Reaping Corn
Reaping corn
Penning through words
Escaping the way
Deducting money
Shaving moustaches
Stroke off my name.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Related quotes
My Words
the art of expression
is what my words are penned down upon
the will of wisdom
and the essence of freedom
to bounce like a king kong
on the ping pong
glad or sad, is from within each or any
stanza of my words
from the top of my head
to the deep end of the membrane under my melanin skin
to the sensory nerves of my brain
coiled upon an ancient pane
my words,
that which mirrors my sense of thought and feeling,
that with an ancestor
that which the blood of my people
was shed for; just so simple
but my words are royal
because ‘am loyal
like an induna
and vocal
to usher-in a focal
point of the meaning of my words.
my needs
and deeds
have a lord
on board
to code my words
and shield my soul from the imp’s sword.
my words are so very simple
to understand
and overstand
‘t was my words
that kept the birds
away from the heads
of my corn
for i was born
and sworn
to live a life upon
my words are so very easy to grasp
the fewer that discern
the nobler i become
I need not to wonder
and ponder
over yonder
for such is unknown to you
and therefore you have no knowledge of me
nor are you, about my words
yes! my words is what i like
to write
for i write
what i like
to strike
a balance between
the psyche
and the mic
such is my words,
the art of penning down what is from
the mind
and rewind
to remind
my words to decide
my words
such is my words,
the art of expression
against deception
but inception
and intersection
of my words
i now tell you that
my words are the words from the art
that which i chat
to match what my heart
tells me; roger that
the art of expressing the knack of expression; my words!
poem by Onalethuso Petruss Ntema
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Light Hearted William
Light hearted William twirled
his November moustaches
and, half dressed, looked
from the bedroom window
upon the spring weather.
Heigh-ya! sighed he gaily
leaning out to see
up and down the street
where a heavy sunlight
lay beyond some blue shadows.
Into the room he drew
his head again and laughed
to himself quietly
twirling his green moustaches.
poem by William Carlos Williams
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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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Words, Words, Words
We seem to define words so as to use them,
Conquering the speech of another person;
Just to be a speaker is even better for a person
Than to read or write and practise scholarship.
We meet words carefully chosen by them and combine
To form sentences that will be recognised,
Thus the attached meaning is passed on;
Prosperity is the objective, success is marvellous.
Scholars are thinking men, relaxed by books,
They do not only speak, but look at the messages
From the written word, learning godly works,
Escaping blunders, escaping our mockery.
We are with fine words, words capture us,
Your vocabulary depends on your cleverness and intelligence,
So concoct the perfect sentences,
Invent the same language that we speak.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Money
Money
Money
Money
Important
Useful
Necessary
Money
Money
Money
Wealthy
Middle
Poverty
Money
Money
Money
Save
Give
Spend
Money
Money
Borrow
Lend
Money
Money
Foe
Friend
Money
Money
Master
Slave
Money
Money
Satisfied
Crave
Money
Money
Laugh
Cry
MoneyMoney
Live
Die
Money
Money
Sick
Well
Money
Money
Heaven
Hell
poem by Howard Simon
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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
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The beard is here because I got tired of shaving and Grissom, subsequently, got tired of shaving. Grissom, like any other 50-year-old man, is going through a series of mid-life changes. Who knows, he may start drinking.
quote by William Petersen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We made more money feeding molasses, urea, and corn cobs to cattle than we ever did feeding dent corn.
quote by Orville Redenbacher
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Money Money Song
Money money
Is going to get me a girl
Money money
I am going to use it to buy me a cup of coffee
Money money
Is going to take me to Paris
Money money
Is going to buy me some new clothes
Money money
I am going to use it to do my laundry
Momey money
Is going to buy me some groceries
Money money
Is going to pay to fix my house
Money money
Is going to send me to the rich men's world
Money money is going to buy me a cellular phone
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Sestina #2
why
I don't care for the money
I don't care for nothing
because every feeling you had was no more that words
but they have been my food
and never filled me, you had nothing to quench my thirst
thirst
I'm tires of the repetion tell me why.
my body is dying I need food
I'm sorry I made a mistake, but I want no money
just countless words
that speakes to nothing
Nothing
my three days are up, I beg thee quench my thirst
I'm so pleased to say those words
my rhetorical question is: why?
I rather to live in the 30's than to have money
I rather live without food
fourth time I said food
Dear, it's nothing.
You shown me that before, I HATE IT, the money.
emotions are dry. and I thirst
...you moke me, why?
they are more than words
they are Words
an entity that my mind's eye use as food
something is new, again why?
i'm teary eyed. It's nothing
situation change, but I'll never dout my thirst.
You are wrong, my mind does not want money
money
it makes lame all your words
your eye is dim, you thirst.
the lines I writes can be your food
but you want nothing
I don't care. don't ask, why
I'm tired of the symobles for money, because they have no belly for food
esoteric words, impressing nothing.
And i still still thrist...why?
poem by Victoria Lee
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Reaping
Reaping fruit from words
Now laying curses down
Disaster it accords
As poverty now surrounds.
Ignorance of effects
They're sowing verbal causes
Now this Land of Rejects
Lose hope with money pauses.
Words declared grow active
And those who fail to see
The things they write, say, and give
Canceled all prosperity.
Nations then will laugh
Deception reigns all over
This Land will not have enough
To feed these arrogant speakers.
Copyright Cynthia Buhain Baello
March 2,2010
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Love the money
Money
Is not money...
It is life....
Money is not
Money
It is happy...
Money is
Not money
It is faith...
Money is not
Money
It is friend...
Money is not
Money
It is life maker...
Money is not
Money...
It is your hard work...
Money is not
Money...
poors god...
money is not
Money
Rich people Cap...
Money is not
Money
World wide all...
Any or many thing money
With money...
So...
Love the money...
Each every day...
Earn too enjoy
with your's life...
witrh good...!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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I am the Reaper
I am the Reaper.
All things with heedful hook
Silent I gather.
Pale roses touched with the spring,
Tall corn in summer,
Fruits rich with autumn, and frail winter blossoms—
Reaping, still reaping—
All things with heedful hook
Timely I gather.
I am the Sower.
All the unbodied life
Runs through my seed-sheet.
Atom with atom wed,
Each quickening the other,
Fall through my hands, ever changing, still changeless.
Ceaselessly sowing,
Life, incorruptible life,
Flows from my seed-sheet.
Maker and breaker,
I am the ebb and the flood,
Here and Hereafter,
Sped through the tangle and coil
Of infinite nature,
Viewless and soundless I fashion all being.
Taker and giver,
I am the womb and the grave,
The Now and the Ever
poem by William Ernest Henley
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I say 20 words in English. I say money, money, money, and I say hot dog! I say yes, no and I say money, money, money and I say turkey sandwich and I say grape juice.
quote by Carmen Miranda
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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333
i like you
you are candid and smart and outspoken
we are afraid to know that you are dying
it is obvious
and you are speaking clearly with your words
chosen from the
courage of the veins in your heart
with so much
bravery with so much brevity
you are penning
this
requiem
without a dent of regret
whatsoever
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Verses From God
I’m just the pen; God is the ink, Who fills me as I write and think,
And God’s ink never runs dry, as it flows from His Spirit on high.
Penning verse that never ends, as He talks to a world of friends,
As I go to God in prayer, He pens down each blessing and care.
In a trial God helps me through, He pens verse to share with you,
And the blessing He brings my way, as He helps me, day to day.
As I write every word and line, I do not claim the verses as mine,
For as the pen to page is pressed, it is my heart that is blessed.
Blessing seem to come my way, as He helps me, in what to say,
To illustrate to all those who read, that Jesus is The Lord indeed.
His Words just seem to flow, not knowing where His idea will go,
But His point He makes every time, as God speaks on each line.
He draws from deep inside, my heart, where His Scriptures hide,
Always used at the proper place, to pen down a verse of Grace.
And as the page begins to fill, it is not my poem, but God’s will,
That fills lines with His Word, which some who read, never heard.
It’s God above who fills my pen, with words for the eyes of men,
By means of only poetic verse, to claim victory, over sin’s curse.
The page is filled by God above, with true examples of His Love,
Penning Truth for men to see, He’s a God who loves you and me.
(Copyright ©08/2007)
For KK
they call her genius
because she makes a lot of money
without having to exert
any effort, she plays with time
as though time is a
pet dog,
she uses a few words to
enforce her commandments of
greed
and what is surprising is this:
the robots
her slaves obey without question
reaping the fruits of
effortless greed
and offering all of these
in her tray of
luxury,
we who earned each penny
with honesty
do not watch her with envy
neither do we pray
for her eventual debris
we pity her well
for
at the end
her destiny is
hell...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Word Escapees Running Wild
words have ways of escaping
from the confines of an entombment page
words can appear in strange places
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Accord Aeon Aeonium Velours 1819
Good: our choice, bloom open voice vibrating,
Attraction magnetic peeping
through entries in safe-keeping.
Artful Ariane, anticipating,
blond head, from horn escaping,
from fears and tears joy reaping.
Extension of my dreams, of my thoughts,
inextricably caught
in firebird glance safe, shared, sought.
Good in my heart, zephyr light tinkling
in your smile, echo humming:
both beginning, second coming,
pleasure inking, winking, thinking
of sweetness polyhedral,
words worlds blossoming as one,
bidirectional joy won,
heartfelt kisses' bliss cathedral.
Here your words from wait translating
nothing rough, nor bluff, souls sweeping,
over time and distance leaping
soul for soul's eternal mating.
Of good, time's hues
of life, rhyme's tempo,
of happiness shared halo.
(13 November 2008)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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If I Could Pen One Worthy Lyric
If I knew I had penned one worthy lyric that would outlive me by more than a day
Then I'd be happy at this very minute to give penning of doggerel away
I'd say to myself I've written something of value to call it quits now seems the time
For too long I've put too much effort into penning of doggerel rhyme.
The beautiful song of the shrike thrush in the morning breeze comes to me
He whistles in the nearby Woodlet I know his song though him I can't see
He cares not for fame or for success content in his own territory
His gift of song he'll pass on to his offsprings to insure his immortality.
Around his borders in the breeding season he whistles and sings all day long
His greatest gift from Mother Nature the gift of a beautiful song
His song will live on in his children when from the Woodlet he has gone
If I could pen one worthy lyric my legacy too would live on.
If I could pen one worthy lyric I would gladly give rhyming away
But perhaps I will keep penning doggerel right up until my dying day
In hope of writing something of value that others may read and enjoy
Like the poems of the immortal poets that I read in school as a boy.
poem by Francis Duggan
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