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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Related quotes
Parables of Jesus: The Kingdom of Heaven: The Wheat and the Darnel Gospel, Matthew 13: 24-30
Then Jesus told another parable:
‘Kingdom of Heaven- Wheat and the darnel'
Heaven can be compared to that of a man,
Who sowed only good seed in his whole field.
But just when everybody fell asleep,
His enemy had come and sown darnel,
Amongst the wheat and sped away quite fast.
And when the new wheat sprouted very well,
The darnel too appeared amidst the same;
His labourers all went to him and said,
‘Wasn't it good seed that you sowed in your field?
He told them, ‘Some enemy had done this! '
When they asked if they should pull the weeds out,
He told, ‘No, as the wheat would come with it! '
‘Let them both grow until the harvest-time;
And then I will instruct my reapers all,
‘Collect the darnel first; burn the bundles!
Gather the good wheat all into my barn! '
poem by John Celes
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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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The Weeds or The Wheat
When all of creation, for eternity, bow at The Lord's feet,
Will you be separated and gathered with the weeds or the wheat?
Those who believe and are saved, whom The Lord calls the wheat,
Will humbly and thankfully cast all their reward at His feet.
While all of those who continued in their own willful deeds,
The Lord will separate from the wheat and mark them as weeds.
While the weeds, who were deceived by the evil one into unbelief,
Will suffer for their choice throughout all eternity with no relief.
The wheat will be gathered by The Lord and brought into His barn,
Taken to their home in Heaven where they will face no more harm.
However, all of the weeds will be bundled and tossed into the fire,
Cast into eternal darkness, although this is not The Lord's desire.
The Lord's will is not eternal damnation for any man or nation,
But that all men will truly believe and accept His gift of Salvation.
The patience of The Lord is truly a mystery and something to cherish,
For in His unparalleled love for the world He wants no one to perish.
As people in the world, that He created, truly get colder and colder,
Christians He set apart for a purpose should get bolder and bolder.
The Christian's boldness should be filled with His eternal desire,
To share The Good News with all and so snatch them from the fire.
(Copyright © 06/2002)
Mysteries of The Kingdom
Some mysteries of The Kingdom were, given in parables for us to infer,
Some secrets of The Kingdom of God, while still upon this earthly sod.
Parables spoken by Jesus Christ, to demonstrate Truths of Eternal Life,
Hidden from the hearts and eyes; where God’s Truths are just despised.
Christ spoke of the faithful sower, planting seed for the Eternal Grower,
Then Jesus Christ went on to say, that not all seed fell in the same way,
Some fell onto the walking path, and soon destroyed, by Satan’s wrath.
Some seed fell upon the rocky soil, and with no root, soon would spoil.
Some seed fell within thorny soil, and was unfruitful because of the toil.
But in good soil some was sown, and an abundance of fruit was grown.
The Kingdom, Christ went on to say, was just like a field in another way,
Where there was good seed sown, weeds around that wheat had grown.
For the enemy had sown in the field, weeds where the crop would yield,
But to not uproot what was good, he let the weeds grow as they would.
The weeds would remain until harvest, but not to be treated as the rest,
The weeds are bundled to be burned, saving the wheat as they learned.
And in the garden is the mustard seed, with a Truth that we could heed,
Small and unimpressive in size, but, from it the largest plant would rise.
Christ spoke of yeast and its effect, in The Kingdom through the Elect,
Just as it is mixed in the dough, with the Spirit, growth begins to show.
The Kingdom’s like hidden treasure, filling the finder with such pleasure,
That he hides it again and is glad, to buy the field, spending all he had.
Like a fine pearl found by a merchant; all his property, would be spent,
To buy this one pearl of such worth, one which he found, here on earth.
The Kingdom of Heaven’s like a net, of a fisherman and all of his catch,
When it’s full and pulled to shore, it had good fish but it also had more,
The good, put into baskets to keep; the bad thrown back into the deep.
This, just like the end of this Age, with the deep being an eternal grave,
When angels gather souls of men, the righteous and those condemned,
The condemned, to fires below, while the righteous, to Heaven they go.
All these parables spoken of, illustrate The Kingdom of Heaven above,
And by Jesus Christ, are given to us, who in Him have placed our trust.
(Copyright ©01/2008)
Golden Wheat
Remember me when the South wind blow
Golden wheat, where the waves dance in row
Forget the emptiness and cold
Embrace love and the memories you hold
Remember me solemnly gazing for doe
Golden wheat, where waves dance in row
Entwined together on the greens we rolled
Embrace love and the memories you hold
Will you stay with me, as old we grow
Golden wheat, where the wave dance in row
Together we'll erase the world's toll
Embrace love and the memories you hold
South wind lover always know
Golden wheat, where waves dance in row
Bodies come together as if made in a mold
Embrace love and the memories you hold
My pledge to you from Heaven and below
Golden wheat, where waves dance in row
With my last breath our love will still unfold
Embrace love and the memories you hold
When we're gone I hope our descendants know
Golden Wheat, where waves dance in row
Feel the south wind, be it warm or cold
Embrace love and the memories you hold
poem by Rhonda Baker
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Bible in Poetry: Gospel of St. Matthew (Chapter 13)
Out of the house, then Jesus went
That day, and by the sea, sat down;
Large crowds had gathered around Him
So, sat He in a boat off-shore,
While crowds were standing on the shore.
He spoke in detailed parables:
‘A sower, went to sow, one day,
Some seeds fell on the path, he walked
And birds ate them up, all at once.’
‘Some fell on rocky ground without
Soil adequate and sprouted but,
The soil wasn’t deep and sun that rose
Had scorched while it withered, rootless.’
‘Some seeds had fallen amidst thorns,
And with the passing of the morns,
The faster growing thorns choked them,
And there remained, just stubs of stem! ’
‘Just some seeds fell on soil-rich ground;
They grew so well and it was found
That they produced fruits many-fold
A hundred / sixty / thirty-fold! ’
‘Those who have ears, then ought to hear! ’
His disciples then questioned Him,
‘Why speak to them in parables? ’
And Jesus told them, in reply:
The kingdom’s knowledge. mystery
To you, has been by God granted,
And not to others by the Lord.’
‘To one who has, given is more;
And richer will he always grow;
From those that have a little then,
Ev’n that will be away taken.’
‘In parables, I speak, that’s why
Because they look but cannot pry
They hear but don’t to them pay heed
Nor do they understand the need.’
Isaiah’s prophecy’s fulfilled;
Though you hear, you understand not.
Indeed they look but dot see.’
‘The hearts of people are so gross,
They hear and yet have hearing-loss;
They’ve closed their eyes, lest they may see,
Their deafened ears have turned stony,
Nor do they understand by heart,
To be by God’s word, a convert;
I heal them all as it’s my part.’
‘Blessed are your eyes because they see
And ears because they hear surely’
Amen, I say to you this day:
So many prophets and righteous
Had longed to see but saw just less,
And did not see or hear quite well
The things you hear and that I tell.’
Then hear the sower’s parable:
‘The seed that’s sown on path is one
Who hears the Word of God and yet,
Does not truly understand it;
The evil one then comes and steals
Away what’s sown within his heart.’
‘The seed on rocky ground is one
Who hears the word at once with joy
But this lasts only for sometime
When persecution, trials come
He tends to fall away from God.’
‘The seed that falls amongst the thorns
Is one who hears the word but then
The lure of worldly lucre choke
And therefore, it can bear no fruit.’
‘The seed that’s sown on soil that’s rich
Is one who hears and understands
And therefore bears fruit manyfold
Depending on each one’s effort.’
He told another parable:
‘Heaven’s kingdom is like a man
In his own field, who sowed good seed;
At night, his enemy sowed weed.
Amongst the wheat and disappeared;
The good crop grew and bore good fruit;
The weeds also grew very well;
His slaves then came and asked landlord,
‘Didn’t you sow good seed in your field?
How did the weeds happen to come? ’
He replied, ’’Tis enemy’s work.’
His slaves then asked the master then,
‘Should we now go, pull out the weeds? ’
The master said, ‘No, if you do,
The wheat could be uprooted too.
Let’s allow both for now to grow
At harvest time, I’ll give orders
To pull out weeds and make bundles;
And burn them until they turn ash,
Then gather wheat and store in barn.’
He told another parable:
‘The kingdom of Heaven is like
A mustard-seed, a person sowed
In a field though, the smallest seed;
When fully grown, it’s a large bush
And birds build nests on its branches.’
He spoke another parable:
‘The kingdom of heaven’s like yeast,
When mixed with much of wheat flour,
It leavens the entire dough.’
Jesus spoke just in parables,
To fulfill what the prophet said:
‘I’ll open mouth in parables;
I will announce what lies hidden
From foundation of this great world.’
When crowds left, Jesus returned home.
His disciples requested Him
To explain parable, He’d said,
That of the weeds, inside the field.
‘He who sows good seed,
Is the Son of Man;
The field’s the world of men;
Good seed are children of kingdom;
Bad seed are children of Satan;
The enemy, devil;
The harvest, end of age;
Harvesters are angels.
‘Just as how weeds are burned
So, at the end of age
The Son of Man will send
His Angels to gather
All evil-doers and
Those causing others, sin.
They’ll be thrown in furnace
Of fire eternal,
With wailing, teeth-grinding;
The righteous shine like sun,
In their Father’s Kingdom! ’
‘Whoev’r has ears, then ought to hear:
‘Heaven ‘s kingdom’s akin treasure,
A person finds buried in field;
He hides it back with joy again
And sells all that he has, to buy
The field with hidden treasure soon.’
‘Heaven’s Kingdom’s like a merchant,
Who goes in search of costly pearls;
And finding just one priceless one,
He sells all that he possesses,
And buys the invaluable pearl! ’
‘Heaven’s Kingdom’s like a net,
That’s thrown into the sea and wet,
To collect fish of every kind.
When full, the net is hauled ashore;
Good ones are isolated there;
The bad fishes are thrown away.’
‘At end of age, ’twill be like-wise
The angels will go separate
The wicked from the righteous ones
And throw them in Fiery Furnace
Where wailing and grinding of teeth
Occur in manner incessant.’
‘Do you then understand? ’ He asked
And all of them well answered, ‘Yes! ’
Then Jesus said, ‘Each instructed
Scribe in Heaven’s Kingdom is like
A head who brings from his household,
And store-room, both the new and old! ’
When Jesus finished parables,
He went away to His place then.
He reached His native place and taught
The people in their synagogue.
They were so astonished and asked,
‘From where did this man get wisdom
And how does He do mighty deeds? ’
‘Isn’t he the carpenter’s son?
Is not His mother Mary called?
Are not His brothers Joseph, James
Simon, Judas and sisters too?
From where does this man get all this? ’
They took offence at Jesus then.
‘A prophet’s not without honor
Except in his house / native place.’
Because of lack of faith in Him,
He didn’t do mighty deeds more there.
(6-2-2007)
poem by John Celes
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The Wheat And Tares
Though in the outward church below
The wheat and tares together grow;
Jesus ere long will weed the crop,
And pluck the tares, in anger, up.
Will it relieve their horrors there,
To recollect their stations here?
How much they heard, how much they knew,
How long amongst the wheat they grew!
O! this will aggravate their case!
They perished under means of grace;
To them the word of life and faith,
Became an instrument of death.
We seem alike when thus we meet,
Strangers might think we all are wheat;
But to the Lord's all-searching eyes,
Each heart appears without disguise.
The tares are spared for various ends,
Some, for the sake of praying friends;
Others, the Lord, against their will,
Employs his counsels to fulfill.
But though they grow so tall and strong,
His plan will not require them long;
In harvest, when he saves his own,
The tares shall into hell be thrown.
poem by John Newton
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Brokenness
Unless the grain of wheat
Falls to the ground and dies
Change won't be complete
Because from there, a new growth lies.
Unless a man be broken
And shed off from his old Self
Molding cannot be given
On the jar there on Life's shelf.
On the clay there must be a crushing
For the new jar to be molded
There must be renewed pounding
For the metal to be welded.
New life can never sprout
From the seed that remains whole
And fruit cannot come out
Without brokenness of Soul.
'My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.'
(PSALM 73: 26)
Copyright Cynthia Buhain Baello
February 24,2010
Philippines
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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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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Not all the spikes of wheat go on the wheat pile.
Haymaking
The living quality of
the man's mind
stands out
and its covert assertions
for art, art, art!
painting
that the Renaissance
tried to absorb
but
it remained a wheat field
over which the
wind played
men with scythes tumbling
the wheat in
rows
the gleaners already busy
it was his own---
magpies
the patient horses no one
could take that
from him
poem by William Carlos Williams
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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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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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Wheat
'Sowin' things an' growin' things, an' watchin' of 'em grow;
That's the game,' my father said, an' father ought to know.
'Settin' things an' gettin' things to grow for folks to eat:
That's the life,' my father said, 'that's very hard to beat.'
For my father was a farmer, as his father was before,
Just sowin' things an' growin' things in far-off days of yore,
In the far-off land of England, till my father found his feet
In the new land, in the true land, where he took to growin' wheat.
Wheat, Wheat, Wheat! Oh, the sound of it is sweet!
I've been praisin' it an' raisin' it in rain an' wind an' heat
Since the time I learned to toddle, till it's beatin' in my noddle,
Is the little song I'm singin' you of Wheat, Wheat, Wheat.
Plantin' things —- an' grantin' things is goin' as they should,
An' the weather altogether is behavin' pretty good —-
Is a pleasure in a measure for a man that likes the game,
An' my father he would rather raise a crop than make a name.
For my father was a farmer, an' 'All fame,' he said, 'ain't reel;
An' the same it isn't fillin' when you're wantin' for a meal.'
So I'm followin' his footsteps, an' a-keepin' of my feet,
While I cater for the nation with my Wheat, Wheat, Wheat.
Wheat, Wheat, Wheat! When the poets all are beat
By the reason that the season for the verse crop is a cheat,
Then I comes up bright an' grinnin' with the knowledge that I'm winnin',
With the rhythm of my harvester an' Wheat, Wheat, Wheat.
Readin' things an' heedin' things that clever fellers give,
An' ponderin' an' wonderin' why we was meant to live —-
Muddlin' through an' fuddlin' through philosophy an' such
Is a game I never took to, an' it doesn't matter much.
For my father was a farmer, as I might 'a' said before,
An' the sum of his philosophy was, 'Grow a little more.
For growin' things,' my father said, 'it makes life sort o' sweet
An' your conscience never swats you if your game is growin' wheat.'
Wheat, Wheat, Wheat! Oh, the people have to eat!
An' you're servin', an' deservin' of a velvet-cushion seat
In the cocky-farmers' heaven when you come to throw a seven;
An' your password at the portal will be, 'Wheat, Wheat, Wheat.'
Now, the preacher an' the teacher have a callin' that is high
While they're spoutin' to the doubtin' of the happy by an' by;
But I'm sayin' that the prayin' it is better for their souls
When they've plenty wheat inside 'em in the shape of penny rolls.
For my father was a farmer, an' he used to sit an' grieve
When he thought about the apple that old Adam got from Eve.
It was foolin' with an orchard where the serpent got 'em beat,
An' they might 'a' kept the homestead if they'd simply stuck to wheat.
Wheat, Wheat, Wheat! If you're seekin' to defeat
Care an' worry in the hurry of the crowded city street,
Leave the hustle all behind you; come an' let contentment find you
In a cosy little cabin lyin' snug among the wheat.
In the city, more's the pity, thousands live an' thousands die
Never carin', never sparin' pains that fruits may multiply;
Breathin', livin', never givin'; greedy but to have an' take,
Dyin' with no day behind 'em lived for fellow-mortals' sake.
Now my father was a farmer, an' he used to sit and laugh
At the 'fools o' life,' he called 'em, livin' on the other half.
Dyin' lonely, missin' only that one joy that makes life sweet —-
Just the joy of useful labour, such as comes of growin' wheat.
Wheat, Wheat, Wheat! Let the foolish scheme an' cheat;
But I'd rather, like my father, when viv span o' life's complete,
Feel I'd lived by helpid others; earned the right to call 'em brothers
Who had gained while I was gainin' from God's earth His gift of wheat.
When the settin' sun is gettin' low above the western hills,
When the creepin' shadows deepen, and a peace the whole land fills,
Then I often sort o' soften with a feelin' like content,
An' I feel like thankin' Heaven for a day in labour spent.
For my father was a farmer, an' he used to sit an' smile,
Realizin' he was wealthy in what makes a life worth while.
Smilin', he has told me often, 'After all the toil an' heat,
Lad, he's paid in more than silver who has grown one field of wheat.'
Wheat, Wheat, Wheat! When it comes my turn to meet
Death the Reaper, an' the Keeper of the Judgment Book I greet,
Then I'll face 'em sort o' calmer with the solace of the farmer
That he's fed a million brothers with his Wheat, Wheat, Wheat.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Oh!
OH! let the lighting clouds come instantly
from the snowy summit of the Mount Stake
and let the scythe
come into the blonde hair of the wheat scything
and i have put the sedge
on the rainless back of the field
from the cloud
we sowed the field together with my mother
my sister pruned the grass in needy
and suckled there her newly born baby
OH! the endlees winter of 72
OH! come and warm everwhere and us a little bit
let my melancholic love spring up from my bed
I have three ears of wheat
at the large thrashing field of my village
let the rain and the days sunny
spread everywhere their beauty
I do not want too much
let unbind the infertility of the sky
guard and save our winter provisions
for this
I have descended from the mountain
to the blonde hair of the wheat for cropping
poem by Metin Sahin
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For, behind the scenes, halfway around the world in Mexico, were two decades of aggressive research on wheat that not only enabled Mexico to become self-sufficient with respect to wheat production but also paved the way to rapid increase in its production in other countries.
quote by Norman Borlaug
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The ease with which barley may be substituted directly for wheat in human food and its usefulness to replace wheat milling by-products as feed in the production of the milk supply render its abundant production important.
quote by David F. Houston
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Letter To N.Y.
For Louise Crane
In your next letter I wish you'd say
where you are going and what you are doing;
how are the plays and after the plays
what other pleasures you're pursuing:
taking cabs in the middle of the night,
driving as if to save your soul
where the road gose round and round the park
and the meter glares like a moral owl,
and the trees look so queer and green
standing alone in big black caves
and suddenly you're in a different place
where everything seems to happen in waves,
and most of the jokes you just can't catch,
like dirty words rubbed off a slate,
and the songs are loud but somehow dim
and it gets so teribly late,
and coming out of the brownstone house
to the gray sidewalk, the watered street,
one side of the buildings rises with the sun
like a glistening field of wheat.
--Wheat, not oats, dear. I'm afraid
if it's wheat it's none of your sowing,
nevertheless I'd like to know
what you are doing and where you are going.
poem by Elizabeth Bishop
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Sperminator
'sperminator', sperm, man, men, perms, pets, am, in, it, is, eat, tea, tar, seat, era, into, an;
And like the time of the wheat harvest!
But you do really resemble my mother.
'Sperminator', art, part, set, rats, ants, tears, ears, pears, sear, main, same, sore, tore, sort;
And like the time of the wheat harvest!
But you do really resemble my sister.
'Sperminator', ten, tan, nets, neat, near, stream, teams, means, sap, raps, times, mates, sit;
And like the time of the wheat harvest!
But you fo really resemble my brother.
'Sperminator', trips, sip, tips, nips, pins, maps, pans, naps, rear, sport, pots, tapes, pore, as;
And like the time of the wheat harvest!
But you really resemble my friend.
'Sperminator', some, mine, into, spot, reaps, pits, at, rapes, tops, rims, ate, sea, sat, more;
And like the time of the wheat harvest!
But you really resemble my neighbour.
Lone, cone, zone, done, bone, gone, hone, none, pone, tone, sure, cure, pure, lure!
You are now awakened by the tree of love;
And like your love in the land of your muse.
Line, wine, fine, dine, cine, sine, mine, nine, pine, tine, vine, sure, cure, pure, lure!
Jealousy is as crule as the grave! !
And like the hate in the land of your muse.
Wake, fake, lake, take, make, bake, cake, hake, quake, rake, sake, sure, cure, pure, lure!
And like what you are doing now in the dark! !
But your deeds are always notified by your acts.
Thunder, founder, under, bounder, rounder, sounder, sure, cure, pure, lure!
Awakened under the big apple tree;
But your muse is like the sounds of war!
Hour, four, our, sour, pour, dour, jour, lour, tour, your, fuel, cruel, duel, gruel!
But who bore you and brought you forth?
For the bombs are now killing all of us! !
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mice nest amidst wheat.
Harvest machines reap and thresh
until daylight fades.
haiku by Don Pearson (02 October 2012)
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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