Wheat stalks heavy with grain learn how to bow their heads.
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Sonnet: Parables of Jesus: Grain of Wheat
Unless a grain of wheat is sown in soil,
And dies, decays, transforms, gets life anew,
And sprouts into a sapling through one's toil,
It cannot grow to bear fruits that are due!
The grain of wheat remains as such, if not:
Like selfish men who will not do God's will;
Serve God usefully, they simply cannot,
Nor granary at harvest-time, they fill.
Like grain of wheat, men have God's will to do;
Like Jesus, they must carry cross till death;
Like Saviour Christ, they will resurrect too,
And fulfill purpose for which God gave birth!
But Christ died on the cross for mankind's sins,
And love of man, and Father's obeisance!
poem by John Celes
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Waiting On The Wheat Harvest
as you sow brothers sisters so you wheat harvest reap
as a grain of wheat dies germinates bears fruit to heap
Jesus will completely clean up threshing floor gather his wheat
chaff he will burn up with unquenchable fire hell suffering heat
an enemy came in over sowed weeds in among seed wheat
reapers harvest collect weeds burn them saving only wheat
Satan demands sifts men as wheat to blow away in sifting wind
Son of man will send angels to gather chosen ones from ill wind
a grain of wheat falls into the ground dies then bears fruit new life
so hate soul temptation in this world safeguard soul for eternal life
poem by Terence George Craddock
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2000 Ways Of Love
The standing grain has no heads,
But your love is heated like an oven!
And it burns like a flaming fire.
Your own doings have surrounded you,
And like the graves around your lover;
And you are now put to shame,
Because you failed to say the truth!
This like 2000 ways of your love as sold to other lovers,
But the standing grain has no heads;
And you need the name of the Heavenly Father to save you.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Empty stalks from the Sirocco and full spikes of wheat with the North Wind.
Thora's Song ('Ashtaroth')
We severed in Autumn early,
Ere the earth was torn by the plough;
The wheat and the oats and the barley
Are ripe for the harvest now.
We sunder'd one misty morning
Ere the hills were dimm'd by the rain;
Through the flowers those hills adorning --
Thou comest not back again.
My heart is heavy and weary
With the weight of a weary soul;
The mid-day glare grows dreary,
And dreary the midnight scroll.
The corn-stalks sigh for the sickle,
'Neath the load of their golden grain;
I sigh for a mate more fickle --
Thou comest not back again.
The warm sun riseth and setteth,
The night bringeth moistening dew,
But the soul that longeth forgetteth
The warmth and the moisture too.
In the hot sun rising and setting
There is naught save feverish pain;
There are tears in the night-dews wetting --
Thou comest not back again.
Thy voice in my ear still mingles
With the voices of whisp'ring trees,
Thy kiss on my cheek still tingles
At each kiss of the summer breeze.
While dreams of the past are thronging
For substance of shades in vain,
I am waiting, watching and longing --
Thou comest not back again.
Waiting and watching ever,
Longing and lingering yet;
Leaves rustle and corn-stalks quiver,
Winds murmur and waters fret.
No answer they bring, no greeting,
No speech, save that sad refrain,
Nor voice, save an echo repeating --
He cometh not back again.
poem by Adam Lindsay Gordon
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So I Happen to Prefer Whole Wheat
Of course I'm sleazy!
Isn't that one of the requirements,
I had to admit to get you to date me?
'But I didn't think you were serious when I asked! '
So when did you take notice of it?
Before or after I began to lick,
The crunchy peanut butter off your nipples.
'Yeah...
But do you think holding them,
Between slices of whole wheat bread...
Really accomplishes anything? '
That's a matter of opinion!
So I happen to prefer whole wheat bread.
What's the problem here?
I was going to use the muffins.
Do you want me to use the muffins?
'I'm sensitive to multi-grain.'
Huh?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Humility
The wheat, when rich with grains
Bends its stalks in Gratitude
The weed, though it proudly strains
To raise itself, yields no food.
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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A blind pigeon may sometimes find a grain of wheat.
A blind crow may sometimes find a grain of wheat.
Lines Read at a Dairymen's Supper
It almost now seems all in vain
For to expect high price for grain,
Wheat is grown on Egyptian soil
On the banks of mighty Nile.
And where the Ganges it doth flow,
In India fine wheat doth grow,
And the price of labor is so cheap
That it they can successful reap.
Then let the farmers justly prize
The cows for land they fertilize,
And let us all with songs and glees
Invoke success into the cheese.
poem by James McIntyre
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Even a blind dove finds a grain of wheat at times.
A Parable
I PICKED a rustic nosegay lately,
And bore it homewards, musing greatly;
When, heated by my hand, I found
The heads all drooping tow'rd the ground.
I plac'd them in a well-cool'd glass,
And what a wonder came to pass
The heads soon raised themselves once more.
The stalks were blooming as before,
And all were in as good a case
As when they left their native place.
So felt I, when I wond'ring heard
My song to foreign tongues transferr'd.
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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Learn
when broken
learn
when happy
learn
when bored
learn
when you float and does not know what to do
learn just the same
when filled with idealism
learn
when fed with what you cannot swallow
learn again
when the times get rough and you want to kill yourself
learn, learn, learn
you still have many things to learn
faces of life
bodies of life
learn, learn, learn everything
do not surrender
for in truth, you do not do what you only want
you will also do what you are told to do
no questions asked
or you will be left out
or you will be not a part of the picture
this life
learn, learn, learn, always learn
do not surrender
live, learn, live, learn
you will soon do all that others will tell you
learn, learn and learn again
and sooner you will have learned everything
and then do what you want to do
with firm conviction
you know now what is right
and that is what you will do,
now without even being told
you have become yourself
but still learn, learn, and learn again
because
you might be wrong,
try thinking some more, learn
relearn, learn, learn, learn, forevermore....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Why 08 friend Thad
When Autumn comes promising gain.
This bounty we will gratefully accept.
The fruits of our hard labours we expect
assisted by the sunshine and the rain.
The roots and fruits and the sunripened grain,
which industrious workers will collect.
Although sometimes we learn by harsh precept.
The harvest fails and hunger stalks the land,
Then men adopt a different attitude.
Why this should be we cannot understand
Good harvests gain our earnest gratitude.
But should the harvest fail then we demand
from God an answer couched in language rude.
1-Oct-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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[intro]
Yo, my name is Taquell A.K.A Baby Poppa
Told ya I know ali
Yall thought I was playin
I told yall I know the Lunatics
Leezy, Nelly, Spud, Murph AND Kyjuan man
I know all of em since '99
Before Country Grammar before the Free City album
And now, Big Lee got that Heavy Starch out in the streets
It's over fo' real
Now next time Baby Poppa tell you somethin
You better listen
So keep your ears open cuz it's Ali
Heavy Starch let's go
Yo, Ali, Heavy Starch
Heavy Starch
Heavy Starch
Say it again
Heavy Starch
Do it like we do Heavy Starch Big Lee
Big Leezy fo sheezie with Heavy Starcheezy
What's up Ali
Hey Ali Heavy Starch
Peace to Ali comin from Son keepin it real, luv
Yo what's up Ali
Shouts out to Big Lee yea
Ali
Heavy Starch
What's up Ali
Heavy Starch
Big Leezy with the Heavy Starch
What's crack-a-lackin Heavy Starch
Heavy Starch
What's up Ali
Heavy Starch
Hi Ali Heavy Starch
Heavy Starch Big Lee
Big Lee Heavy Starch, Heavy Heavy Heavy Starch hahaha one luv
Right on Ali Right on Heavy Starch
Ali Heavy Starch, whatever you do dirty, keep it St. Louis
song performed by by Eels
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If only I pass into nothingness
Should turn up in my memory wheat grain crops,
blonde waves inspire me everlasting wavings,
the bird`s song : the field – a big dissoluteness,
the days` south secretly between us does sift it(...)
Should I look into the thought`s depth : a river
which lightens Undeath – spend my years,
and I have your face like the seaside of the wheat ears:
an icon, that it steals my everything – time!
If only I pass into nothingness,
I will remember you for ever
rich soil for love –
my seaside-longing!,
blonde dreamings will sift you –
young(...)
when,
I –
forgetten
seagulls
should I be food and f l y.
poem by Dumitru Găleșanu from Emotions into Multiverse (25 July 2010), translated by Adrian Constantinescu
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A Grain Of Wheat
watch a grain of wheat
planted unseen waiting waiting
for sun warmth water
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Song of the Wheat
We have sung the song of the droving days,
Of the march of the travelling sheep;
By silent stages and lonely ways
Thin, white battalions creep.
But the man who now by the land would thrive
Must his spurs to a plough-share beat.
Is there ever a man in the world alive
To sing the song of the Wheat!
It's west by south of the Great Divide
The grim grey plains run out,
Where the old flock-masters lived and died
In a ceaseless fight with drought.
Weary with waiting and hope deferred
They were ready to own defeat,
Till at last they heard the master-word—
And the master-word was Wheat.
Yarran and Myall and Box and Pine—
’Twas axe and fire for all;
They scarce could tarry to blaze the line
Or wait for the trees to fall,
Ere the team was yoked, and the gates flung wide,
And the dust of the horses’ feet
Rose up like a pillar of smoke to guide
The wonderful march of Wheat.
Furrow by furrow, and fold by fold,
The soil is turned on the plain;
Better than silver and better than gold
Is the surface-mine of the grain;
Better than cattle and better than sheep
In the fight with drought and heat;
For a streak of stubbornness, wide and deep,
Lies hid in a grain of Wheat.
When the stock is swept by the hand of fate,
Deep down in his bed of clay
The brave brown Wheat will lie and wait
For the resurrection day:
Lie hid while the whole world thinks him dead;
But the Spring-rain, soft and sweet,
Will over the steaming paddocks spread
The first green flush of the Wheat.
Green and amber and gold it grows
When the sun sinks late in the West;
And the breeze sweeps over the rippling rows
Where the quail and the skylark nest.
Mountain or river or shining star,
There’s never a sight can beat—
Away to the sky-line stretching far—
A sea of the ripening Wheat.
When the burning harvest sun sinks low,
And the shadows stretch on the plain,
The roaring strippers come and go
Like ships on a sea of grain;
Till the lurching, groaning waggons bear
Their tale of the load complete.
Of the world’s great work he has done his share
Who has gathered a crop of wheat.
Princes and Potentates and Czars,
They travel in regal state,
But old King Wheat has a thousand cars
For his trip to the water-gate;
And his thousand steamships breast the tide
And plough thro’ the wind and sleet
To the lands where the teeming millions bide
That say: “Thank God for Wheat!”
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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That Part Of A Whole
it is a tiny part
as tiny as a grain of sand
you hardly give it
attention
you keep on saying
what is in this grain of sand
that philosophers
say contain this universe
something so tiny
yet to contain everything
and so you hold the grain of sand
against the light
and revolve it around your fingers
little finger planets
to the sun grain of sand
you cannot believe what you
felt and saw
and so you throw away that grain
of sand to the air
eating it like a big mouthed monsters
you are lost
your world dissolves
like ice
you turn to air
and there you are
gone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Winter in Durnover Field
Scene.--A wide stretch of fallow ground recently sown with wheat, and
frozen to iron hardness. Three large birds walking about thereon,
and wistfully eyeing the surface. Wind keen from north-east: sky a
dull grey.
(Triolet)
Rook.--Throughout the field I find no grain;
The cruel frost encrusts the cornland!
Starling.--Aye: patient pecking now is vain
Throughout the field, I find . . .
Rook.--No grain!
Pigeon.--Nor will be, comrade, till it rain,
Or genial thawings loose the lorn land
Throughout the field.
Rook.--I find no grain:
The cruel frost encrusts the cornland!
poem by Thomas Hardy
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