Short Tilling Poems

my earth therapy
gently digging and tilling
future tomatoes...

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Nothing grows on salted earth,
Finding only empty husk .
Tilling the soil of layered death
Causing blight with every tear....

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instincts instigate impulse
draping dream diadems
watering wafting wants
tilling till time teaches
fears freeze freedom
lucid love liberates...

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Tingling her fingertips tracing contours inflaming..
Goosebumps, rising to her touch moistened petals
Reaching for the light inside her love's, tilling palms....

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In writing
a poem or a novel,

the writer, 
learns about himself;

he won't always 
like what he learns,

for writing, 
is like tilling a garden:

some dirt gets 
turned up with the soil....

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always baking and cooking
always sewing and keeping house
always watering her violets
always tilling garden in spring
never giving up on herself
or others or her beliefs
she was always the
greatest grandma
i could of ever had!...

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Behold, the aura of evening sky
colors fade to darkness, breathless.

Hands, spent toiling and tilling, reap
simple pleasure, and fingers begrimed.

Passion of the island people grows,
As upward the beast below boils.

© Jul 21 2010 African Asset contest “sky, soil, and sea”...

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BEHIND THE CURTAIN


I picked the withering roses
Out of the vessel;

To fling them off
I crossed the door
Only to find
A palm of fingers 
Tilling a land 
Between his belly and abdomen
And soon his yelping mouth
Caught it and swallowed .


Alas! where ‘s 
 My rosy n chubby hunger -dear ?...

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Memories... Gardening

Digging the black ground
tilling and turning around

making straight rows
seeds to sown

beans, yellow and green
carrots as far as can be seen

tomatoes tall and red
next to the flower bed

watching each plant grow tall
some to be picked in the fall

a harvest fest
for all to eat...

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I have managed to muddle through life somehow.
It seems I have constantly pulled a plow.
Tilling the soil to plant some seed,
I have had many an obligation and need.
I share the same burdens with my neighbor.
What happened to the fruits of my labor?
They were all harvested, consumed, and spent.
Sometimes I wonder where it all went
....

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I kill for tomatoes

if only they were satisfied
with some~ the fat, green
caterpillars -- 

Weeds seem always to thrive -- 
like children somehow in the
gutter – soil of the street 
never needs tilling, or nitrogen
added, handily replenishes its own 
filth and acrid scent -- 

Occasionally one ripe
with good seed is spared
both plate and gutter

then to be crucified...

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Live as if you will die today
Every moment of life is irreversible
No one is above death, no not man
It all started from mother Eve in Eden
Adam had a forbidden bite
Tilling and twilling became the price to live
They will die, says the infinite deity
By their sin we are doomed. Oh no!
The tall, short, fat, and even the slim
Red, brown, yellow black and white
So sad we have no respite...

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Tell them
-They have come
To the fishless sea;
Needless is their net and 
chums,
Useless! Their gaff and clonks.

Tell them
-They have come
To the metal land;
Where tilling is a waste,
And planting is unseen.

Tell them
-They have come
To the shadeless tree;
Where resting is unpleasant,
Where sun is in abundance.

Tell them
-And Sing to them
A single song;
Sing to them
Their failure!...

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Groaning  rain
Mumuring sky
Mumbling  cloud
Raging thunder
Broken - straight - loud
Sullied roofs
Filthy earth
Preempt bathing
Fragile feet seeking haven
What about indigents 
Tilling  holes like ants
Whistling kettles - inane cups
Painting their bellies brown in tea 
Scared snails remain doggo
Beneath their shells - until the land is wet
The rain will never know
The earth is thirsty
Just give birth to your lines...

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let us richly grow the word
deep in the hearts of the world
our being the ripened seed of seen
planted in wide acceptance therein
to bloom the one, his come and call
in fruitful yields he longs of all
not microphones tilling tares across
of sundays' spill in sows of dross
much sowing, much growing, what is to see?
dread dirtiness in laughs of hurt mockery
so, let's sow ourselves true of the word
and what true change come upon the world...

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Her feet knows the path
Seeing amongst stones
Curled, the grass wet swathe
And stars dry as bones

Into night she walks
Head laden, heart spilled
Her prices for stalks
Less than she is billed

For mulch and tilling 
And the clouds too dry
Cost her more spending
The land makes her sigh

But the cycle keeps
In the wind she talks
And murmur-less sleeps
The toad neath the balks

The fog unwinds day
A barren tree shed
Leaves where children play
The sun on their head....

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Dearly beloved, we knew she slayed poverty
Inching her way to paint and sketch
Night alone would not feed her passion, she
Answered to no one about her dreams, for
Heaven held stairway anyone could climb.

Day became electric as she stretched
Illuminated passages by her hands,
And landed on rich grounds, fore tilling another
Nothing and no one strayed her from The Source
And now, she's shimmering like stardust in my mind.

(In memory of Pioneer of our family)

*...

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First Corinthians
chapter twelve verse twenty-five:
Care! (undivided!)

in tilling a field,
there's as much dignity as
in writing a poem!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Adapted from quote by Booker T. Washington:
"No race can prosper till it learns that there is 
as much dignity in tilling a field as in writing a poem."
With reference to 1 Cor. 12:12-31
As noted in the Bible commentary entitled,
"AFRICAN AMERICAN: The Body of Christ"
in The Catholic Youth Bible...

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My gardening is in man
Growing relationships is the bomb
Betting on people
Placing my brain in the garden
Growing strength in man
Bridging oceans and sculpting statues
Counseling and praying
My garden is growing.

Preaching and teaching along the rows
Planting men and seeing them grow
Feeding the body and watering the plants
Clothing the flowers and harvesting the crops
Stringing the beans and tilling the soil
Sunday school teaching and mentoring people
My garden is growing....

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