Short Scythes Poems

Cloaked in midnight gusts, 
The wind scythes the grove of trees;
Death is in the air....

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Old Father Time offered for sale
Used scythes Death designed to impale
The demos were free
But if you ask me
Those buyers looked woefully pale!...

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Sleepless nights alone
Piercing the thoughts of the lost
Painful incision 
Death doesn’t mock the weary
He scythes them heartlessly

Russell Sivey

Purely Fiction...

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Over lambent plains
of blond wheat,
braided spikes
rustling
in flaxen breeze,
a flock of crows
seesaws
like obsidian scythes
in cider firmament
under harvest sun's afternoon eye....

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Love, 
if you’re a god indeed, 
why are you like, then, 
some dandelion?
Tell me what can I do
to keep you safe?
If a single blow of breeze
scythes you down,
how can you stand against
the heart’s hurricane?...

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Sunlight glints off polished silver
A river reflects in its face
Water tinted a reddish hue
Sweeps along the scythes base
But iron and silver do not meet
Until the blade swings toward a rock
The wooden handle now rots there
With both bodies the river has caught...

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Jade scythes
of areca fronds
slice slate air;
Medusa's snakes writhe.
Pewter arrows pierce
my garden.
I sit beneath an eave
pondering
the nascent storm.
Geraniums cloister
like vestal butterflies
in darkening loam
as a multitude
of emerald tufts
bend on the fleeing lawn.

5/12/18...

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Variscite and seraphinite scythes slice the upper spheres with precision,
As their blades rub their rainbow ribbons in the boreal breeze,
Their surgical incisions of incandescent crystals cauterize the carnelian excisions,
Letting breathe once more the solar winds which whistle in its throaty wheeze....

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When comes the death of death’s last gasp
this momentary timeless lapse
between each breath, inhale, exhale
death’s agony, succeed or fail,
will linger on the scythes honed tip
slip slowly through Death’s claw-like grip
knowing that within its grasp
comes the death of death’s last gasp.


John G. Lawless
©2/14/2022...

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Along street’s he’s casing, unseen in control
  Sickles and Scythes, double edged swords
 One hooks the young, other catches the old 
 And for winding up days, gets a tidy reward 
  Not diamonds or rubies, platinum nor gold
 But fruits, and candies, his Halloween hoard


Bitesize Poem no.54 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Line Gauthier 
10/22/22...

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Coloured Putin
Shoot her full of rainbows
Scythes from heaven
Souls down in Hell
Hundred thousand dead
Mamushka I miss you
Our Leader sent us there
Not an Odessa holiday
Opposite of that mama
Forgive them all
It's Putin's orders
Hundred thou casualties
Bullet ridden rainbows
Her essence is black



SELL OUT
Nick Armbrister 
out in 23...

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On the days the wind does blow
life gets caught up in how things should go
and winds gather up the harvest from the field to tow
to blow up harvest in good flight it may freely flow
but what of those who never know
and never feel the warm winds of autumn blow
and the scythes will never come home
and all hope of good harvest is then
 forever gone...

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Sky filters through scant woods
printing a cold sunlight on shadowed tree trunks.

Only December has this light,
it both scours and forages,
it scythes away all heaped-up flotsam.
A December wind,
sings its own death song.
Ice hangs unseen upon the air.

The woodland acres shimmer,
then tremble upon a long fading note,
one that ushers in
last rites and other mixed blessings....

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a bite like hot charcoal
              a nate full
              of stolen baby teeth

that scythes off dried skin
              ripped off like old wallpaper
              the tearing of small birds

hidden under an early barn
              mice shake like clocks
              and cry in cold straw

You tap dancer, 
              as cruel as a broken tooth
              as evil as a round eye...

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Snapdragons Crackle

 
Snapdragons crackle 
in the air for Maura
and her flowing gait, 

a swagger neither Nora
nor Maureen would ever 
let a suitor savor.

Maura knows 
that in her wake
men with scythes 

and burlap sacks,
creep like gators,
eyes afire, jaws agape.

Nora and Maureen 
can smell these men. 
Unlike Maura 

and her flowing gait,
Nora and Maureen will smile,
take their time and wait.
 

Donal Mahoney...

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an acre of land
our very own smallholding
father scythes long grass

rows of potatoes
green runner beans, sweet carrots
mother bakes fresh bread

huge laundry baskets
filled with ripe red strawberries
small hands were stained red

a goat and two pigs
chickens and a cockerel
our morning alarm

perched upon a stool
I learn to do the milking
owl hoots in ash tree

Garden Poetry Contest

Sponsored by Dear Heart

06/10/20...

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There are holes in the fabric of the universe...
where the diamond hearted used to reside
alive-shinning beyond bright-warming kind.

Mindless reapers -whipping poison scythes
another hole in the fabric of the universe
rapidly filling with holes-deep black holes
swallowing souls-vomiting misery's bones.

Where's our God-balm to quiet the mind of man...
to work the shine back into the gems.
No more holes -only diamond shine
into the heart and soul of all mankind....

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In the millionth season 
they've finally blossomed
ready to garnish a famished brain,
but mind monkeys will pillage a garden
snatching anything fruitful away...
screaming atop flint branches 
just beyond trembling reach
sitting so smug and casually
bouquet of scythes in mitts of flint
chattering away...
"if you want it so badly, 
come fetch the scent of your dream, indecision man"
all the while I'm idling in a barrel of gasoline
mind monkeys nibbling the heads off the dream....

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