Fields Of Fog
Driving on the same street over and over again, seems like a bad dream.
lands of fog blinds me to see the things that are passing through and the things that are in front of me. I look at the pedometer and I'm going almost a hundred miles per hour when I look up there is a dear, I couldn't slow down so I had to hit it, my car spins in to a corn field, when I get out, there is corn and fog all around me I looked up to the sky and and saw the moon.
poem by Melissa Schreuder
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Where Corn Don't Grow
(Roger Murrah/Mark Alan Springer)
As we sat on the front porch
Of that old grey house where I was born and raised
Starin' at the dusty fields
Where my daddy worked hard every day
I think it kinda hurt him when I said Daddy
There's a lot that I don't know
But don't you ever dream about a life
Where corn don't grow
He just sat there silent
Staring at his favorite coffee cup
I saw a storm of mixed emotion in his eyes
When he looked up
He said Son I know at your age
Seems like this ol' world is turning slow
And you think you'll find the answer to it all
Where corn don't grow
Hard times are real
There's dusty fields
No matter where you go
You may change your mind
'Cause the weeds are high
Where corn don't grow
I remember feeling guilty
When Daddy turned and walked back in the house
I was only seventeen back then
But I thought that I knew more than I know now
I can't say he didn't warn me
This city life's a hard row to hoe
Ain't it funny how a dream can turn around
Where corn don't grow
Hard times are real
There's dusty fields
No matter where you go
And you may change your mind
'Cause the weeds are high
Where corn don't grow
You may change your mind
Oh the weeds are high
Where corn don't grow
song performed by by Travis Tritt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Without A Song
Without a song the day would never end
Without a song the road would never bend
When things go wrong oh
A man aint got a friend
Without a song
A field of corn would never see a plow
That field of corn would be deserted now
A man is born, but hes no good no how
Without a song
Without a song
song performed by by Carpenters
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You really get the most out of sweet corn if you pick the corn off the stalk and rush it to a pot of boiling water. The longer you wait, the more sugar you lose. But if you get it in the first half hour, that is the sweetest corn ever.
quote by Sam Donaldson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rigs O' Barley, The
It was upon a Lammas night,
When corn rigs are bonnie,
Beneath the moon's unclouded light,
I held away to Annie:
The time flew by wi' tentless heed
Till 'tween the late and early,
Wi' sma' persuasion, she agreed
To see me thro' the barley.
Corn rigs, an' barley rigs,
An' corn rigs are bonnie:
I'll ne'er forget that happy night,
Amang the rigs wi' Annie.
The sky was blue, the wind was still,
The moon was shining clearly:
I set her down, wi' right good will,
Amang the rigs o' barley:
I ken't her heart was a' my ain:
I lov'd her most sincerely;
I kiss'd her owre and owre again,
Amang the rigs o' barley.
Corn rigs...
I lock'd her in my fond embrace;
Her heart was beating rarely:
My blessings on that happy place,
Amang the rigs o' barley!
But by the moon and stars so bright,
That shone that hour so clearly!
She aye shall bless that happy night,
Amang the rigs o' barley.
Corn rigs...
I ha'e been blythe wi' comrades dear;
I ha'e been merry drinkin';
I ha'e been joyfu' gatherin' gear;
I ha'e been happy thinkin':
But a' the pleasures e'er I saw,
Tho' three times doubled fairly,
That happy night was worth then a',
Amang the rigs o' barley.
Corn rigs...
poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Rigs o' Barley
It was upon a Lammas night,
When corn rigs are bonie,
Beneath the moon's unclouded light,
I held awa to Annie;
The time flew by, wi' tentless heed,
Till, 'tween the late and early,
Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed
To see me thro' the barley.
Corn rigs, an' barley rigs,
An' corn rigs are bonie:
I'll ne'er forget that happy night,
Amang the rigs wi' Annie.
The sky was blue, the wind was still,
The moon was shining clearly;
I set her down, wi' right good will,
Amang the rigs o' barley:
I ken't her heart was a' my ain;
I lov'd her most sincerely;
I kiss'd her owre and owre again,
Amang the rigs o' barley.
Corn rigs, an' barley rigs, &c.
I lock'd her in my fond embrace;
Her heart was beating rarely:
My blessings on that happy place,
Amang the rigs o' barley!
But by the moon and stars so bright,
That shone that hour so clearly!
She aye shall bless that happy night
Amang the rigs o' barley.
Corn rigs, an' barley rigs, &c.
I hae been blythe wi' comrades dear;
I hae been merry drinking;
I hae been joyfu' gath'rin gear;
I hae been happy thinking:
But a' the pleasures e'er I saw,
Tho' three times doubl'd fairly,
That happy night was worth them a',
Amang the rigs o' barley.
Corn rigs, an' barley rigs, &c.
poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Laughing Corn
There was a high majestic fooling
Day before yesterday in the yellow corn.
And day after to-morrow in the yellow corn
There will be high majestic fooling.
The ears ripen in late summer
And come on with a conquering laughter,
Come on with a high and conquering laughter.
The long-tailed blackbirds are hoarse.
One of the smaller blackbirds chitters on a stalk
And a spot of red is on its shoulder
And I never heard its name in my life.
Some of the ears are bursting.
A white juice works inside.
Cornsilk creeps in the end and dangles in the wind.
Always--I never knew it any other way--
The wind and the corn talk things over together.
And the rain and the corn and the sun and the corn
Talk things over together.
Over the road is the farmhouse.
The siding is white and a green blind is slung loose.
It will not be fixed till the corn is husked.
The farmer and his wife talk things over together.
poem by Carl Sandburg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Five Hundred Miles Away From Home
(bobby bare, charlie williams, hedy west)
Tear drops fell on mamas note
When I read the things she wrote
She said, we miss you girl
We love you come on home
Well I didnt have to pack
I had it all right on my back
Now Im five hundred miles away from home
Chorus:
Away from home, away from home
Cold and tired and all alone
Yes, Im five hundred miles away from home
Its hard to tell the state Im in
Where Im going, where Ive been
But theres a dream Ive been following so long
If mama knew the things Ive done
Shed forgive them everyone
But Im still five hundred miles away from home
Repeat chorus
Cant remember when I ate its just thumb and walk and wait
And Im still five hundred miles away from home
If my luck had been just right Id be with them all tonight
But Im still five hundred miles away from home
Repeat chorus
Lord, Im still five hundred miles away from home
song performed by by Reba Mcentire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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John Barley-Corn, My Foe
John Barley-corn, my foe, John,
The song I have to sing
Is not in praise of you, John,
E'en though you are a king.
Your subjects they are legion, John,
I find where'er I go:
They wear your yoke upon their necks,
John Barley-Corn, my foe.
John Barley-Corn, my foe, John,
By your despotic sway
The people of our country, John,
Are suffering to-day.
You lay the lash upon their backs;
Yet willingly they go
And pay allegiance at the polls,
John Barley-Corn, my foe.
John Barley-Corn, my foe, John,
You've broken many a heart,
And caused the bitter tear, John,
From many an eye to start,
The widow and the fatherless
From pleasant homes to go,
And lead a life of sin and shame,
John Barley-Corn, my foe.
John Barley-Corn, my foe, John,
May Heaven speed the hour,
When Temperance shall wear the crown
And Rum shall lose its power;
When from the East unto the West
The people all shall know
Their greatest curse has been removed,
John Barley-Corn, my foe!
poem by Charles Follen Adams from Yawcob Strauss and Other Poems
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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If you're traveling in a time machine, and you're eating corn on the cob, I don't think it's going to affect things one way or the other. But here's the point I'm trying to make Corn on the cob is good, isn't it.
Jack Handey in Deep Thoughts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If your corn field is far from your home, the birds will eat your corn.
The Green Corn Moon: full
moon in August. We freeze sweet
corn and lima beans.
haiku by Toby Reade
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hundred Miles Per Hour
Ah that sunny day you sped to meet me
One hundred miles per hour in fifth gear
As we met we gave our hearts completely
For we were crazy then my dearest dear.
Long time ago you cast a spell around me
And I thought of you all summer ~ into Fall
You captured my emotions oh so sweetly
For we were crazy then do you recall?
Now with the harvest moon my heart is yearning
I need you at my side ~ I need you here
Just one embrace to whirl us up to heaven
One hundred miles per hour in fifth gear.
poem by Joyce Hemsley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Legend
THERE is an hour, they say,
On which your dream has power:
Then all you wish for comes,
As comes the lost field-bird
Down to the island-lights;
There is an hour, they say,
That's woven with your wish:
In dawn, or dayli’ gone,
In mirk-dark, or at noon,
In hush or hum of day,
May be that secret hour.
A herd-boy in the rain
Who looked o'er stony fields;
A young man in a street,
When fife and drum went by,
Making the sunlight shrill;
A girl in a lane,
When the long June twilight
Made friendly far-off things,
Had watch upon the hour:
The dooms they met are in
The song my grand-dam sings.
poem by Padraic Colum
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Ingrate
By night we looked across my field,
The tasseled corn was fine to see,
The moon was yellow on the rows
And seemed so wonderful to me,
That with an old provincial pride
I praised my moonlit Tennessee,
And thought my poor befriended man
Would never dare to disagree.
He was a frosty Russian man
And wore a bushy Russian beard;
He had two furtive faded eyes
That some old horror once had seared;
I wondered if they ever would
Forget the horrors they had feared;
Yet when I praised my pleasant field
This stupid fellow almost jeered.
'Your moon shines very well, my friend,
Your fields are good enough, I know;
At home our fields in the winter-time
Were always white, and shining so!
Our nights went beautiful like day,
And bitter cold our winds would blow;
And I remember how it looked,
Dear God, my country of the snow!'
poem by John Crowe Ransom
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Ninety Miles An Hour
ninety miles an hour
Words by h blair & d. robertson
Sung by bob dylan
I took you home from a party and we kissed in fun
A few stolen kisses and no harm was done
Instead of stopping when we could we went right on
Till suddenly we found that the brakes were gone.
You belong to someone else, and i do too
It's just crazy bein' here with you
As a bad motorcycle with the devil in the seat
Going ninety miles an hour down a dead end street
Ninety miles an hour down a dead end street.
I didn't want to want you, but now i have no choice
It's too late to listen to that warning voice
All i hear is thunder of two hearts beat
Going ninety miles an hour down a dead end street
Ninety miles an hour down a dead end street.
You're not free to belong to me
And you know i could never be your own
Your lips on mine are like a sweet, sweet wine
But we're heading for a wall of stone.
Warning signs are flashing ev'ry where, but we pay no heed
'stead of slowing down the place, we keep a pickin' up speed
Disaster's getting closer ev'ry time we meet
Going ninety miles an hour down a dead end street
Yeah, ninety miles an hour down a dead end street
Well, ninety miles an hour down a dead end street.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ninety Miles An Hour (Down A Dead End Street)
I took you home from a party and we kissed in fun
A few stolen kisses and no harm was done
Instead of stopping when we could we went right on
Till suddenly we found that the brakes were gone.
You belong to someone else, and I do too
It's just crazy bein' here with you
As a bad motorcycle with the devil in the seat
Going ninety miles an hour down a dead end street
Ninety miles an hour down a dead end street.
I didn't want to want you, but now I have no choice
It's too late to listen to that warning voice
All I hear is thunder of two hearts beat
Going ninety miles an hour down a dead end street
Ninety miles an hour down a dead end street.
You're not free to belong to me
And you know I could never be your own
Your lips on mine are like a sweet, sweet wine
But we're heading for a wall of stone.
Warning signs are flashing ev'ry where, but we pay no heed
'Stead of slowing down the place, we keep a pickin' up speed
Disaster's getting closer ev'ry time we meet
Going ninety miles an hour down a dead end street
Yeah, ninety miles an hour down a dead end street
Well, ninety miles an hour down a dead end street.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Women's harvest song
I am waving a ripe sunflower,
I am scattering sunflower pollen to the four world-quarters.
I am joyful because of my melons,
I am joyful because of my beans,
I am joyful because of my squashes.
The sunflower waves.
So did the corn wave
When the wind blew against it,
So did my white corn bend
When the red lightning descended upon it,
It trembled as the sunflower
When the rain beat down its leaves.
Great is a ripe sunflower,
And great was the sun above my corn-fields.
His fingers lifted up the corn-ears,
His hands fashioned my melons,
And set my beans full in the pods.
Therefore my heart is happy
And I will lay many blue prayer-sticks at the shrine of Ta-wa.
I will give corn to Ta-wa,
Yellow corn, blue corn, black corn.
I wave the sunflower,
The sunflower heavy with pollen.
I wave it, I turn it, I sing,
Because I am happy.
poem by Amy Lowell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Song (It was upon a Lammas night)
It was upon a Lammas night,
When corn rigs are bonie,
Beneath the moon's unclouded light,
I held awa to Annie:
The time flew by, wi' tentless heed,
Till 'tween the late and early;
Wi' sma' persuasion she agreed,
To see me thro' the barley.
The sky was blue, the wind was still,
The moon was shinning clearly;
I set her down, wi' right good will,
Amang the rigs o' barley:
I ken't her heart was a' my ain;
I lov'd her most sincerely;
I kiss'd her owre and owre again,
Amang the rigs o' barley.
I lock'd her in my fond embrace;
Her heart was beating rarely:
My blessing on that happy place,
Amang the rigs o' barley!
But by the moon and stars so bright,
That shone that hour so clearly!
She ay shall bless that happy night,
Amang the rigs o' barley.
I hae been blythe wi' Comrades dear;
I hae been merry drinking;
I hae been joyfu' gath'rin gear;
I hae been happy thinking:
But a' the pleasures e'er I saw,
Tho' three times doubl'd fairly,
That happy night was worth them a',
Amang the rigs o' barley.
Chorus Corn rigs, an' barley rigs,
An' corn rigs are bonie:
I'll ne'er forget the happy night,
Amang the rigs wi' Annie.
poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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