The master's eye and foot are the best manure for the field.
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A scapegoat's white hope
A sunstroke sunflower yawn in the whirlwind
and a scapegoat scamper with his old wheelbarrow
which is full of manure.
The Master of the field who walks behind his alsatian dog
and the nanny is washing the baby's nappies.
The Landlady in hysterics after the childbirth.
Bees are humming in the morning glory.
Whipping boy hear the rustling of the pale sunflower
and he poured more water & manure to get her closer.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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There is no better manure than the farmer's foot.
Horse Manure, A Pile Of It
horse manure
a pile of it
avoid it
and walk around it
spray perfume
to cover it
remove it
or complain about it
step in it
then curse it
shovel it
bury it.
Horse manure
a pile of it
collect it
grow flowers
horse manure
make use of it.
poem by Frances May
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The foot of the owner is the best manure for his land.
Lord of the Flies
Oh Master my Master
Oh where have you been
I wallowed in filth and
I drowned in sin
Oh Master my Master
It's my rotten luck
To swim in the decay
And swallow the muck
Oh Master my Master
I stand in the fires
Surrounded by murderers
Thieves, cheaters, and liars
Oh Master my Master
the earth has turned red
Fluid with blood
Of the recently dead
Oh Master my Master
What's wrong with the world
The blackness unfolds
Like a flag that's unfurled
Oh Master my Master
You ignore my cries
And now I'm quite sure
You're the Lord of the Flies
poem by Anonymous Ghurl
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Straw Foot
I guess you didnt hear me
When I told you for the first time
Well dont you worry
It wont be the last
All I need a floorboard
An a wooden shoe
Step aside an let my lady through
Hey foot, straw foot
Low we lay em down
Hey foot, straw foot
Up an back around
See the high priest
He took my place
When the judge looks to me
He saw his sons face
Not gonna join you in
Your tower of babble, boy
Tired o that talkin
Im sick o that noise
Hey foot, straw foot
Low we lay em down
Hey foot, straw foot
Coverin ground
Im not alone
An looks can be deceivin
When we get down to it
Youre talkin when you
Should be leavin
Ive been to nebraska
It reminded me of spain
All the questions loaded
All my answers same
Hey foot, straw foot
Low we lay em down
Hay foot, straw foot
Coverin ground
Let us not mince our words
Lets say it true this time
I need your forgiveness
Just like you need mine
Tell me how it is that
You dont want what hes given
It aint no sin son
To be forgiven
Hey foot, straw foot
Low we lay em down
Hey foot, straw foot
All over town
song performed by by 16 Horsepower
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Love Field
You lie so unfolded
In a love field
With your contempt for any modesty
In a love field
In a love field
In a love field
You yield with your lips still sealed
In a love field
Lost in a sea of imaginary women
Everything youd want
From the dawn to the dimming
Breath comes sharp and heart beats faster
In a love field
Cold ground for a pillow
Under a blanket of stars
In a love field
In a love field
In a love field
Headlights that startled
This embrace of hours
In a love field
In a crooked house
Where things can be arranged
You think youre different from the rest
But you dont see how youve changed
Under an archway
On a road of white linen
In a love field
Feel the anxious rhythm of a functional stranger
In a love field
In a love field
In a love field
Shes so tense but its never mentioned
In a love field
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A foot soldier
When I was hurt & lost someone dear
I did go on because I am a foot soldier
When the going got tough with nothing to gear
I did go on because I am a foot soldier
when the faith felt small & doubts really bigger
I did go on because I am a foot soldier
When the sky was dark & nothing seemed near
I did go on because I am a foot soldier
when the wounds were hurting with no immediate cure
I did go on because I am a foot soldier
when the hopes were grim & nothing was clear
I did go on because I am a foot soldier
When storms came hard striking some fear
I did go on because I am a foot soldier
I fought & fought & I fought till the victory was sure
Yes, I could do it because I am a foot soldier
poem by Ameya Deshpande
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Sonnet- The Farmer
Despite all progress, Science has made today,
The Indian farmers tills the field old style;
And threshes sheaves to sort the grain from hay;
Returning late with bullocks, walking miles!
The scorching Sun can’t tan his skin much more;
The pouring rain destroys the crops, he raised;
The mighty winds can’t make his eyes more sore;
By end of day, he looks tired and dazed.
The rodents, birds play havoc in his field;
The insects eat the sprouting grain and leaves;
The manure-costs affects his yearly yield;
And all he makes is thinner, smaller sheaves.
And middle-men ruin the sum he makes;
He feeds others but keeps just cow-dung cakes!
poem by John Celes
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Left Foot, Right Foot
left foot, right foot,
left foot, right foot,
eyes fixed straight ahead....
drawn by the spectre
of our own greed;
use it up, throw it out,
use it up, throw it out....
hardened and lifeless,
eaten from within
by the maggots of ego...
deaf to the cries
of our own children,
blinded by the 'God'
of cyber technology...
strip the fields,
cut down the forests...
mine the mountains,
we pee in our own
drinking water, and
walk away....
leaving nuclear tracks
in the womb of time.
left foot, right foot,
left foot, right foot...
marching blindly to hell
with drool on our chins!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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God!
I never knew who is He/she/it?
Yet the love that rained and my heart was the field where someone sow Love seeds,
seed that sprout and bloomed,
Brushing aside weeds,
Purifying my thoughts and deeds!
Ah! never I worried to nourish plant of Love
or feed it with manure,
But too fast it became mature,
Now shines with glory and eyes become one to see His Grandeur,
No worry about gender,
only one
Only one true wonder!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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Master
Master went a-hunting,
When the leaves were falling;
We saw him on the bridle path,
We heard him gaily calling.
'Oh master, master, come you back,
For I have dreamed a dream so black!'
A glint of steel from bit and heel,
The chestnut cantered faster;
A red flash seen amid the green,
And so good-bye to master.
Master came from hunting,
Two silent comrades bore him;
His eyes were dim, his face was white,
The mare was led before him.
'Oh, master, master, is it thus
That you have come again to us?'
I held my lady's ice-cold hand,
They bore the hurdle past her;
Why should they go so soft and slow?
It matters not to master.
poem by Arthur Conan Doyle
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I Know What My Master Does
I know where my Master lives.
I need no invitation to visit where He is.
I know where my Master lives.
I know what my Master does.
I witness this on a daily basis.
And not with eyes fixed on skies above.
My Master is available whenever I call.
My Master is everything and to me my all.
My Master has seen me stumble and fall,
To get up off my knees to again walk tall.
And if it wasn't for my Master I'd be left to crawl.
I am aware ot this.
I know where my Master lives.
I need no invitation to visit where He is.
I know where my Master lives.
I know what my Master does.
I witness this on a daily basis.
And not with eyes fixed on skies above.
I know what my Master does,
Can do...
And has done for me.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Ineptness
Carry a big stick,
To threaten from a distance.
Send me pictures of it...
To upset me quick,
With visions I'll be hit with it!
But you'll be wrong wrong.
And I'll be long gone!
Foot power...
Zip.
I like buttered biscuits,
Baked and fresh.
Heated from the oven,
And tasting their best!
You can bring that big stick,
To threaten me with it.
But when I've eaten buttered biscuits,
I'm prepared to split.
Humming a song...
With,
Foot power...zip!
Inept.
Foot power,
Zip!
Ineptness.
Foot power zip!
Inept.
Foot power,
Zip!
Ineptness.
Foot power zip!
'What? '
Foot power zip!
'What is this? '
Foot power zip!
'What? '
Foot power zip!
'What is this? '
Foot power zip!
'What? '
Ineptness!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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When the master hurts his foot the servants limp.
So Fingertips Kiss
Five kids, eight years.
And then one day my wife
shouts to me on the tractor
roaring in the field:
“I’ve had enough.”
And like a ballerina,
she rises on one foot, sole
of the other foot firm
against her knee
and with arms overhead
so fingertips kiss,
she smiles,
pirouettes,
and then like a helicopter
lifts into the air,
whirls over the garage
and keeps rising.
I can do nothing now
but curse
and be proud.
As if at the ballet,
I applaud from the tractor
and blink at the inferno
as she hits the sun.
poem by Donal Mahoney
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The master's footsteps fattens the soil, and his foot the ground.
Thoughts In A Wheat-Field
IN his wide fields walks the Master,
In his fair fields, ripe for harvest,
Where the evening sun shines slant-wise
On the rich ears heavy bending;
Saith the Master: 'It is time.'
Though no leaf shows brown decadence,
And September's nightly frost-bite
Only reddens the horizon,
'It is full time,' saith the Master,
The wise Master, 'It is time.'
Lo, he looks. That look compelling
Brings his laborers to the harvest;
Quick they gather, as in autumn
Passage-birds in cloudy eddies
Drop upon the seaside fields;
White wings have they, and white raiment,
White feet shod with swift obedience,
Each lays down his golden palm branch,
And uprears his sickle shining,
'Speak, O Master,--is it time?'
O'er the field the servants hasten,
Where the full-stored ears droop downwards,
Humble with their weight of harvest:
Where the empty ears wave upward,
And the gay tares flaunt in rows:
But the sickles, the sharp sickles,
Flash new dawn at their appearing,
Songs are heard in earth and heaven,
For the reapers are the angels,
And it is the harvest time.
O Great Master, are thy footsteps
Even now upon the mountains?
Are thou walking in thy wheat-field?
Are the snowy-wingèd reapers
Gathering in the silent air?
Are thy signs abroad, the glowing
Of the distant sky, blood-reddened,--
And the near fields trodden, blighted,
Choked by gaudy tares triumphant,--
Sure, it must be harvest time?
Who shall know the Master's coming?
Whether it be at dawn or sunset,
When night dews weigh down the wheat-ears,
Or while noon rides high in heaven,
Sleeping lies the yellow field?
Only, may thy voice, Good Master,
Peal above the reapers' chorus,
And dull sound of sheaves slow falling,--
'Gather all into My garner,
For it is My harvest time.'
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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