The Golden Fields Of Rice
soon it will be harvest time
and you will see the women all wrapped in their sarong
their heads covered against the sun
bowing before these golden ricefields harvesting the
produce of their plowing and sowing men
soon it will be another happy hour
of drinking and singing and merry making
some debts will be paid off
the children shall remain in school
delicious dinners shall be served on the table
and happy conversations shall be in place
in the backyards of these working people
soon the fields will be empty again
some dried stalks will be left
some grains remain unpicked
by then it will be summer and the sun
will be so scorching
there will be changes going between the sowing and the harvesting
my faith shall keep staying amidst the cycles of the sun and the rain
the wet and the dry seasons of this tropical place
the mudding and the cracking of the paths
i will always keep going
to walk on like i am bound for a certain destination
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
As I Watche'd The Ploughman Ploughing
AS I watch'd the ploughman ploughing,
Or the sower sowing in the fields--or the harvester harvesting,
I saw there too, O life and death, your analogies:
(Life, life is the tillage, and Death is the harvest according.)
poem by Walt Whitman
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Memory, a God send gift
Your eyes and ears register
What you see and hear,
In your brain as memory,
From where you take
Bit by bit, now and then,
mostly the happy moments
And relive them with equal fervour.
Sowing one and harvesting ten
In the soil of memory
26.02.2002, Pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Counting
fifteen heads of buffaloes
grazing on the rice fields
twenty in all are the mounds
of rice husks
this harvest season
ten heads of men bowing
down to earth
sixteen heads of women
singing a summer song
a moon still up the crown
of mahogany tree
this early morning
a lone bird flies away
from me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Place Of My Birth No Longer Recognize Me
the land where i was born
mother tells me
is a land of mud and rain
they always go together and cause
the coming of each other
once when i have already
learned to talk and walk
we visited it
there were trees then
and some canals and fields of
green, ricefields and patches
of potato gardens and corn
and cassava
the men there are thin and the
women bent and mishapen
and they always complain
that they are hopeless
with sick children
they wanted to move
to our place where father
has prospered
there were no compromises
no transfers and no promises
we left all of them
towards our own home
and then there was this war
and many were killed
we read that on the news
and heard it from relatives
and then i become a man
and in peace visited the place
of my birth
the place has changed
everything is barren and burned
and there are no children
and women
either they died and buried
on shallow grounds
or they left somewhere else
for good
those hopeless men
i remember the dead trees
and tell them my name
who my mother was
it is sad the place of my birth
no longer recognizes me
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Who are These….
Sowing seeds, they go
Yes, sowing seeds they go
Seeds of separation, dissention
Seeds of wrath, hatred and lies
Seeds of discontent, envy
Ego, fanaticism, jealousy
Seeds of discrimination too
Yes, sowing seeds they go
Who are these, who go sowing!
Diligently from street to street
Sweet coating their hatred, bitterness
Hunger for power and dividing mind
In words so bombastic and loud
Wrapped so charmingly within
A thousand promises all false.
The elders dream of resurrection
Of Nehru, Gandhi and Patel of old
The younger ones fantasize
A new Messiah will be born
The ones in between follow the rut
Just close their eyes vote
And go about their work
Knowing at end whosoever rules
Prices will hike, Power electric will hide
Water contaminated or polluted be
Roads in disrepair always will remain
Taxes will always break our backs
And the system will never change!
poem by Angelina Pandian
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Golden Rain
Summer gleams in heated rays,
across the shimmering plain.
Awaiting autumn's cooling breeze,
when leaves fall ~ like golden rain.
Rows and rows of harvest lay,
a bounty's sweet repose.
Fate sealed by the reaper's hand,
when the wind of autumn blows.
Shaded with a timeless hue,
day sings sweet summer's refrain.
Awaiting autumn's cooling breeze,
when leaves fall ~ like golden rain.
Fiery flame of sun ~ now set
upon fields of summery bliss,
below horizons pinkly lit ~
by summer's parting kiss.
How fair those days of summer now.
Its warmth will not remain.
How soon the autumn ~ will take its place,
when leaves fall ~ like golden rain.
poem by Hazelmarie Elliott
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This Is a Happy Place
The Sun hits the water making it sparkle like gems
Blue sky above as the sun peaks through the sky
The gentle sounds of the waves washing up on the shore
This is a happy place
I feel calm and at ease
Feeling the warm gentle breeze
The open wings of seagulls gliding by
Kites soaring high in the sky
This is a happy place
People together with their families laughing, playing and having fun
Picnic on towels
Shovels in the sand
Digging, building, castles falling down
This is a happy place
Splashing, wading, jumping over waves
Boogie boarding, wake boarding, riding waves
Standing up, falling down
This is a happy place
Children smiling having a blast
Wanting these wonderful moments to last
Excitement and joy in everything they do
This is a happy place
As night time appears and the dark sky arrives people walk hand and hand shopping as they walk by
Riding rides, bright lights and music are things to be heard and seen
Funnel cake, french fries and cotton candy are just some of the yummy treats you can eat
This is a happy place
Sleepy eyes, tired feet the night is coming to an end
Jammies on and snuggled in bed, covered up with a book to be read
Ready for a good nights rest
Goodnight, sleep tight for when you wake up you'll be all refreshed
For it is time to do it all again
This is a happy place
poem by Anne Jones
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Sonnet: Harvest-time
In Summer, farmers scythe the harvest fast;
Their weary frames from morn till eve stay bent;
The produce sheaved is dried in fields so vast;
The air with songs of joy from heart is rent.
The scorching Sun doesn't bother their tanned skin;
Despite their speed, their work is ne’er over;
All hands labour, young, old, both kith and kin,
For golden harvest, thanking Lord- Giver.
The reapers everywhere must work quite hard;
There is no time to eat or drink water!
Their sweat-drenched land has yielded them reward;
The struggle involved ain't a great matter.
Each morn they stand and pray to Sun- their God,
Without which, there's no food, peasant, landlord.
poem by John Celes
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Covered In Rain
These days, with the world getting colder,
She spends more time sleeping over
Than I planned.
Tonight were gonna order in,
Drinking wine and watch some cnn.
Its dark I know but then again
Its the brightest thing I got
When Im covered in rain
When Im covered in rain, rain, rain, rain
No, I am covered in rain, rain
Firewoods to fire places
Summer snow and fallen places
Now were people watching other people, people watching you and i
Standing by the missing signs at the cvs by the checkout line
Put your tiny hands in mine
Cause your the brightest thing I got
When youre covered in rain
Cause Im covered in rain
Cause Im covered in rain
No Im covered in rain
And its alright
If you dont want to go on
And its alright
If you dont want to be alone
And its alright
If you dont want to go home
Come december lydia left
Mentioned something about it being for the best
And I cant say I disagree
Now Im standing facing west
Tracing my fingers round a silhouette
I havent gotten used to yet
But its the brightest thing I got
And Im covered in rain
Cus Im covered in rain
Cus Im covered in rain
You and me and everyone, covered in rain
song performed by by John Mayer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Harvest
Autumn feeds with harvest
Birds, animals and human beings.
It brings breakfast, lunch and dinner,
It brings the sweetest things.
Autumn in the gardens,
Autumn in the wood…
Nature has prepared all kinds of food.
Harvesting is pleasant!
Harvesting is good!
Happy is a peasant,
Happy is a wood!
Mice collect the grain,
Bees collect the honey,
Granny makes a jam,
Winter will be funny
Without any flam.
Apples in the cellar,
Grape turns into wine.
We are nature’s dwellers,
We all want to dine.
Gathering gifts of nature
You’ll avoid the hunger,
You will be much stronger,
You will look much younger.
Larisa Rzhepishevska (Odessa, Ukraine)
The 7th of September,2011
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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War Vets Dream
When he came from Nam he had a plan
That not many people would understand.
To help children see that not all in life
Was destruction and poverty.
With death and bombings all around
All he could hear was the children s sounds.
With tears in their eyes and not understanding why
Why so many bodies on the ground
And not a one making a sound.
All he could see was these faces of despair
Children did not understand and could not care.
These visions of the war would
always stay in his mind
From that day forward till the end of time.
He vowed that he would do all that he can
To help all children and his fellow man.
When you see the ravages of war
And a country torn apart
And its people scattered
Then staying alive is all that matters.
He knew that he could not stop this genocide
But he knew for the future children he had to try.
He wanted to create a place called “children s world”
A safe haven for every boy and girl.
A place where children could be children
And war they would not see.
Where they could be with friends and their families.
A place with a roof over their heads
Hot food and a bed.
He knows with time this dream will come true
“It just depends on people like you.”
poem by Louis Rams
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A Lonely Bird On The Electric Wire
this afternoon i take a walk leading to the farm
it is harvest time
and i see the harvesters cutting the rice stalks filled with golden grains
they would group what they gather at a certain place
mounds and mounds of rice grains this time of a bumper year
on the other side are carabaos grazing
lots of grass to graze adding the recently cut rice stalks
i look at the clouds white and blue and shades of both
my attention is however caught by a single bird perched on the electrical wire connecting two poles about 30 meters apart
it is alone there
and i move closely to see whether it is really a bird
indeed it is one of the sparrows in the ricefield
but so unlike the rest it
it is sitting there alone.
our eyes met.
and i tell my wife about this lonely bird.
she says i am just making a metaphor
i sit alone in my garden now after dining
and i wonder if the bird flew back to its nest or to some territory of its own
where their species also live
and i wonder if the bird must be also telling the other birds that it saw
a man walking alone on that path leading to the farm
and unlike other men he prefers to walk alone
and i also think that perhaps the bird would also take issue about the fact that indeed
our eyes met
and i know the other birds would say
that it is nothing but also a sort of metaphor and to the least that
it is nothing but a kind of fable.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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What makes me happy
What makes me happy is rain,
Heaven in little drops of liquid.
And darkness makes me happy,
Too happy...
Maybe it's because light hurts my eyes,
And I really hate light
Kansas makes me happy, land of my birth
Every time I see clouds, I am happy
So really I'm happy a lot
May these things make you happy
Every time you see the moon
Have a merry, merry Christmas
And good will to you
Perhaps you'll be happy
Please.please be happy
You will soon.
written 12/17/09
MERRY CHRISTMAS! ! !
poem by Abigail Allen
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Im happy
Im happy because all of my biils are paid
Im happy because i woke up and saw a brand new day
Im happy because i have food on my table
Im happy because my free
Im happy because im me
Im happy because i have my family
Im happy because im living
Im happy just for air and oxygen
Im happy just to be happy
poem by Jovahn Davis
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Happy Day
As I walk in, a dark cloud hovers over me.
The sadness displayed on my face assures me it is time.
Time is nearing to leave this unwelcoming abode; there is no place for me here.
Happy will I be to never have to come here again.
Happy will I be to never have to deal with ignorance of people I work with and serve.
Happy will I be to raise my children and teach them right from wrong.
Happy will I be to continue to be loved by my man.
Happy will I be to see a happy face in the mirror everyday!
~Kristy C. Artmann~ © 2008
poem by Kristy Artmann
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Come, Here Is Adieu To The City
COME, here is adieu to the city
And hurrah for the country again.
The broad road lies before me
Watered with last night's rain.
The timbered country woos me
With many a high and bough;
And again in the shining fallows
The ploughman follows the plough.
The whole year's sweat and study,
And the whole year's sowing time,
Comes now to the perfect harvest,
And ripens now into rhyme.
For we that sow in the Autumn,
We reap our grain in the Spring,
And we that go sowing and weeping
Return to reap and sing.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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As I Watche'd The Ploughman Ploughing
that hoeing on the earth
his signature onto world pad
that supreme thought
it gets marked onto the earth
only to be picked up
five thousand years from now
by a similar homo sapien
that ploughs the vast tracts of his mind
each haul a synergy between his mind
and the one five thousand years ago
inspiration that gets the world hooked
on each other the mental waves
left in soil, wind, trees
they live on to nourish future minds
as i watched the ploughman ploughing
i know the world would advance
with all its force to get to the truth
the way he turns the earth with his plough
As I Watche'd The Ploughman Ploughing
AS I watch'd the ploughman ploughing,
Or the sower sowing in the fields-or the harvester harvesting,
I saw there too, O life and death, your analogies:
(Life, life is the tillage, and Death is the harvest according.)
Walt Whitman
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Silent Stares
The power I need,
yes, the power
I dried,
has left and seized
to be the power I drive;
Happy friends, yes,
lovely lies
turn the tables
on the friendships
that have died;
Promised words, yes,
promises die,
loom amidst
the smiles that peasants
hide;
silent stares,
behind silent eyes,
still remain
after their tears
have dried.
poem by Reekrit Serai
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The Burial in the Snow
How well do I remember
Of a burial in the snow,
On a winter's evening
Some fifteen years ago;
The ground was covered over
With the beautiful crystal snow,
And it glistened in the moonlight,
Like diamonds all aglow.
It was a pleasant evening,
That merry Christmas eve;
And I never can forget, how
The frost hung on the tree.
The moon was shining clearly,
And the sleigh-bells rang so sweet;
Ah, it was splendid sleighing,
The snow was two feet deep.
My grandparents were living
Some two miles then away,
My parents went to see them,
To spend the holiday.
I went with my kind parents,
For the evening was sublime,
To see dear aunts and uncles,
And have a merry time,
I saw the beaming faces
Of my grandparents dear,
As they met us on the door-step,
With welcome words of cheer.
In fancy I can see them
As in the days of yore,
When they welcome home their children
Through the old familiar door.
The banquet board that evening,
Was filled with cake and wine,
Delicious fruits and oysters
That came from foreign clime.
It was a merry party
That met once more to roam,
My grandparents were happy,
Their children were all home.
Grandpapa said, "dear children,
Lay the tea things aside,
And some of you get ready
To take a pleasant ride.
The moon is shining clearly,
The evening is sublime,
O'er the crystal snow we'll glide,
And have a jolly time."
Hats and cloaks were soon put on,
By those who wish to go,
They were wrapped up snug and warm,
For a sleigh ride o'er the snow.
Their hearts were light and gleeful,
They rode away with ease,
I never can forget them,
Or that merry Christmas eve.
On that beautiful evening,
They rode five miles away,
O'er hills, and dales, and frozen snow,
With prospects bright and gay.
They came to their journey's end,
And soon were homeward bound,
A more joyous, happy band
Was nowhere to be found,
The merry sleigh bells ringing
Out on the midnight air,
And merry voices singing
All "right side up with care! "
The horses were high-spirited,
They ran away, and lo!
Broke loose from the sleigh, and left
It buried in the snow.
The people of that party
Lay scattered all around,
Some were frightened, others laughed,
To think it happened so,
That the end of their sleigh ride
Was a burial in the snow.
Yet they were gay and happy,
The bright moon o'er them shone,
And laughing o'er their sleigh ride,
They all went trudging home.
Some of those friends are dead and gone,
That met in that old home,
And never will we meet again,
Around that dear hearth stone.
poem by Julia A Moore
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Alienations For The Rich
This song is dedicated to all you modern-day troubadors out there
And I think I know who you are
I got to get a job
Got to get some pay
My sons gotta go to art school
Hes leaving in three days
And the tvs in esperanto*
You know that thats a bitch
But alienations for the rich
And Im feeling poorer every day
Hey hey hey
Well I aint feeling happy
About the state of things in my life
But Im working to make it better
With a six of miller high life
Just drinking and a-driving
Making sure my dues get paid
Because alienations for the rich
And Im feeling poorer every day
Hey hey hey
Well I aint feeling happy
About the state of things in my life
But Im working to make it better
With a six of miller high life
Just drinking and a-driving
Making sure my dues get paid
Because alienations for the rich
And Im feeling poorer every day
Hey hey hey
Hey hey hey
Hey hey hey
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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