Short Furrow Poems
Short Furrow Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Furrow by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Furrow by length and keyword.
dew crafts
crown on grass
gold flakes fall with leaves
fire furrow paves garden path
gilded trees adorn autumn’s spectral splendor
He thinks my tractor's sexy
I wear gold hoops and pink clogs
My hat's quite floppy
My furrow set to sow
He thinks my tractor's sexy
and I bounce around for him.
Pastoral heart of drifting swain
Seeking fair lilly my field requite
Thick clover only passive streams drain
Silt each furrow with frilly delights
Cloak jade meadow with fecund light
Identity,
Born from a kernel of inheritance
Planted deep within a furrow of pain
Growing in the light of new discovery
Reseeding itself
—waiting for the rain
(My Son Trystan & I: May, 2016)
The speaker says
There is "no you"
And brows furrow..
But the sub-text
There is "no not-you"
Seems not spoken or heard..
Which could ignite
Perhaps and maybe
An exploding Wow...!
A woman in a man's world was Artemiia Gentileschi
broke the glass ceiling to be free
She much to her famous pa did owe
but in her day ploughed her own furrow
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Artemisia_Gentileschi
not the banyan trees
dried twigs hold the dragonflies
often carefully
few fallen feathers
form firm foundations for Finch's
fantastic furrow
a leaf on waters
becomes great lifebuoy
for a drowning ant
17 August 2021
Bungalow shrouded by sorrow
Ancillary space time doth borrow
Recycled dreams in dark basement furrow
Residual memories in corroded hope chest burrow
Embezzled ambitions in fallow vault sallow
Naked soul in hollowed-out walls doth wallow
Fantasy
Fountain pens scribe paper
Feathers inkblot meaning
Furrow stanza rhythm rhymes
Feel caress intuit
Fine tapestry emote
Flirtatious poetry
Flowing love in motion
19th September
Syllables 6 6 6 6 6 6 6 =42
On Taking Secretaries To Lunch
If you live in the valley
know the lava above
has the tact of Comanche
demeanor of dove
Hoe furrow
don’t sprinkle
your seed
then enwire
Post sentry
tall criers
Go home
to your love
Donal Mahoney
The dog runs through the grass,
Chasing,
Pursuing,
Hoping to catch what was thrown.
In triumph, it catches the object,
Chomping down victoriously.
Suddenly, its brows furrow,
And spits out its spoils.
Questioningly, it looks at you,
Wondering why you threw a lemon.
When warmed by inspiration's sun,
I take my favorite tool, my pen,
and plough a careful furrow through
the rich, deep soil of thought.
With eagerness I plant a row
of words, and watch them bud and grow,
then marvel at the miracle
that God and I have wrought!
Tis true you swore an oath
A contract intended for both
From saints pure minds you did quoth
Your duplicitous mind, truant heart did me betroth
My nubile furrow plowed for fecund growth
Yet your fertile stream my shallow root did not clothe
My fruitless womb your evil spirit did loathe
Of men and ships that plow the seas
And leave a vanished furrow
In unmarked depths of ocean field
Where a million sees lie fallow.
Men who cast with roughened hands
Hopes upon the silken crests
And visions to the salty breeze
Ships that touch the foreign shore
And paint the harbor frieze.
Divine Mother’s touch,
we yearn for so much;
gentle love caress,
bliss making ingress.
Bliss currents burrow,
beneath skin furrow,
enlivening form
with magnetism warm.
Soma nectar drips;
heart, with pleasure sips
elixir of God;
our soul, overawed.
16-April-2022
So innocent in Thy slumber,
The dreams and vigils of the day
gone by.
No furrow marks Thy brow.
No trace of teardrops
Glisten from your eyes.
Thou art so much like the flower
Eager for the silver dew...
Thy face is flushed
as dusk rests heavy on the breast,
And as I keep night watch
I love you.
Form:
Mule minded
Plough, my mule
a furrow in my name
the almond tree blossoms
there will
be another furrow
in my name
memories collect
spent bullets
in a mass grave
in pursuit of knowledge
while yellow flowers
at the edge
of a memory
wilts
not robust enough
to plough another furrow
Observing breath without regulating
In nonchalance simply looking ...
We mentally pause at the moment of exhalation
The zone of breath polarity rotation ...
The void of cessation in focus between eyebrows
Is where we melt away and the void furrow
With pure intention
For divine connection
18-September-2020
Many drink to December;
Like last phase of ember days,
Rejoice, a step to cinders.
The smile of festive faces
Etches subtle lines, the frown
Of trying year, a furrow.
Traces of unrhymed rhythm
Of waves and of crest and trough,
Of a strange romance with time,
Chime a solemn distant toll,
Heralding our ember days.
© 2014
Form:
A lack of a horse or a Harley had long held him back,
the curse of normalcy and no redeeming truck.
Some said he held himself back
others shrugged
knowing he had already lost a race
he never dared to enter.
Nevertheless he plowed his own track
kept a neat furrow
a straight-arrow aiming steadfastly
to nowhere worth a mention.
Forgiveness
Dusted with determination
her bent old body plows a furrow
in the field of time.
She has bled into the earth,
eaten unleavened bread
with sacramental wine
Old Mother seasoned with
sorrow, proud of her pain
and the daily acts of contrition
that may bring absolution,
or that may crumble
like the gauzy wings of moths
Equines
Two horses and a foal graze on my land
twilight, gentle rain
I think of the days when ploughing
the field, a sturdy horse
a long furrow on rich black soil
what more is there to know
stroking a flank, the warm aroma of
a horse arises in still air
dreams are endless, in daylight
three boulders in a field
Although
it’s a hard row to hoe
a rough furrow to harrow
and a tough trench to plough
there’s many a meadow to mow
I hereby avow
and tho' it may be news to you
farmers have the need
to sow their seeds
where milkmaids milk the cows
swineherds feed their sows
and shepherds have their pie
and eat it too
in Slough now
His village
is
a plantation
of privations,
where
a variety of
sorrows grow.
Love
like corn
lives
within
a pale cover.
Pain
is buried
in the furrow
of misery.
Moneyless Majhi
plods miles
with
his stiff spouse
on his shoulder.
Here
to live
is to burn
like dried cow dung.
First printed in The Literary Hatchet
Tilting in the breeze
branches sway to and fro
to the rhythm under the world
a delicate snow to autumn breeze
rushing here, there
breaking branches
turning the air
sway in rhythm to and fro
leaves twirl to the rhythm
only heard by the defiance of trees
they come in snow, sleet
Torrential rains furrow
they burn deep in the earth
awaiting rebirth