Hand plow can't make furrows by itself.
African American proverbs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Gospel Plow
Mary wore three links of chain,
Every link was jesus name,
Keep your hand on that plow, hold on,
Oh, lord, oh, lord,
Keep your hand on that plow, hold on.
Mary, mark and luke and john,
All them prophets so good and gone,
Keep your hand on that plow, hold on,
Oh, lord, oh, lord,
Keep your hand on that plow, hold on.
Well I never been to heaven, but Ive been told,
Streets up there are lined with gold,
Keep your hand on that plow, hold on,
Oh, lord, oh, lord,
Keep your hand on that plow, hold on.
Oh, lord, oh, lord,
Keep your hand on that plow, hold on.
Oh, lord, oh, lord,
Keep your hand on that plow, hold on.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rain On A Scarecrow
Scarecrow on a wooden cross Blackbird in the barn
Four hundred empty acres that used to be my farm
I grew up like my daddy did My grandpa cleared this land
When I was five I walked the fence while grandpa held my hand
Rain on the scarecrow Blood on the plow
This land fed a nation This land made me proud
And Son I'm just sorry there's no legacy for you now
Rain on the scarecrow Blood on the plow
Rain on the scarecrow Blood on the plow
The crops we grew last summer weren't enough to pay the loans
Couldn't buy the seed to plant this spring and the Farmers Bank foreclosed
Called my old friend Schepman up to auction off the land
He said John it's just my job and I hope you understand
Hey calling it your job ol' hoss sure don't make it right
But if you want me to I'll say a prayer for your soul tonight
And grandma's on the front porch swing with a Bible in her hand
Sometimes I hear her singing "Take me to the Promised Land"
When you take away a man's dignity he can't work his fields and cows
There'll be blood on the scarecrow Blood on the plow
Blood on the scarecrow Blood on the plow
Well there's ninety-seven crosses planted in the courthouse yard
Ninety-seven families who lost ninety-seven farms
I think about my grandpa and my neighbors and my name
And some nights I feel like dyin' Like that scarecrow in the rain
Rain on the scarecrow Blood on the plow
This land fed a nation This land made me proud
And Son I'm just sorry they're just memories for you now
Rain on the scarecrow Blood on the plow
Rain on the scarecrow Blood on the plow
Rain on the scarecrow Blood on the plow
This land fed a nation This land made me proud
And Son I'm just sorry they're just memories for you now
Rain on the scarecrow Blood on the plow
Rain on the scarecrow Blood on the plow
song performed by by John Mellencamp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rain On The Scarecrow
Scarecrow on a wooden cross blackbird in the barn
Four hundred empty acres that used to be my farm
I grew up like my daddy did my grandpa cleared this land
When I was five I walked the fence while grandpa held my hand
Chorus:
Rain on the scarecrow blood on the plow
This land fed a nation this land made me proud
And son Im just sorry theres no legacy for you now
Rain on the scarecrow blood on the plow
Rain on the scarecrow blood on the plow
The crops we grew last summer werent enough to pay the loans
Couldnt buy the seed to plant this spring and the farmers bank foreclosed
Called my old friend schepman up to auction off the land
He said john its just my job and I hope you understand
Hey calling it your job ol hoss sure dont make it right
But if you want me to Ill say a prayer for your soul tonight
And grandmas on the front porch swing with a Bible in her hand
Sometimes I hear her singing take me to the promised land
When you take away a mans dignity he cant work his fields and cows
Therell be blood on the scarecrow blood on the plow
Blood on the scarecrow blood on the plow
Well theres ninety-seven crosses planted in the courthouse yard
Ninety-seven families who lost ninety-seven farms
I think about my grandpa and my neighbors and my name
And some nights I feel like dyin like that scarecrow in the rain
Chorus:
Rain on the scarecrow blood on the plow
This land fed a nation this land made me proud
And son Im just sorry theyre just memories for you now
Rain on the scarecrow blood on the plow
Rain on the scarecrow blood on the plow
Rain on the scarecrow blood on the plow
This land fed a nation this land made me so proud
And son Im just sorry theyre just memories for you now
Rain on the scarecrow blood on the plow
Rain on the scarecrow blood on the plow
song performed by by John Mellencamp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Hand
only the human hand,
the caring hand,
the hand covered in blood
and filth, the hand swollen
bruised, and beaten...
the open hand,
not a fist anymore hand,
not afraid to let go hand,
never letting go hand...
feed the baby, plow the field hand,
stroke the face of
the old woman dying hand...
light the fires, sweep the floors hand...
the praying hand, the picking hand,
the paint the soul hand...
only the human hand
can touch with the heart of God!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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It's life isn't it? You plow ahead and make a hit. And you plow on and someone passes you. Then someone passes them. Time levels.
quote by Katharine Hepburn
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pick Up The Plow!
put down your sword,
pick up the plow!
a new day has come,
a new world before us!
in the beginning again,
we are the first hope.
pick up the plow,
till the earth...
our home and our hope!
a new day, a new way,
we work side by side..
beneath the sun, in the rain...
and we make love all night!
time is for the taker,
and now is the time...
put down your sword,
pick up the plow!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Plow
Outside my window the snow is white,
a winter mist I see so bright.
I hear through chrystals snow on snow,
a distant engine of a plow.
The chrystals falling from the sky,
in a way which I can’t tell you why
On the ground there is heavy snow
the plow is getting nearer now
The window sticks just like a stamp
against my fingers, cold and damp.
I see the sight of untouched snow,
I see the fountain of the plow.
The plow went by ten minutes ago
back is now a usable road
I hear through chrystals, snow on snow;
the distant engine of the plow
poem by Espen Øye Bjørkvold
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Culture Flowers
We’re all lashed
to Cultural Helms
besodden
ingrained eyes
narrowed to squinty plane
seeing;
not seeing
only mine;
and not mine
blind.
Culture is the Gardener's Death
who’s kind to only one flower;
other's bloom in the garden darkened
by blindness over-powered.
Strain some may
against the mast
yet they most times
cultivate only their own gardens;
time and the past
cause other flowers
to bloom and wither
before our very countenance.
Tempted we may be
by soul's desire
to look beyond the garden walls:
But few cannot,
but lift the spade
and plow the same furrows,
which etch our brow
contain our lives
until our death
we having known
only one garden flower:
grown beautifully
in straight
and narrow furrows.
A few sometimes
smell other blooms
thereby open up
genius
which is
simply
being willing
to sip and know
Not Like We-Ness.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Straw, Or Sky?
is a sparrow's nest
made of straw,
or made of sky?
do we come from the womb?
or return to it?
do we plow the earth?
or does it plow us?
where will we be at harvest?
do we spend all of our lives
trying to go back
to what we knew as a child?
are we then mouth,
nipple,
or the lonely phallus
of a forgotten god?
the empty hand,
or the sound of wings...
testify!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Plowman's Song
Turn under, plow,
My trouble;
Turn under griefs
And stubble.
Turn mouse's nest,
Gnawing years;
Old roots up
For new love's tears.
Turn, plow, the clods
For new thunder.
Turn under, plow,
Turn under.
poem by Raymond Knister
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The Hands Of The Clock
when we were young
we do not mind the clock
we are not so sure about
pendulums
we can even mistake the
long for the short hand
or if we mind time
for sometime
it is because we are late
for the dance or the
drinking spree
and then time has a way of
calling our attention
when our hairs starts to
look like seaweeds drying
under the summer
sun
now we are old like tree
shedding off most of its leaves
our twigs are infested with
fungus
and some of the tips of our roots
are rotten
then time begins to have fingernails
scratching our bellies
we begin to grow the seeds of
fear in our palms
our foreheads have furrows
like the pathways of the plow
at night we know how the long hand
runs with speed
it is 2: 30 a.m. and then we switch the
light again
and too confused how
the clocks strikes 4 a.m.
we cannot go back to sleep
as we fall on the chasms of the past
we try to drink a cold glass of
the future
and it begins to have the bitter taste
of the love
unrequited.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Changes: To Corinna
Be not proud, but now incline
Your soft ear to discipline;
You have changes in your life,
Sometimes peace, and sometimes strife;
You have ebbs of face and flows,
As your health or comes or goes;
You have hopes, and doubts, and fears,
Numberless as are your hairs;
You have pulses that do beat
High, and passions less of heat;
You are young, but must be old:--
And, to these, ye must be told,
Time, ere long, will come and plow
Loathed furrows in your brow:
And the dimness of your eye
Will no other thing imply,
But you must die
As well as I.
poem by Robert Herrick
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Words Of A Dying Farmer
For W.C.F.
Beat the fields in furrows home.
Hoe a row of young shoots of corn.
To be born anew push three fingers
into the ground. Drop, every other step,
three seeds, then five from the hand.
The earth's alive still with tender things.
Please god and sun the sky will not
harry boys home from school,
will not rule them as cruel fathers do,
their boiling fever for work till weary knees bow,
fingernails tearing on rocks lifted from
red rows behind a redder plow.
Now is the time to say I hated the work of fields,
and I am old. No more to fold the earth.
No more to pull stalks from frost
but to lift this last rock and hurry home.
poem by Warren Falcon
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Plowmen
A plow, they say, to plow the snow.
They cannot mean to plant it, no --
Unless in bitterness to mock
At having cultivated rock.
poem by Robert Frost
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The Plow Of My Papa
today is the last day to sell the plow of my papa
it is a necessary part of his lifetime
in fact
his lifetime is the plow itself that made the lines
of his own poetry in the fields
of rice and corn
today another man shall have it
at the price we all wanted
we have sold all that he had
the land, the house, the trees he planted
when he was still alive
when he was still strong and cruel and so imposing
this is his only plow
and we have dedided to dispose it finally
to any man
we are now at the stage of reconstructing our lives
and the plow of papa must go
we shall have our own fields now of rice and corn
on a white canvass we draw
the new sun, its color shall be warm, something new really
to the feel of our skins
the darker ones shall be replaced by the flowing color
of the clouds like feathers of birds always ready to fly away
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When you put your hand to the plow, you can't put it down until you get to the end of the row.
quote by Alice Paul
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Born To Hand Jive
Before I was born late one night
My papa said evrythings all right
The doctor let my ma lay down
With her stomach bouncin on the rack
cause a bebop stork was about to arrive
Mama gave birth to the hand jive
I could barely walk when I milked a cow
When I was three I pushed a plow
While chopping wood I moved my legs
And started dancing while I gathered eggs
The townfolk laughed
I was only five
Hell out dance em all
Hes a born hand jive
Born to hand jive baby!
Born to hand jive baby!
Now you can hand jive baby
Oh can you hand jive baby
Born to hand jive baby
Born to hand jive baby
Oh yeah! oh yeah! oh yeah!
Born to hand jive oh yeah!
song performed by by Olivia Newton-John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Poem that Stared into My Eyes
You came
Walking across
My sandy furrows
You left...
Ever since
I move about
The scorching desert-day
Like a dehydrated leaf
Suspended on the day sky
You left...
Ever since
I struggle about
The cold desert-night
Like a fledgling
With feather scanty
You left...
Sealing the furrows
From behind
(25May2011)
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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But, on the other hand, if Schubert were alive today, he would find even richer fields to plow.
quote by Dietrich Fischer Dieskau
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hand To The Plow,2011
sitting outside this morning,
watching it rain.... gathering,
gathering strength from i
know not where...
seems like we're not making
any headway... teetering on
the edge of survival...
this year especially tough...
get it up, get it on...
put your hand to the plow!
all around us people,
all different knids of people,
but people... are struggling,
are in need, are in want....
we are a disjointed family,
watching each other sink!
we have got to become aware,
to break down the walls of division...
the only way out is together...
what we have we have to share!
but there can be no more 'me'
and 'i'... no more self oriented
delusions... we cannot follow greed.
we have to turn our weapons
of destruction into shovels and hoes.
we have to join hands, and do it now.
if you're hungry, i'm hungry!
if you're homeless, i'm homeless!
no more apathy, no more doing nothing!
put your hands to the plow! ....
or get out of the way!
life demands hard working involvement!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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