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Bhill Feb 2020
Get it handled she said as I crawled out bed
And she was trying to be nice I'm sure
I forgot to remove the goo and the glue
And nails I left in the shed

What does it mean cause I forgot to clean
The barn where the animals live
The storm came around with a wild howling sound
And messed up the whole gall **** scene

The crops got blown around all through the town
Just like the storms in the past
Neighbors were in a hurry and it was a big scurry
To keep all of their stuff nailed down

Well this poem went crazy cause my brains a bit hazy
And words just seem to pop in
It makes a little sense but I'm not very tense
So I'll end it here you will see...

Brian Hill - 2020 # 59
Serious brain storm this morning...!
FloydBrandon Jan 2020
Good news
I got a new tattoo
and it looks like you

Bad news
I did it to myself
and forgot what you look like

So I drew a snake and gave it thighs
ten blue horns and spider eyes
tank tread legs with chainsaw arms
flea store hips and barn door heart

Dang near two **** yards a mile
filthy ankles
***** smile
Same old taste of rugs and wire
makeshift facelift
cardboard style
The Napkin Poet Mar 2019
Black moss and flower pots.
She cometh not, she cometh not.
Lonely and moated,
Rusted nails broken.

Dew with tears,
An hour before sunlight.
Cold winds wake,
A greyish mourn.
Clustered marish-mosses,
Silver green bark.

In a dreamy home.
Among wainscot,
Door hinges creak.
Like a mouse,
She shrieked-
She cometh not, she cometh not.
this semblance
to taste
hers was
great with
the package
of Delilah
here as
the spirit
level drawn
nigh and
caped him
again in
lew when
feet here
loose alas
to chide
an allay
Samson as Allayed here
There's a storm a brewin'
You can feel it in your bones
The wind has changed direction
You can hear just how it moans

Silence, all the birds are gone
The dust is moving hard
There's a storm a brewin'
And the devil deals the cards

Batten down the hatches
Let the horses all run free
They'll survive out in the wild
They ain't like you and me

Keep them in the barn tonight
Sure as shooting, when it's done
There won't be one left standing
The storm won't leave you one

The sky is coloured yellow
There's a smell there in the air
There's a storm a brewin'
Try and beat it if you dare

You know you can't outrun it
Best to get to ground
The worst part is the silence
Before it hits there is no sound

There's a storm a brewin'
I'll take my leave now, just as well
I'm off to find a safe place
There it is....I said...that smell

There's a storm a brewin'
Sharon Talbot Sep 2017
As a child I'd dream of running away,
Nigh unto winter and not too far,
From Dad’s and Mom's, where I used to play
But which was now bitten hard.
A barn in a field was just one dream,
An old one where no one ever came.
Delight by myself, attainable seemed,
Where I could rest and collect my name.
Russet woods and graying woods,
Fueled fantasy and desire,
For simple things must do some good,
In corrupt towns, soul is renewed by fire.
I was driving around, photographing scenes in October and saw this leaning, ancient barn, screened by vermilion shrubs and small trees.It brought back childhood memories of exploring strange places.
Hazel Aug 2017
Et følelses barn
blot et følsomt barn
rækker ud efter lidt kærlighed.
Ingen ord danner kontakt. Kontaktløs.  
Egoisten, narcissisten, ved bare bedre, “barn”.!
Rejs dig ej, før alle måltiderne er fortæret.
Tørstig efter lidt opmærksomhed
og småsulten efter lidt varme.

Et følelses skarn
blot et følsomt skarn
bevæger sig ind på utrygge territorier
kun fordi de voksne havde glemt hvordan
“barn" har det.
De vidste bedst, og ved bedre
men de dannede mit sind, følsomt.
Så vrag, og grav i sandkassen, dybe huller dybe.
I var ej børn mens vi var, det er hele problemet.
-Hazel
Robert C Howard Jul 2016
They gathered by Williamson Road at sun-up
      from neighboring spreads across the Tioga valley.
They came with carts laden with lumber stacks -
      with saws, adzes, hammers and sundry tools.

They gathered with the homesteaders bond.
      to co-build their neighbor's' dreams.

Sweet music of community echoed off the hills.
     Chisels clanged into rock, shaping the foundation,
saws sang into boards to frame a timbered skeleton.
     The staccato syncopation of hammers fastened walls
that soon would shelter plowshares, stock and grain.
      A smithy leaned over his fire and forge -
chiming iron into sturdy latches and hinges.

     Children scurried about mixing squeals and laughter
with exuberant fetching and lifting whenever called.
    
In two short passings of the sun the deed was done
      and a handsome new barn, decked out in a wash of red
was silhouetted tall and proud against the fading light.

Homesteaders gathered at a celebration table
      to share a hearty meal adorned by the music
of fiddles, grateful smiles and easy laughter.
  
Then one by one they steered their wagons home
      gazing back at what their labors had wrought -
knowing to the depth of their communal souls
      that we are more together than we are apart

Listen up, America!  This is the music of community.
      We are more together than we are apart.

*© 2016 by Robert Charles Howard
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