Untilled Poems | Examples

NEW WAVE ASCENDS

 NEW WAVE ASCENDS

Workers waul at leaders sold
who rush to airports cold 
in hospitals wan women wallow 
tattered children nothing to swallow 
ideals trickling through untilled soil

will dreams and intentions expire
before patient arthritic grandmothers tire 
softly rain filters Earth’s corners
nourishing hills, herbs and mourners 
life follows death singing afresh

surely New Wave ascends roaring 
freedom showers cool us alluring 
in Golden Age Heart rules
teens dance while lovers drool
reach  within, be no fool

The First Daffodil

In the Spring
memories blow like wind
through the corners of my soul
replacing the dark winter
which time has now beset
Playing its distant lute
change is thrust upon me
rebirthing what fall had rightly claimed
and buried in the past 

Visions of dancing June bugs
they fervently surround me
mating my wonderment with joy
as summer waits untilled
The whirlwind dharma 
that so haunts my dreams
left comatose and vacant
freeing me for what’s to come
—and what has always been

(Bryn Mawr College: March, 2023)

Authentic Voices

AUTHENTIC VOICES
sources of memory
  in  haunting musicality
celebrating sensuality
&pleasure
   so remarkable
enchanting
engrossing
in an untilled terrain
such modest
  proposals combine
  to resource
&create insights
to bring interpretation
  to the fore
to a
   sensitive poet's soul

THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived

November Lost

There seems little hope when the tires won't hold air.
Did God forsake us somewhere, 
along the long and dusty path?
you and I, got wires crossed in despair...
left to suffer this day alone,
in His wrath. 

Oh lord..
I carry my hammer low, lower still.. 
my nails all crooked,
torn away from oaken boards.

The back forty waylaid,
in early dawn's frost.
Still remembering strength..
that faltered, when all hope
seemed lost.

Don't tread on me heard once in the wind's voice.
The plowshare's greying field,    
left forgotten and untilled,
so little left of youth's free choice.

Garden of Meager Harvest

Garden of a Meager Harvest
By David J Walker

The rusted remains 
of the old farm truck
Remain on the untilled patch 
 
of prairie grass plains 
as long as I 
can  remember
 
The old Farmall tractor 
Planted on the southside of a 
 
Long row to hoe 
that I know 
All too well
 
A windmill unused for years 
Squeals and creeks in a wind 
That still tries in vain to

Turn its blades 
For a cool drink of water

Monuments held 
captive inside a 

barbed wire fence 
as if to prevent an escape

The trusted truck stands ready 
As if it’s rusted out bed could 

Carry to market the fruit of
A summers labor 
 
The remains of the old 
Pick-up lost its windows
Long ago
 
Field mice have nested under
The bench seat and eat 
Everything that isn’t rusted metal 
 
How long before its tires 
Finally expire 
exhaling rust
 
Giving up the ghost
Of a dusty last breath 
Of a garden's meager harvest

Patriotic Song

The ignorance servitude harnesses
The zero burdened grave race
That forbid shaving sovereign hairs
Packed close in considerable layers

Underneath national flagpoles
lay the maiden demands in barrels
like untilled tracts in grabbers souls
wants and the needs tore brothels

Behind pregnant men and women
underlies machine guns of must gain
That punched the citizenry in tatters
And the torn voices of the Anthem

so brilliant meritocratic idea present
that all nationals can sing in torment
under the radiant guardian rays pay
And really propelling the repellent sway

Watching Victoria Legrand Perform 'Elegy To the Void'

Listen: The Lyrical Lilt
that lilac
and lavender
lend to our language,
like leased luggage purposefully lost,
unrolls from lifted 
tongue
to level the valley 
and shallow
the depths of the gorge.

            *   *   *

A full closet of linens,
I oftentimes find 
the beach in symphony;
the hour arching shoreline a stable bow
whose melody is fizz of the ocean.

It is there, beneath a balcony of velvet celebrity,
the sand receives the water,
bends at the lunar altar,
and acknowledges a driftwood cloud.

            *   *   *

There is a weed of sadness woven
through untilled soil
in this garden of thorns kept far from their rose,

where, still, I cannot help 
but to tap my feet to the hum of this ancient rhythm, 
anxious for movements left uncomposed,
my ear tightly pressed to a frail pink shell,
swelling in ghostly lullaby.


7/9/2019
Submitted for:  Music Themed Poetry Anthology
Sponsored by:  Geraldine Taylor

Callow Billow

Hollow as a crooked pipe conducting waste to the corroded sewer

Vacant and obscure like a Freudian void on a cold lavatory seat

Hollow as a piper’s flute waiting for nimble charming fingers

Vacant like a comatose stare reflecting mindless nothingness


Shallow as a muddy puddle pummelled by boots from wet feet

Superficial like a scratch on a bubble conceding trivial defeat

Shallow as a trickling tributary succumbed to inarticulate drought

Superficial like a crowded scream never leaving mute fears


Fallow as unwanted seeds swirling around into darkness

Dormant like a sleepy reminder of night mares fighting for victory

Fallow as untilled soil longing for cultivated surrender

Dormant like a tired tramp homeless and halting suspense


Mellow as marsh mallows molten on deep cutting sticks

Bitter sweet like a camp fire sending smoke into nowhere

Mellow only in that as it rhymes with bellow and gallows

Sweet bitter and numb like waste in a lone piper’s dream

Orchards of Opportunity

Orchards of Opportunity 

Alone in the orchard of opportunities
surveying the ripened potential
I pondered the fruitful labor of others
enviously sniffing the succulence of success.

Knowing that their success was only mine
in theory, in dreams, in unlimited potential.
Before me lay the future’s untilled fields
awaiting a touch, a vision, an awakening.

Planting a thought, a theory, an inspiration,
tending it, winnowing the weeds of doubt,
nurturing a simple truth long dormant
in the arable corners of an open mind.


10/24/2016

submitted to – Opportunities – Poetry Contest

Untilled Ground

UNTILLED GROUND

untilled ground however rich
produces only prickly thorns
like the minds of simple men
never giving thought to their
steps

rash behaviour hasty choices
acting whims without restraint
going with the currents flow
that seems appealing at first
glance

tossed around on waves of
passing tides and ideologies
easily deceived they believe
in questionable doctrines
lies

we need to change thought patterns
God’s promises directing our steps 
a fundamental change within
not just act the part we should
believe

discipleship begins within
not by a quick magic trick
requiring training to correct
our faulty thinking and be
aware



© Kim van Breda—15 December 2014

Gardens

Gardens

A lovely Tomato, to brighten up my days.
A beautiful Sun Flower, to lighten my ways. 
A Rose, of brilliant passions to delight my dreams.

A haunting – nightmare – pain filled thorns – streams 
into consciousness on beams of light – acknowledgement
of all that grows in a stark, garden basement.

There is this Fertilizer, - food for growth – for this Garden,
this Gardener needs – the water of life dries up – harden 
the soil, leaving it untilled, unseeded, to dust and barren.

This Life, Tomato, Sun Flower, Rose, nourish the dreams,
feeds this Gardeners, old soul’s desire for life beyond, seems
to be beneath this Flower’s, desire, - passions buried asunder.
This Garden’s, heart beats to the rhythms or crashing thunder
praying for lightening to ignite the Spirit, grow out from under. 

B. J. “A” 2
April 3rd 2008

Waiting For Spring

Since spring forgot to come and winter stayed,
My garden is untilled, seeding delayed.
A sodden March ran damply through each day.
I hope for April to remove the gray.

Each April is reserved for tulip tours.
The brilliant colors are delightful lures.
The tulips are attracting avid fans,
While other crops fill in as also rans.

Our valley is a beauty in the spring,
But spring is not here yet and that’s the thing.
We pray the sun comes out and is on time
For merchants to attract the tourist’s dime.

So now it’s up to April to perform
To give us days that are spring like and warm.
So tourists can find  beauty and some fun
And I at last can get my yard work done.

World Without Women Www

Have you ever imagined the world we live without women?
It is like a lung without some oxygen, agonizing and inevitably dead,
A face never with a smile, boring and unfriendly.
A cup of tea without some grains of sugar, bitter and foul,
A pool without some water, dry and empty,
A good ride on a bad untilled road, rough and uninteresting,
The earth without some drops of rain, an inescapable famine,


But how come with the great number of women on planet earth?
We still live to cry as a reggae legend sang “no woman no cry”,
It is because they permit evil as much as they permit good,
Gullible and instrumental in the hand of the wicked ones,
Ugly and nice, beautiful and dangerous,
Cunning like serpents, deceitful like chameleon,
Holy but liars, having a form of godliness but highly ungodly,
Lovely like little puppies, sweet like bees honey,
Women, an invincible force in our our world today.

(c) 2010

Mannequin Dreams

Falling from forty clouds,
ticking clocks melting time.
Penguins that waddle backwards,
church bells that never chime.

Costume heros reading books,
birds parting their horizon sea.
Rabbit hole adventures haunted,
this evening spent sipping tea. 

Ghosts passing into limestone,
children snickering in silence.
Belvedere on high with royalty,
that command games of violence.

Skyscrapers that penetrate heaven,
wings of angels messengering hope.
Widespread fields are left untilled,
criminals hanging from common rope.

Knives enchanted by prosperity, 
fortresses unbroken in brutal war.
Bronze bodies remain countless,
adding mortar to Poseidon's shore.

Tunnels of thought approaches,
blood seeping through the cracks.
Flesh and bone now disappearing,
from the lifeless city made of wax.

He Who Sees Dreams

That wrinkled old Apache
He Who Sees the Dreams,
Is said to be half-crazy and old
As the rivers and the streams.

He says he saw two great mountains
Made of iron and of glass--
And then two silent Thunderbirds,
Before his dream did soon pass.

And then there came great lightning
As the birds hit solid rock,
Then both the mighty mountains fell
And all the world stopped in shock.

What next I asked He Who Sees Dreams:
He said it was unfulfilled.
Enemies like wolves surround you
And your great land goes untilled.

I trembled and then I shuddered
To hear of this dreary foe:
"There are those brave and those that die--
But rewards are what you sow."

These were last words of He Who Sees
As he pointed to the moon so high,
The two twin mountains were now gone,
But eagles filled morning sky.

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