He who sows the seed of discord works in the devil's barn.
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What Is A Barn?
A barn is many things-
A barn is a fun place
To run, romp, and play.
It is also a place of refuge,
On hot or stormy days.
A barn is a storage place
For all your tools, grain, and hay.
It is also a place to unwind,
When you have had a tough day.
A barn becomes God's sanctuary,
When you begin to pray
It is also a place of work,
When work is needing done.
A barn is a place
Where freindships can be made
It is also a place
Where new life is born.
A barn is a place
To try with all your might
And finally when its doors are closed,
'Tis safety from the night.
A barn is a place for horses,
And it is a place for cows
A barn is also a hayloft,
Full of little meows
A barn is the Inn
Where our Savior was born
God, our Savior,
Christ, our Lord.
A barn is a work place,
A barn is a play place
A barn is a great place
A barn is a training ring...
A barn is..
Well, when it comes right
Down to it,
A barn is everything!
poem by Macy Dvirnak
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He who sows peas on the highway does not get all the pods into his barn.
The Barn and the Down
t stood in the sunset sky
Like the straight-backed down,
Many a time - the barn
At the edge of town,
So huge and dark that it seemed
It was the hill
Till the gable's precipice proved
It impossible.
Then the great down in the west
Grew into sight,
A barn stored full to the ridge
With black of night;
And the barn fell to a barn
Or even less
Before critical eyes and its own
Late mightiness.
But far down and near barn and I
Since then have smiled,
Having seen my new cautiousness
By itself beguiled
To disdain what seemed the barn
Till a few steps changed
It past all doubt to the down;
So the barn was avenged.
poem by Edward Thomas
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Fathers’ Day,2008
The Fathers’ Day goes well forgot;
The Mothers’ Day is soon forgot;
A mother is a need in life;
A father is a must in strife!
Dad tills the land and sows the seed,
And pushes hoe like bulls indeed;
And when his forehead sweat strikes earth,
The seedling sprouts to give us mirth.
Dad works to earn the sums to pay
All bills; and joyfully goes day;
Dad works on week-ends to earn more,
And keeps all happy, sans eye-sore!
The love of dad is so unique;
Without it, children go so sick;
Remember dad on this great day,
And greet him heartily en way!
Without your mom, life could be sad!
Without your dad, you could go mad!
‘Happy Fathers’ Day,2008! ’
Copyright by Dr John Celes 6-15-2008
poem by John Celes
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The Red Barn
There was once...
a red barn..
And there
was nothing in
it.
All there was
in the red
barn was just
hay.
And that was all
there was in
there.
The poor red barn
was on its own.
Nobody owns it.
So the red barn
is by itself.
poem by Lisa Parks
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Who sows wheat with the devil will get its chaff.
It is like the seed put in the soil - the more one sows, the greater the harvest.
quote by Orison Swett Marden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Whoever sows alongside the road, tires the oxen and wastes seed.
All work is as seed sown; it grows and spreads, and sows itself anew.
He that has acquired learning and nor practised what he has learnt, is like a man who ploughs but sows no seed.
Saadi in On the Duties of Society
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Old Barn By The Side Of The Fields Of Hay
an old barn by the side of the fields of hay
is nothing but an old barn to your eyes
miguelito
this barn has been here ten years ago and it will be here
for another more years with you
father always
had it repaired before he died and when i take charge
i still come here and think once in a while
what is in this barn
that refuses to be broken
something that negates
the art of losing
it is the memory of my youth
it was here where the hay smelt pungent
for the first time
it was here when i was first
deflowered
changed
don't laugh, it was here that i felt
the first squirt of
my manhood, and her name was not that important
in fact,
she was laughing because i was trembling and she was
so crazy
trying to really teach me, in this old barn that refuses to be broken
in all the years
when our father teased us: weaklings.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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What if it rains?
A farmer sows the seed
Even if he doesn't know whether it will rain or not
He waits for the rain,
Patiently hoping that the clouds will come
That the rain will come
What if it doesn't rain?
It is painful to wait for the dark without clouds
You never know whether you should continue waiting or not
As the dark approaches without the cloud,
You can't help but ask yourself one question,
What if it doesn't rain?
What if it rains?
What if the seed becomes a tree?
What if the fruit grows and the birds build nests
What if the cooing of doves is heard in the land?
The dark is without clouds
But the farmer continues waiting
Hoping it will rain
If it does not rain
The seed will eventually die but the farmer will not
poem by Philani Zincume
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The Sower
The winds had hushed at last as by command;
The quiet sky above,
With its grey clouds spread oer the fallow land,
Sat brooding like a dove.
There was no motion in the air, no sound
Within the tree-tops stirred,
Save when some last leaf, fluttering to the ground,
Dropped like a wounded bird.
Or when the swart rooks in a gathering crowd
With clamorous noises wheeled,
Hovering awhile, then swooped with wrangling loud
Down to the stubbly field.
For now the big-thewed horses, toiling slow
In straining couples yoked,
Patiently dragged the plowshare to and fro
Till their wet haunches smoked.
Till the stiff acre, broken into clods,
Bruised by the harrow's tooth,
Lay lightly shaken, with its humid sods
Ranged into furrows smooth.
There looming lone, from rise to set of sun,
Without or pause or speed,
Solemnly striding by the furrows dun,
The sower sows the seed.
The sower sows the seed, which mouldering,
Deep coffined in the earth,
Is buried now, but with the future spring
Will quicken into birth.
Oh, poles of birth and death! Controlling Powers
Of human toil and need!
On this fair earth all men are surely sowers,
Surely all life is seed!
All life is seed, dropped in Time's yawning furrow,
Which with slow sprout and shoot,
In the revolving world's unfathomed morrow,
Will blossom and bear fruit.
poem by Mathilde Blind
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As man sows, so shall he reap. In works of fiction, such men are sometimes converted. More often, in real life, they do not change their natures until they are converted into dust.
quote by Charles W. Chesnutt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Man Reaps What He Sows
Careless intent reaps much discord
And many a time, it harvests offense
A bitter root grows from our words
As the wounds it cuts are truly immense.
And God will not be mocked
A man shall reap all that he sows
Man's words be weighed the Good it lacked
For God does hear and knows.
Copyright Cynthia Buhain Baello
April 1,2010
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Barn Jesus i en Krybbe laae
Barn Jesus i en Krybbe laae,
Skjøndt Himlen var hans Eie;
Hans Pude her blev Hø og Straa,
Mørkt var det om hans Leie!
Men Stjernen over Huset stod,
Og Oxen kyssed' Barnets Fod,
Halleluja, Barn Jesus!
Hver sorgfuld Sjæl, bliv karsk og glad,
Ryst af din tunge Smerte,
Et Barn er født i Davids Stad,
Til Trøst for hvert et Hjerte;
Til Barnet vil vi stige ind,
Og blive Børn i Sjæl og Sind.
Halleluja, Barn Jesus!
poem by Hans Christian Andersen
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De fattige Børn paa Gaden
Barn Jesus i en Krybbe laae,
Skjøndt Himlen var hans Eie;
Hans Pude her blev Hø og Straa,
Mørk var det om hans Leie!
Men Stjernen over Huset stod,
Og Oxen kyssed' Barnets Fod,
Halleluja, Barn Jesus!
Hver sorgfuld Sjæl, bliv karsk og glad,
Ryst af din tunge Smerte,
Et Barn er født i Davids Stad,
Til Trøst for hvert et Hjerte;
Til Barnet vil vi stige ind,
Og blive Børn i Sjæl og Sind.
Halleluja, Barn Jesus!
poem by Hans Christian Andersen
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In The Poppy Field
Mad Patsy said, he said to me,
That every morning he could see
An angel walking on the sky;
Across the sunny skies of morn
He threw great handfuls far and nigh
Of poppy seed among the corn;
And then, he said, the angels run
To see the poppies in the sun.
A poppy is a devil weed,
I said to him - he disagreed;
He said the devil had no hand
In spreading flowers tall and fair
Through corn and rye and meadow land,
by garth and barrow everywhere:
The devil has not any flower,
But only money in his power.
And then he stretched out in the sun
And rolled upon his back for fun:
He kicked his legs and roared for joy
Because the sun was shining down:
He said he was a little boy
And would not work for any clown:
He ran and laughed behind a bee,
And danced for very ecstasy.
poem by James Stephens
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Another night, I dreamed I saw my father sweeping out the barn floor clean, and would not suffer the wheat to be brought in the barn. He appeared to me to be in anger.
quote by Joanna Southcott
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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