Short Wheat Field Poems

big blue moon
shines across wheat field
crickets chirp...

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migration stop
wheat field on the flyway
flock of geese rest...

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shimmering wheat field 

golden waves caress the land

birds circle above 

...

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wind slashes wyoming wheat field
blades of windmill spinning furiously
animals find shelter under bridge
rain slams down, breaking stalks
no mercy...

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Winds whip 'cross wheat field

   sheaves float up, dancing on air
   
      ~ magic carpet ride


           

           June 04, 2020
     Brian's Select 4 Contest
      Sponsor: Brian Strand...

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There are fields of gold
In which wheat is found produced
Walking you find the new crop
Deep yellow throughout
Field has food that creates bread
Enhanced rows of pure delight

Russell Sivey...

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Steady lads
You're the farmer
You're the scythe
Sharp like a knife
They're the wheat
Stalks in the wind
Steady boys
They come again
Time to reap. 

4/17/14

Author's note: The battle of the Wheat-field, Gettysburg, July 2, 1863....

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Citron yellow-
                  prussian blue
brings day and night 
                 into view.
Two sides of a coin
      - a shadowless wheat field
      - a brush-stroked sky
Eye-impressions do not lie

WHEATFIELDS with Cypresses /STARRY night- Van Gogh...

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Listen to poem:

The force that filled this sail
blew dust off crest of desert dunes
howled sighs in forest tree-trunk array
whistled a tune in rampart rafters
lulled a wheat field to shimmery shivers
chilled bones to curdle 'n crack
tired,
seeped out a crack, 
and blew away....

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golden 
    wheat braids 
      wave 

  in rays 
    of moonlight

     influenced 
       by breeze 
          against 
            dark violet backdrop

    expectations 
      of harvest 
 

        each bite of
            warm bread

2/9/2022...

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I stared out into November
the only person in the world
at this time in this place
seeing the streams of sun
lighting up this wheat field

I wondered if anyone else
had ever seen this scene?
or one remotely like it?
the silence was heavenly
daybreak beckoned me
i was entranced...

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two sentinels in winter
watch the frozen wheat field
spy the evil murderer
dragging his innocent victim
Nebraska ground is frozen
two curious crows watch
studying the two-legged miscreant
he shouts his aggravation to the wind
innocent victim is nonmoving
left at the foot of the fence post
two sentinels feel relief
when evil scoundrel leaves...

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There where the sun is on the field
I walk aside its wheaten yield,              
pathway strewn with golden ceding        
  of some growth beholden, deeding
violent gales to cast to earth
too soon to consummate rebirth,
some sterile grains of bread of life
beneath my feet a sacrifice. 

Small death among the congregate
that feeds to us the common fate....

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Fake!! Fakers, are
the real of the nameless
with many id's,paper dolls
and rumored boy toys,
white-collard polo's
straddling Marlboro horses,
or maybe ushered in
like dream team Barbie
and holocaust Ken
Golden wheat field,
trade; for black water
God handed "here you go
Mother nature," 
into velvet rooms,
with tantric lust,
behold tight tits
and parched tips,
for fame of child
green changeling,
not of a summers dream...

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The color of freedom, is found in genuine smiles
It glows as halos around the heads of little children and babies
It is found in the songs of birds flying of the air
It is the color of water flowing down the stream undisturbed
It is the color of the wind blowing in a wheat-field
It is the color of rain falling from the sky
The color of freedom is ever beckoning every mind and soul
Pointing to the best way out
The color of freedom leads to real freedom...

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At harvest time
Where a white ghost flies
Across a blood red moon
Behind the fields the rolling hills
Are purple, pink and blue

Over a dreaming wheat field
A barn owl patrols
Noiselessly it glides
Over the golden yellow drifts

Suddenly, it flaps its wings
And stares down intently
Below on the soil a startled vole
Sees a white star fall
A squeak and the owl is gone 
And with it the limp vole....

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with reverence the willow tree bowed to today’s sun goddess
the sun was brighter and lighter than ever before
nature's golden wheat field was surprised, this was a new twist.
the tree had never genuflected before this morn.

the pink sky reflected herself nicely in the dried creek bed.
giving him a bit of hope for a kind of revival or rejuvenation.
this is a glorious beginning a frog told his wife.
beginning of what? the beginning of the rest of our lives....

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Nightmare rides the wild stallion
and treads over my soul like
a wheat field in summer.

Nightmare wings over trees and
hides under bushes remaining
unseen until darkness.

Nightmare reaches out from under
the bed, pulling the covers and
sending a chill up my spine.

Nightmare appears all too often
on lonely days and sleepless,
 starless nights.

Dream flows into the room, her
dress following, leaving a trail
of glitter and pushes nightmare
aside so I can sleep....

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Short fun haiku 

God didn`t like snakes 
 So he told lies about me
Man loath and fears me  

I`m a crippled tree
In the middle of a wheat field 
Doing nothing 

I`m the big rock
The farmer ploughs around me
One day he bitterly says.


It was the tallest tree 
In the petrified forest 
Lightning struck in half   

I`m the smallest tree 
In the woods of trepidation
I starve to stunt growth 

At the restaurant 
I`m the last the waiters see 
Serving stops at three...

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