The Grain Tribute
There came an officer knocking by night at my door
In a loud voice demanding grain-tribute.
My house-servants dared not wait till the morning,
But brought candles and set them on the barn-floor.
Passed through the sieve, clean-washed as pearls,
A whole cart-load, thirty bushels of grain.
But still they cry that it is not paid in full:
With whips and curses they goad my servants and boys.
Once, in error, I entered public life;
I am inwardly ashamed that my talents were not sufficient.
In succession I occupied four official posts;
For doing nothing—ten years’ salary!
Often have I heard that saying of ancient men
That “good and ill follow in an endless chain.”
And to-day it ought to set my heart at rest
To return to others the corn in my great barn.
Related quotes
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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We call ourselves public servants but I'll tell you this: we as public servants must set an example for the rest of the nation. It is hypocritical for the public official to admonish and exhort the people to uphold the common good.
quote by Barbara Jordan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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The Painful Wail
Consumed with grief I am, I get relief in no way
O circumambient waters of the Ganges drown me
Our land foments excessive mutual enmity
What unity! Our closeness harbors separation
Enmity instead of sincerity is outrageous
Enmity among the same barn's grains is outrageous
If the brotherly breeze has not entered in a garden
No pleasure can be derived from songs in that garden
Though I exceedingly love the real closeness
I am upset by the mixing of waves and the shore
The miraculous poet is like the grain from the barn
The grain has no existence if there is no barn
How can beauty unveil itself if no one is anxious for sight
Lighting of the candle is meaningless if there is no assembly
Why does the taste for speech not change to silence
Why does this brilliance not appear out from my mirror
Alas! My tongue poured its speech down
When war's fire had burnt the garden down
poem by Allama Muhammad Iqbal
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Devil At My Door
when she was asleep in her bed
she heard a pounding in her head.
who can be knocking at this ungodly hour?
for in this house, the devil has no power.
when she heard a voice outside her door!
'open the door and i will give you riches and fame
if but once you call my name.'
hearing this voice outside her door ' she responded'
but! this is the house of the LORD, you see.
i will not open up for someone like thee.
you can not give me what i desire
and i will not follow you into the fire.
so leave my door- never to return ever more.
the devil responded:
but! i can give you all these things
and you don't have to kneel before me.
i can give you eternal life
if you but- become my wife.
she responded: before my LORD i will kneel
my heart and soul, he can heal.
eternal life- i will have with him
and not have to commit a sin.
so take away all your promises and foolish ways
for i have nothing more to say.
my LORD is with me- i will not sway.
so with this he left her door
to return never more.
poem by Louis Rams
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Men in Great Place are thrice Servants Servants of the Sovereign or State Servants of Fame and Servants of Business It is strange desire to seek Power and to lose Liberty.
quote by Francis Bacon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Today... 'Angel of God's Presence
Angels are servants the bidding of God they do
But the fullness of the Godhead was dwelling in You
The very Presence of God came to us on earth
when You entered into this would through virgin birth.
This poor man cried out to You from the miry clay
You heard my voice and came to rescue me that day.
Saved me from of the mire and wretchedness of sin
took away all my transgressions and washed me clean.
The Angel of God's Presence willingly came down
To save a wretch like me and wear that thorny crown.
You became smitten by all of my afflictions
and upon cross paid the price of my transgressions.
By Your great mercy You have redeemed back my soul.
Angel of God's Presence Your death has made me whole.
Now I can stand on holy ground redeemed by God.
For that Angel was none other than Christ my Lord.
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box)
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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The Barn
They should never have built a barn there, at all -
Drip, drip, drip! - under that elm tree,
Though when it was young. Now it is old
But good, not like the barn and me.
To-morrow they cut it down. They will leave
The barn, as I shall be left, maybe.
What holds it up? 'Twould not pay to pull down.
Well, this place has no other antiquity.
No abbey or castle looks so old
As this that Job Knight built in '54,
Built to keep corn for rats and men.
Now there's fowls in the roof, pigs on the floor.
What thatch survives is dung for the grass,
The best grass on the farm. A pity the roof
Will not bear a mower to mow it. But
Only fowls have foothold enough.
Starlings used to sit there with bubbling throats
Making a spiky beard as they chattered
And whistled and kissed, with heads in air,
Till they thought of something else that mattered.
But now they cannot find a place,
Among all those holes, for a nest any more.
It's the turn of lesser things, I suppose.
Once I fancied 'twas starlings they built it for.
poem by Edward Thomas
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God's Judgment on a Wicked Bishop
The summer and autumn had been so wet,
That in winter the corn was growing yet,
'Twas a piteous sight to see all around
The grain lie rotting on the ground.
Every day the starving poor
Crowded around Bishop Hatto's door,
For he had a plentiful last-year's store,
And all the neighbourhood could tell
His granaries were furnish'd well.
At last Bishop Hatto appointed a day
To quiet the poor without delay;
He bade them to his great Barn repair,
And they should have food for the winter there.
Rejoiced such tidings good to hear,
The poor folk flock'd from far and near;
The great barn was full as it could hold
Of women and children, and young and old.
Then when he saw it could hold no more,
Bishop Hatto he made fast the door;
And while for mercy on Christ they call,
He set fire to the Barn and burnt them all.
"I'faith 'tis an excellent bonfire!" quoth he,
"And the country is greatly obliged to me,
For ridding it in these times forlorn
Of Rats that only consume the corn."
So then to his palace returned he,
And he sat down to supper merrily,
And he slept that night like an innocent man;
But Bishop Hatto never slept again.
In the morning as he enter'd the hall
Where his picture hung against the wall,
A sweat like death all over him came,
For the Rats had eaten it out of the frame.
As he look'd there came a man from his farm--
He had a countenance white with alarm;
"My Lord, I open'd your granaries this morn,
And the Rats had eaten all your corn."
Another came running presently,
And he was pale as pale could be,
"Fly! my Lord Bishop, fly," quoth he,
"Ten thousand Rats are coming this way,...
The Lord forgive you for yesterday!"
"I'll go to my tower on the Rhine," replied he,
"'Tis the safest place in Germany;
The walls are high and the shores are steep,
And the stream is strong and the water deep."
Bishop Hatto fearfully hasten'd away,
And he crost the Rhine without delay,
And reach'd his tower, and barr'd with care
All the windows, doors, and loop-holes there.
He laid him down and closed his eyes;...
But soon a scream made him arise,
He started and saw two eyes of flame
On his pillow from whence the screaming came.
He listen'd and look'd;... it was only the Cat;
And the Bishop he grew more fearful for that,
For she sat screaming, mad with fear
At the Army of Rats that were drawing near.
For they have swum over the river so deep,
And they have climb'd the shores so steep,
And up the Tower their way is bent,
To do the work for which they were sent.
They are not to be told by the dozen or score,
By thousands they come, and by myriads and more,
Such numbers had never been heard of before,
Such a judgment had never been witness'd of yore.
Down on his knees the Bishop fell,
And faster and faster his beads did he tell,
As louder and louder drawing near
The gnawing of their teeth he could hear.
And in at the windows and in at the door,
And through the walls helter-skelter they pour,
And down from the ceiling and up through the floor,
From the right and the left, from behind and before,
From within and without, from above and below,
And all at once to the Bishop they go.
They have whetted their teeth against the stones,
And now they pick the Bishop's bones:
They gnaw'd the flesh from every limb,
For they were sent to do judgment on him!
poem by Robert Southey
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The Barn at Willoughby's Farm
I have this recurring nightmare where
I'm wandering round a farm,
It's out in the middle of nowhere, just
A milking shed and a barn,
An ancient tractor sits by the house
But the blinds are pulled and drawn,
And it seems that the farmer left this place
Before Jacinth was born.
But ever I see her stand and wave
As she climbed aboard the bus,
Off for a life of adventure, not
Stuck here, like one of us,
She'd always wanted the country life
Away from the city's swell,
The day that she waved goodbye to us
Was my first real glimpse of hell!
‘Once I've settled, I'll write, ' she said,
‘Or else, there's always the phone;
I'll try to ring on a Friday night
When I'll catch you all at home! '
But she didn't ring, and she didn't write
And a month went by so soon,
She'd left in the middle of March, at night,
And then it was almost June!
I called on out to the agency
The office was next to the zoo,
She said they'd found her a pretty farm
That wanted a Jillaroo,
She'd cook and clean for the family,
And then work out on the farm,
Herding the lowing milkers in
To the milking shed by the barn.
The woman flicked through the client file
In a search for Jacinth's name,
She said, ‘That's strange, I've re-arranged
This file, but just the same,
I have no recollection of this
Girl, whatever she's called,
It could be another agency…'
But I thought the woman stalled!
I went to call at the depot where
The buses were parked at night,
I looked up the owner driver that
I'd seen when Jacinth took flight,
‘I don't remember the girl, ' he said,
‘But March was a fair way back,
She probably went to Willoughby's Farm
On the Strzelecki track.'
My heart sank into my boots at that,
I'd heard of that barren track,
There wasn't a working farm out there
Just bush and the bleak outback,
I packed up the old Toyota Ute
With a jerry can or two,
And headed on up to the Flinders
As I thought she'd want me to.
They hadn't seen her in Lyndhurst
What was left of the old ghost town,
I drove on up to Farina where
The buildings were falling down,
Then by the track on a tyre that sat
At the edge, on a pile of sand,
‘Five miles to Willoughby's Farm', the scrawl
Was writ in a shaky hand.
The farm was ruined and derelict,
The milking shed and the barn,
The tractor sat in a pile of rust
By the house of the ancient farm,
The roof had gone, had fallen in
But the barn was still intact,
And covered in dust by the old barn door
Was Jacinth's haversack.
I pushed the door and it opened up
With a creak of ages past,
I thought of the sweat on the farmer's brow
As he turned away, at the last,
But there in dry, brown dust of the floor
Was a slight but recent mound,
And a shovel leant by the cattle pen
As I fell on my knees, to the ground!
I have this recurring nightmare where
I'm wandering round a farm,
It's out in the middle of nowhere, just
A milking shed and a barn,
And the tears stream in this dreadful dream
To remember the pain and hurt;
With one last look at the haversack,
The shovel bit into the dirt!
15 August,2012
poem by David Lewis Paget
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An Old Friend
Hey, Old Midsummer! are you here again,
With all your harvest-store of olden joys,--
Vast overhanging meadow-lands of rain,
And drowsy dawns, and noons when golden grain
Nods in the sun, and lazy truant boys
Drift ever listlessly adown the day,
Too full of joy to rest, and dreams to play.
The same old Summer, with the same old smile
Beaming upon us in the same old way
We knew in childhood! Though a weary while
Since that far time, yet memories reconcile
The heart with odorous breaths of clover hay;
And again I hear the doves, and the sun streams through
The old barn door just as it used to do.
And so it seems like welcoming a friend--
An old, OLD friend, upon his coming home
From some far country--coming home to spend
Long, loitering days with me: And I extend
My hand in rapturous glee:--And so you've come!--
Ho, I'm so glad! Come in and take a chair:
Well, this is just like OLD times, I declare!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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The Three Knocks
WHEN the owl that scared the mouse
Fluffed his feathers and sat still,
And the night around was chill,
On the door of yonder house
Someone knocked,
And a hand the door unlocked.
While the owl, aloof and drear
Yellow-eyed his vigil kept,
Down the breeze a crying crept,
And it seemed to tell of fear —
Fear and care —
It was Life that entered there!
When the owl had greyer grown
By a score of years and more,
On the selfsame cedar door
Of yon house that stands alone,
Someone knocked,
And a hand the door unlocked.
Yet, though many gracious flowers
Wreathed the house from floor to roof,
In his shadowed haunt aloof
Staring sat he through the hours,
Unaware
It was Love that entered there!
When the owl had passed away,
And the mouse, no more afraid,
In the tree-glooms frisked and played,
On that door at end of day
Someone knocked,
And a hand the door unlocked.
Once and twice that knock had come,
Once for Life, and once for Love;
Towards the night the shadows move,
And the land lies still and dumb
Everywhere —
It is Death that enters there!
poem by Roderic Quinn
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Sin City
(gram parsons/chris hillman)
This old town is filled with sin
It will swallow you in
If youve got some money to burn
Take it home right away
Youve got three years to pay
But satan is waiting his turn
The scientists say
It will all wash away
But we dont believe any more
Cause weve got our recruits
And our green mohair suits
So please show your i.d. at the door
This old earthquakes gonna leave me in the poor house
It seems like this whole towns insane
On the thirty-first floor a gold plated door
Wont keep out the lords burning rain
A friend came around
Tried to clean up this town
His ideas made some people mad
But he trusted his crowd
So he spoke right out loud
And they lost the best friend they had
This old earthquakes gonna leave me in the poor house
It seems like this whole towns insane
On the thirty-first floor a gold plated door
Wont keep out the lords burning rain
On the thirty-first floor a gold plated door
Wont keep out the lords burning rain
song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If a farmer fills his barn with grain, he gets mice. If he leaves it empty, he gets actors.
quote by Walter Scott
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Song of the Pen
Not for the love of women toil we, we of the craft,
Not for the people's praise;
Only because our goddess made us her own and laughed,
Claiming us all our days,
Claiming our best endeavour -- body and heart and brain
Given with no reserve --
Niggard is she towards us, granting us little gain:
Still, we are proud to serve.
Not unto us is given choice of the tasks we try,
Gathering grain or chaff;
One of her favoured servants toils at an epic high,
One, that a child may laugh.
Yet if we serve her truly in our appointed place,
Freely she doth accord
Unto her faithful servants always this saving grace,
Work is its own reward!
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Bible in Poetry: Gospel of St. Matthew (Chapter 25)
‘The Heaven’s kingdom is like ten
Virgins, who took their lamps to meet,
The bridegroom in his wedding feast;
Five were foolish but five were wise.’
‘The foolish ones went with their lamps,
Which had no oil in them at all;
The wise ones also took their lamps,
Along with oil to use in flasks.’
‘The bridegroom came a bit delayed;
The virgins felt drowsy and slept;
A cry was heard at midnight loud,
‘Behold, the bridegroom comes, meet Him! ’
The virgins woke and trimmed their lamps;
The foolish ones then asked the wise,
‘Spare us some oil to keep lamps on.’
The wise ones then replied, ‘Sorry,
We need the oil for our own lamps;
It may not be enough for both;
Go to the merchant shop and buy.’
While foolish virgins went to buy,
The bridegroom came during that time;
The ones ready, accompanied him;
The wedding hall’s door was then locked.’
The other virgins then arrived;
They cried, ‘Lord, Lord, open the door! ’
The bridegroom but replied, ‘Amen,
I say to you, I know you not! ’
‘So, stay awake for, you know not
The day, nor hour when bridegroom comes! ’
‘A man who went on a journey,
To all his servants, gave money,
As per each one’s ability.’
‘He gave five talents to the first;
Two talents to the servant next;
One talent only, to the last,
And went away immediately! ’
‘The one who got five talents made,
Another five talents by trade;
The one who had two talents too
Likewise had made another two;
The one with just one talent dug
A hole to bury it in ground.’
A long time passed; the master came
To settle accounts with servants;
He told the first who’d made five more,
‘Well done my faithful servant good;
I’ll give you better jobs to do;
Come share your master’s joy, rejoice! ’
‘He said the same to the second;
The one who got just one talent
Said, ‘Master, I know you too well.
You are a demanding person:
Harvesting where you did not plant,
Gathering when you didn’t scatter.
So, out of fear, I dug a hole
And buried it quite safely whole
Here is your talent you gave me.’
His master then replied to him,
‘You wicked, lazy servant, Oh!
Your master, when you knew so well,
Why didn’t you in a bank, put it,
So that the interest, I could get? ’
‘He took the talent from this one
And gave it to the one with ten;
The one who labors will get more;
The one with less will be made poor!
He ordered then, the lazy one,
Into the darkness, to be thrown,
Where people wail and always groan! ’
‘When Son of Man in glory comes,
His angels will surround Him then,
And He will sit in His great throne!
All nations will stand before Him,
He’ll separate one from the next,
Like shepherd does with sheep and goats.’
‘He’ll place his sheep onto His right
And place the goats onto his left;
To those on right, the king will say,
‘Ye, blessed by my Father, come,
Into the kingdom made for you,
From the beginning of the world! ’
‘For, I was hungry, you gave food;
And I was thirsty, you gave drink;
I was a stranger, you welcomed;
I lay naked and me, you clothed;
When I was ill, for me, you cared;
When in prison, visit, you paid.’
The righteous then will ask the Lord,
‘When did we feed you while hungry?
When did we offer drink in thirst?
When did we welcome you stranger?
When did we clothe you when naked?
When did we care for you when ill?
When did we see you in prison? ’
The king will say to them again,
‘Amen, I say to you, amen,
Whatev’r you did unto the least
Brothers of mine, you did for me! ’
Then he will say to ones on left,
‘Depart from me, you accursed all,
Into the fire eternal,
Prepared for Satan and devils.’
‘For, when I was in hunger great,
You never gave me food to eat;
And when in thirst, for drink, I asked,
You never cared to offer me.’
‘When like a stranger, I met you,
You never cared to welcome me;
I lay all naked, without clothes,
You never cared to spare a dress;
In prison when I became ill,
You never cared to visit me.’
They will then answer and say, ‘Lord,
When were you hungry and thirsty?
When were you naked, a stranger?
When did we fail to meet your needs? ’
He’ll answer them and say, ‘Amen,
What you didn’t do to ones the least,
You did not do unto me too! ’
‘And these will get eternal rod,
While righteous get eternal life! ’
(6-13-2007)
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Kissing Carol Ann
Back in 1957
kissing Carol Ann
behind the barn
in the middle of
a windswept field
of Goldenrod
with a sudden deer
watching was
something special,
let me tell you.
Back then, bobby sox
and big barrettes
and ponytails
were everywhere.
Like many farmers,
Carol Ann's father
had a console radio
in the living room,
and every Saturday night
the family would gather 'round
with bowls of ice cream
and listen to the Grand Ole Opry.
It was beamed 'all the way'
from Nashville I was told
more than once since
I was from Chicago
and sometimes wore a tie
so how could I know.
On my first visit,
I asked Carol Ann
if the Grand Ole Opry was
the Mormon Tabernacle Choir
of country music and she said
not to say that to her father.
She suggested I just tap
my foot to the music
and let him watch me.
Otherwise I'd best be
quiet and say 'Yup, '
'Nope' or 'Maybe'
if asked any questions
which she didn't think
would happen.
No need to say
much more, she said,
and after a few visits,
I understood why.
Over time, I learned
to tap my foot pretty good
to the music because
when I'd come to visit,
her father would insist
I have a bowl of ice cream
with the family.
I liked the ice cream
but not so much
the Grand Ole Opry.
I'd been weaned
on Sinatra in the city.
Big difference,
let me tell you.
But back in 1957
kissing Carol Ann
behind the barn
was something special
since we couldn't do
much more until
I found employment.
Only then, her father said,
could we get married.
I found no jobs
in town, however,
for a bespectacled man
with degrees in English.
Still, I always found
the weekend drives
from Chicago worth
the gas my Rambler drank
because kissing Carol Ann
brought a bit of heaven
down behind that barn,
especially on summer nights
when fireflies were
the only stars we saw
when our eyes
popped open.
It was like
the Fourth of July
with tiny sparklers
twinkling everywhere.
Now,55 years later,
Carol Ann sometimes mentions
fireflies at dusk as we
dance behind the cows
to coax them into the barn
for the night.
I'm still not too good
with cows despite
my John Deere cap,
plaid shirt and overalls
which proves, she says,
that all that kissing
behind the barn in 1957
took the boy out of the city
but not the city out of the boy.
'Hee Haw' is all I ever
say in response because
I know why I'm there.
It's to keep tapping
the cows on the rump
till we get them
back in the barn
so we can go back
in the house
and start with
a kiss and later on
come back downstairs
for two big bowls
of ice cream.
poem by Donal Mahoney
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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