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Women's song of the corn
How beautiful are the corn rows,
Stretching to the morning sun,
Stretching to the evening sun.
Very beautiful, the long rows of corn.
How beautiful is the white corn,
I husk it,
I grind it.
Very beautiful, my white corn.
How beautiful is the red corn,
I gather it and make fine meal,
I am glad doing this.
Very beautiful, my red corn.
How beautiful is the black corn,
I give it to my father,
To my mother,
I give it to my child.
Very beautiful, the black corn.
How beautiful is the mottled corn,
Like the sky with little clouds,
I eat it looking at the sky.
Very beautiful, my mottled corn.
poem by Amy Lowell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The eater is not the grower.
Corn grows, but man says he grows it.
It is corn's drive that makes it grow.
Yet man says he grows it and harvests it.
The one, who eats what one grows, does not grow it.
25.03.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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“great Souls Live In Crooked Bodies”
Judge not, measure not,
The greatness of a soul;
By how one looks outside
By how one speaks or acts
By home where they reside
Instead observe how you react
Should you feel shame for them
or pity should arise,
It’s that your mind is closed,
Heart wearing a disguise
Crooked faces, crooked smiles
Fool those like you and me
Crooked limbs on crooked forms
Create ill will, poorly we then see
We must offer love to one another,
For that crooked man you scorn
As God would have it is your brother
Heaven-Sent and Earth-Born
poem by Ray Lucero
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Corn Circles
Corn circles
Appearing all over the land
Corn circles
Appearing all over the land
Nobody knows where they come from
Nobody understands
Corn circles
Mysterious symbols in the fields
Corn circles
Mysterious symbols in the fields
No one knows - are they phony
Or maybe are they real?
Corn circles!
Corn circles!
Corn circles
Is somebody playing a trick?
Corn circles
Pixies, witches, hoaxers
Take your pick
Throw a few theories out there
See what sticks!
Corn circles!
Corn circles!
Corn circles
Patterns in the gold
Corn circles
Pretty patterns in the gold
Like something out of the future
Or something very old
Corn circles!
Corn circles!
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The City
the city was once
a forest of trees
when the pioneers
arrive with their axes
and each tree fell
and the river swollen
mothers had to have
more children
and fathers had to
plow more fields
and plant the rows and
rows of corn
as monkeys on top
of the remaining trees
tease
the grasshoppers
find enough sleep
and the ants keep
on building their
empire on mounds
and mounds of
dry land
that was how
a city was formed
my father said
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Crooked Smile (song)
With your deep brown eyes
and your crooked smile
you swept me away for
quite a while when you smiled
a crooked smile
Then you came and
asked for a chance
but all I said was
How bout a dance
and then you smiled
A crooked smile
(Chorus)
Now your gone
and I'm missing you
and my broken Heart
wont be in two
when you smile
a crooked smile
Years have passed
and tears have too
but all I know
is I love you
and your smile
your crooked smile
Yesterday when you
got off the plane
you ran to my side
cuz I stood at your gate
and then you smiled
a croooked smile
You pulled me close
and said hello
but I could see
you were being mellow
til you smiled
a crooked smile
(Chorus)
now your here
and I'm loving you
and my broken heart
won't be in two
when you smile
a crooked smile
Moments passed
and memories made
And I know there ain't a better day
then when you smile
a crooked smile
Oh when you smile
my heart goes wild
poem by Jasmine Thompson
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Where The Green Grass Grows
Six lanes, tail lights
Red ants marchin into the night
They disappear to the left and right again
Another supper
From a sack
A 99 cent heart attak
I got a poundin head and an achin back
And the camels standin in a big straw stack
Chorus:
Im gonna live where the green grass grows
Watch my corn pop up in rows
Every night be tucked in close to you
Raise our kids where the good lords blessed
Point our rockin chairs towards the west
And plant our dreams where the peaceful river cools
Where the green grass grows
Well Im from
A map dot
A stop sign on a blacktop
I caught the first bus that I could hop from there
But all o this glitter is gettin dark
Theres concreate glowin in the city park
I dont know who my neighbors are
And theres bars on the corner and bars on my heart
(repeat chorus 2x)
song performed by by Tim McGraw
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Crooked
Crooked.
There is nothing straight about it.
There is nothing in the eyes,
Or the face that projects...
An honesty that's been sewned,
For an expected harvest
That reaps up rot instead of respect.
Crooked.
Like snakes with coiled tails.
Thieves bewitched like these,
Should not be speaking to appease...
With such ease.
Crooked are the hoodwinkers' comments.
And what they have done...
Should land everyone of them in jail!
Tastefully displayed...
And yet crooked are the beasts that lead.
Living in shells and crawling to prevail,
Like escargot when 'cooked'...
Are nothing more than scavenger low life snails!
Feeding on and releasing junk,
Are the crooked!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Book Of Contemplation - For Woman
FOR woman due allowance make!
Form'd of a crooked rib was she,--
By Heaven she could not straightened be.
Attempt to bend her, and she'll break;
If left alone, more crooked grows madam;
What well could be worse, my good friend, Adam?--
For woman due allowance make;
'Twere grievous, if thy rib should break!
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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Once there came a man
Once there came a man
Who said,
"Range me all men of the world in rows."
And instantly
There was terrific clamour among the people
Against being ranged in rows.
There was a loud quarrel, world-wide.
It endured for ages;
And blood was shed
By those who would not stand in rows,
And by those who pined to stand in rows.
Eventually, the man went to death, weeping.
And those who staid in bloody scuffle
Knew not the great simplicity.
poem by Stephen Crane
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Tombstones!
rows and rows of tombstones,
glaring white in the morning sun...
with open graves before them,
and the smell of fresh turned earth.
cars speed by going nowhere;
people walking, as if lost....
the phone rings, no one answers,
the book, unread, stares from the shelf.
trees almost bare softly whisper,
dollar bills blown by the wind...
the old man sits by the station,
counting by number,
and not by name....
rows and rows of tombstones,
waiting for gifts unwrapped
by time!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Tree that grows crooked will never be straightened - bad habits learned early in life are hard to get rid of later.
If you are going to go where corn grows, take a cutting tool with you.
The farmer grows the corn, but the bear eats it.
If you are planning to travel where corn grows, you should take a sickle with you.
Corn and Catholics
"What! still those two infernal questions,
That with our meals our slumbers mix --
That spoil our tempers and digestions --
Eternal Corn and Catholics!
Gods! were there ever two such bores?
Nothing else talk'd of night or morn --
Nothing in doors, or out of doors,
But endless Catholics and Corn!
Never was such a brace of pests --
While Ministers, still worse than either,
Skill'd but in feathering their nests,
Plague us with both, and settle neither.
So addled in my cranium meet
Popery and Corn, that oft I doubt,
Whether this year, 'twas bonded Wheat
Or bonded Papists, they let out.
Here, landlords, here, polemics nail you,
Arm'd with all rubbish they can rake up;
Prices and Texts at once assail you --
From Daniel these, and those from Jacob.
And when you sleep, with head still torn
Between the two, their shapes you mix,
Till sometimes Catholics seem Corn --
Then Corn again seems Catholics.
Now, Dantzic wheat before you floats --
Now, Jesuits from California --
Now, Ceres, link'd with Titus Oats,
Comes dancing through the "Porta Cornea."
Oft, too, the Corn grows animate,
And a whole crop of heads appears,
Like Papists, bearding Church and State --
Themselves, together by the ears!
In short, these torments never cease;
And oft I wish myself transferr'd off
To some far, lonely land of peace,
Where Corn or Papists ne'er were heard of.
Yes, waft me, Parry, to the Pole,
For -- if my fate is to be chosen
'Twixt bores and icebergs -- on my soul,
I'd rather, of the two, be frozen!
poem by Thomas Moore
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You really get the most out of sweet corn if you pick the corn off the stalk and rush it to a pot of boiling water. The longer you wait, the more sugar you lose. But if you get it in the first half hour, that is the sweetest corn ever.
quote by Sam Donaldson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You fly me away
My eyes had seen, with mirth
Neat corn like rows,
Resembling, are your teeth
Dark hair, flowing over shoulders
So soft, snatches my breath
Your cooing, honeyed and husky
Your steps, delicately touch the earth,
Your arms, hold, and fly me away!
poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
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John Barley-Corn, My Foe
John Barley-corn, my foe, John,
The song I have to sing
Is not in praise of you, John,
E'en though you are a king.
Your subjects they are legion, John,
I find where'er I go:
They wear your yoke upon their necks,
John Barley-Corn, my foe.
John Barley-Corn, my foe, John,
By your despotic sway
The people of our country, John,
Are suffering to-day.
You lay the lash upon their backs;
Yet willingly they go
And pay allegiance at the polls,
John Barley-Corn, my foe.
John Barley-Corn, my foe, John,
You've broken many a heart,
And caused the bitter tear, John,
From many an eye to start,
The widow and the fatherless
From pleasant homes to go,
And lead a life of sin and shame,
John Barley-Corn, my foe.
John Barley-Corn, my foe, John,
May Heaven speed the hour,
When Temperance shall wear the crown
And Rum shall lose its power;
When from the East unto the West
The people all shall know
Their greatest curse has been removed,
John Barley-Corn, my foe!
poem by Charles Follen Adams from Yawcob Strauss and Other Poems
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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