay
Dry brown faces winter...

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calf's fed from bottles 
summers of baling hay bales 
playing in hayloft...

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Pine straw for flower
Beds, hay rides scarecrow stuffing
Bales to sit upon...

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feed pours from the sack
daylight lost you won’t get back….
more square bales to stack...

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along the highway
bales and bales and bales of hay
~ one mare and pony



posted on July 12, 2018...

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The fields have been swept clean
Round hay bales decorate the corners
Dry straw looking grass going dormant
Hawks search hoping for field mouse delicacy...

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Our hooves, claws, horns and fingernails
To pick up objects like straw in bales,
Made of keratin, rarely affected by ails,
Helps us to raise our boats with fine sails....

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What just brushed past me?
Like wheat pricked, dry.
The sky, she said.
Ah, and some wonder why.
We drink! ‘Til vision of inquiry pales.
Palled upon the violet sky bales....

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Want to lose weight the natural way,
keeping the sweet cereal at bay,
tastes rather bland,
but looser waist band,
thats why I'm eating little bales of hay.






12-17-16...

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Slivers of sunlight shine upon stacked bales of hay
Summer is here, removing all traces of grey
The sun roasts all those who dare to stand in his way
Life's not all sunshine as summer blues blast away
...

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autumn’s most clever harvest moon
parades above scratchy hay bales
September shows us October’s nearness
Kansas and Nebraska cool off wonderfully
harvest moon love of September formulates plan
hear a knock on meadow’s door?...

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From God’s Palette
Miracle Man
1/6/2022

Evening sun escapes from an overcast sky,
that provides a ceiling over huge round bales.
Summer's searing heat has rendered ground bone-dry,
a multicolored sky sparing no details.
...

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Willy, a wild mammoth lives in my yard
Shedding head all over in clumps
Neighbors come by and collect it in bales
Making comforters, pillows and plush cushions
They bring casseroles, carrots, croissants and canapes
Willy has the best life, and he knows it
Milking it for all it is worth...

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If only you could see that we
are not so far removed
from the men who stood beside
High Horses.

And bales of hay,
and especially cotton.

Fleeting herds and commodities
on societies take a toll.

Old times should never be forgotten,
but remembered as a lesson.

Or history has no soul....

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Acreas of round bales of hay
Straw colored and dry, covered by thin plastic
Rolled up, saved for a hungry day
For the farms of America

Field left barren soft brown
From lack of rain falling down
The dryest time of the year
Facing us with much fear

Knowing that winter is on the way
Hoping that the preservation
Saves the day
For animals in America...

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Born in a leaky roof
Chains normatively bangles
Where bales’ pay tribute
Their fate decided by others

Those who think themselves gods
Like dogs they penetrated
Only to recoil like serpents
Swallowing the hunters game

He violated their rule
And spoke against their doctrines
He slept but they were gone
Buried he was in our minds

To die a man
Is to forever live...

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BALING HAY

Rain rain   Come on down   Come on down

Need to   Go to town   Go to town

Trac-tor   Keeps a bump-   ing a-long

Need rain   On the hot   Day to-day

On rack   Be-hind, it's   Hard to stand

Toss-ing   Hay bales on   The back rack

Sky clouds   Come-ing in   From the west

Rain rain   Come-ing down   Come-ing down

Let's get   Head to town   Head to town...

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Took leave from my job to live the cowgirl way
Didn’t think, I’ll be pitching bales of hay
Living the cowgirl way was a rough ride
Didn’t realize I had to skin rawhide
I was raised a country girl myself
But my skills had sat on a shelf
It was back breaking work to hard for me
I just had to turn in the key
I wasn’t a young girl anymore
So, I headed straight to the door

JANUARY 25, 2021...

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The mighty sycamore stands strong
Unmoved as life moves blindly by
Inviting branches like welcoming arms
More than a tree this engaging mystery
How many limbs have come together,
The tip out of reach forever?
Leaves whispering a multitude of childlike tales
Bales, sheltered from the summer sun
Invincible yet so vulnerable
And now in its place sits a painted brick wall
A part of me is just a memory...

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Farm necks
thick as bales of hay
burnt like the earth
weather veined hands-gathering eggs
Farm necks
tough as desert wood
dusk until dawn
three generations under one leaky roof.
Withering acres of parched hope
Old Testament humble
barn cat stubborn. 
Starry thunder is rumbling over the blood horizon
searching the mud room for your war boots.

Uncle Sam is coming 
armed with pink slips and fists of black powder....

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A shaft of sunshine
streams magnolia clouds
glides a vacant village
streaks a patchwork meadow
and warms textured straw bales 
wrapped in harvest light.

Milk laden cows 
graze on clover fields
as sheep stud high heather hills.

Sprinting brambles prickle
surrounding hedgerows
swollen with purple fleshy fruits.

Song birds
bolt from oak to sycamore
hurling melodies
blossoming the breeze
on a lily light afternoon....

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Her little brother was finally given permission to jump into hay bales.
Laura had been waiting four years for this moment!
She took Tommy’s hand and they ran to the hill with the straw.
They took a flying leap giggling all the way down.
This is why we live in Iowa, on a farm, she told him.
She remembered doing this with an older cousin.
Tommy wanted to do it over and over and over, of course.
She understood, remembering when she was four....

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Let us dance around the room 
at least until there's a big boom
or until we get sleepy and the punch
warms up and gets consumed by a pup

As we dance most of the night 
we shall not bite anything other
than our fried chicken if not ourselves
as we move around the room

When the night is over let's stroll on over
to our cars and dance again the next day
even if it's near bales of hay or clay molded
into images of ourselves then dance away...

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My Molly May

I had a little pony
I called her Molly May
So often I would venture out
And feed her bales of hay.

So then she’d frolic
Kick her heels up high
Round and round she would run
Looking sweet as she passed by.

She’d run until she was worn out
Then to the stable she would go
I’d bed her down then for the night
My love for her each day would grow

She was my, cutest Molly may
This pony always made my day.

25 September 2014...

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Beyond the meadow pumpkins lay
Amidst the birch and bales of hay
Basking in the moonlit glow
Crows perch high on scarecrow

Leaves pirouette in the dark
Bats fly low then embark
Thistle swagger in the breeze
Just below the apple trees

Rabbits flitter 'cross the field 
Stalks of corn embrace their yield
Looming shadows high they tower
Ever near the witchin' hour

House to house off they go
Candy baskets overflow
Costumed tots laugh with delight
On this hallow's eve night...

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