Short Silos Poems

Haiku 110
	
	
	silver silos...
	snow-filtered 
	sunlight...

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Total destruction
our world that no longer is
silos final sin...

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between missile silos
we pitch tents
we starry speak
we pop bottles
we kindle love
we lightly dream
between missile silos...

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It was said, 
in times of peace 
prepare for war --
peace, indeed, allows 
the most opportune 
time

to build and install 
missile silos, massive 
arsenals, to commit 
and justify a mighty 
state's war 
crime!...

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The earth looks tired
Harvest home, the silos full
Dust swirls in the breeze
Birds inspect the dry rubble
Hills long burnt by the sun, wait



Barbara Gorelick 7/11/11

Brown..for Nette's color contest...

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Of all the months, the days of October
Call to me with a voice  like no other
The harvest almost done, silos filling
Over night the color palate changes
Birds have gathered for their flight 
Enchantment of the year's first fireside
Renewing rest of winter soon to come...

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by his mother's side
a famine child cries 
while a suburban family sits down
to eat more then they need
in a land so rich with wealth
grain stocked piled 
in silos so high
so much more than the little consumed

a blind eye is turned
to the horrors of the third world...

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freshly  plowed field
rows stretch to the horizon
birds feeding

earth nurtures seed 
sun filters through broken clouds
rich black gold

golden blanket 
waves in the hot summer breeze
harvest home

silos tower
year's bounty gathered again
bread baking

...

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Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: Tall Grass
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: August/2014


Some folks 
like
Beverly Hills -

But,

Beverly Hills,
ain't 
for me -

I prefer
a 
place

on 
the open 
plains,

where
Silos,
and
Windmill's

paint
the scene-

Where
Tall-Grass
is
green -...

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Twin towers on a snow-covered mountainside,
weathered and bruised by age. 

Skeletons.

Sacrificed by merciless breath,
veterans of war.

Once providers that fed hungry mouths,
now empty and depleted. 

Abandoned. 

Gray and faded by years of trauma,
they erode like elderly pieces of used history....

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Recognizing life's fields need steady crop rotation
Each of their grains harvested requires separatization
Safely stored in silos of compartmentalization
Red lights flash consistently on the horizon
Emptiness found in the words comprising
Tomorrow is another day or so, I'm surmising
Perhaps one morning, I'll wake up more wizened...

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When Autumn readies for harvest
not her full silos nor baskets imprest
not mellow vistas seen nor dressed trees, yellow-red
not Indian Summer's embrace nor late coloured flower beds
not Fall's living collage or wine newly pressed
not for walks in the woods or nature's largesse
but in thanksgiving ,daily blessed
for all the Lord's bountifulness...

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Chasing the golden sun across America,
Expressing wonderment at the vastness
Of the Great Plains, distant farmhouses
Dwarfed by gigantic silos awaiting harvest.


Four lines from "Across the Great Plains"
Written August 24, 2021
Abstracted August 30, 2021
Submitted to "Liberum Divisa 7" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Gregory Richard Barden...

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The words taste like music
from worlds long ago
Each letter resavored
in harmonies old 

Coming to harvest
their sweetness imbues
A cave for an orchard
in wall painted hues

Old symbols retilling
those questions inside
Reborn when discovered
then never to hide

The silos refilling 
new birthrights to seed
Replanted within us
—a symphony freed

(The New Room: January, 2023)...

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i'm chasing a blue horizon
in fleeting moments of a fresh dawn


searching for acceptance
hiding somewhere in the corn fields


the clouds are looking promising
swimming between silver grain silos


in a sea of farms my indifferent thoughts catch
only on the wooden telephone poles


gravel road beneath my feet tempting
if i run fast enough
i could disappear in the blue horizon...

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Those breasts are a granary of life
they are silos for the thin times
they are feeding gourds for the fragile
there are vitamins in them
there are proteins in them
there are starchy foods in them	
there are fats in them
there is rough-age on them
there is water of life in them
there are all minerals in them
those who carry them
those whose use them
must do so with holiness
and dignity...

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Raised Iron works
thrust out of the blacktop.
Women-hole covers
appear; the tip of the spear
above new drilled silos.

Rubber slugs concrete.
Debora steers her way
through a slalom of
gender specific movements.

The road bucks under
her taught belly,
while fingers push
a wheel through
a video game maze.

Long laboring feminists
under hard hats
are digging her,
so she just smiles -
tries to relax....

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an old ripped tarp argues with the wind
the NO TRESPASSING sign trembles
an underdressed scare crow ‘crazy dances”
mocking a city dweller manically hailing a cab
the warmth of the red barn lies to the field mice
offers only the emptiness of progress
sad hollow hope of grain-less silos
silent feathers watch as hunger preys
upon the return of every sunrise
an old ripped tarp argues with the wind 


©1/20/2019...

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It's early January,
and the fields are wet and muddy.
The rainwater sits and slowly soaks
the fertile soil. Heavy machinery
has been silenced and put to rest.
They shall sleep through Old Man
Winter and awake next Spring.

Beans, corn, cotton, peanuts,
and sesame seeds no longer
flood the bounty fields of plenty,
because every crop has been
harvested. What's not in the silos
has been sold to markets near and far....

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Silos stand like sentinels
                                Weathered barn doors creak, cows moo
                                    The snow dances with delight
                              Birds find shelter in the arms of eaves







Poem is written in "Lind30" form.  A form developed by Robert Lindley
7/7/7/9 syllable or word count; poets choice.

For: Winter Wonders Within Nature Contest
Sponsored by: M.L. Kiser
Placed 5th in contest...

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Racing toward the deep blue horizon,
Chasing the golden sun across America
Expressing wonderment at the vastness
Of the Great Plains, distant farmhouses
Dwarfed by gigantic silos awaiting harvest
Tall soldier-like windmills standing guard
While cattle graze, tails twitching like metronomes
To the beat of the clackity-clack road noises.

FIRST PLACE WINNER
written August 24, 2021
Brian Strand "Verse Freed" Poetry Contest
March 4, 2022...

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The Ohio wipes its face every few miles.
A bend in the river
forgets the wharfs, the gravel silos
and power plants,
only occasional coal barges
push an industrial past before them.

Here cattails gather herons
into measured dominions.
The river gallops under placid waves,
fish-eyed currents dip and toggle
in the ripple.

It is possible to watch yourself
in this new bend in the stream,
possible to wash your face
anew also -


there to see your own rivering....

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Cornfields sway in the gently blowing breeze
Out in those golden hills right there in the haze;
Rustic silos keeping up with harvests spilling,
Nooks and corners to the brim overflowing.
Until sundown from the morn’s faint early glow,
Carts of wheat on beastly shoulders come and go;
Oh, the infinite abundance in God’s great domain,
Plains and valleys singing their joyful refrain.
Intriguing that despite the earth’s limitless bounty,
Apocalyptic hunger remains in man’s destiny....

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You obtain all things precious
then store in your silos tight
others you help them to beg
that is comfortable suffering
but you do not believe in it

You grab all powers that be
in your pockets they are zipped
others come and kneel with bribes
that is comfortable suffering
but your too are tightly zipped

The precious things of this world
the powers that balloons persons
the dignity that are denied of others
come to selected humans for custody
as custodians sharing is paramount...

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