#barn
I saw the devil today
With horns that curved away from his head
I saw him on that hill, gnashing his teeth against the earth to pull mother nature's children from her grasp
He attacked his brother! Using his own crown to charge against the innocent
I saw the devil today, his irises slanted in the wrong direction,
His beard knotted in lies,
Had hooves that trampled and left unwanted marks,
And how he stares at the lamb with malice in those putrid eyes!
A creature of hell doesn't belong here!
Oh God! Save the poor lamb from his mischief
He'll be sure to rope her towards the wolves
And leak her red-hot death over the chips of dirt, infecting her skin with unholiness
But she remains pure, with pure white fleece that can never be dirtied
The lamb! Who cries for her mother
The lamb! Who remains helpless in all her strength
The devil. Who with his darkened fingers I refuse to allow into my sanctuary
You cannot heed the lamb to sin, sly creature!
My woolen eve must be sheltered from the song of the snake
O God!
Today, I'll rid this land of evil
And soon, the devil is to be dead
Aug 26, 2024
Aug 26, 2024 at 5:40 PM UTC
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
Feb 28, 2020
Feb 28, 2020 at 10:34 AM UTC
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.
Mar 16, 2019
Mar 16, 2019 at 8:06 PM UTC
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
Jan 25, 2019
Jan 25, 2019 at 3:22 PM UTC
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'
Jul 13, 2018
Jul 13, 2018 at 2:11 PM UTC
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.
Sep 12, 2017
Sep 12, 2017 at 9:09 AM UTC
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.
Aug 23, 2017
Aug 23, 2017 at 2:09 PM UTC
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
Jul 31, 2016
Jul 31, 2016 at 10:16 AM UTC
It was raining
so Jane and I
ran to the hay barn
and got inside for shelter
the door was open
so we stared out
at the downpour
do you remember
we came here
and other kids
were playing in here?
I said
she looked back
into the barn
and said
yes it was dry that day
and I was shy
and you sat with me
as we watched
the others play
she looked at me
then said
we must not
tell my mother
we came in here
out of the rain
why not?
I said
it won't sound good
she said
what coming in here
out of the rain
to stay dry?
I said
she looked at me
more intensely
no because some
might think
we did things
she said
did things
what do you mean
did things?
I said
I looked away
from her
and out
at the pouring rain
heavy and dense
it then occurred to me
what she meant
if I was in here
(God forbid)
with Lizbeth
she would have been
undoing my buttons
by now wanting ***
on one of the hay bales
we wouldn't
I said to Jane
turning to look at her
I know we wouldn't
she said
but other people might
I frowned
what other people?
she sighed
people say horrible things
if they saw us
or if we tell people
we were in here
I'll say nothing
to anyone
I said
it's best
she said
she leaned closer to me
and kissed my cheek
best not to say
she said
after the kiss
would your parents
think we had
if they found out
we were in here?
I said
no of course not
but other people might
suggest we had
and my mother
would feel upset
that people could think that
I touched her hand
and held it
(Lizbeth would never
be content with just
a held hand
she would want more)
she kissed me again
then we both stared out
at the rain
that was beginning to stop
and we watched
the sky grey
become blue again
and hoped
for the end of rain.
Jul 30, 2016
Jul 30, 2016 at 3:10 AM UTC
*My horse Bobby is trapped in horse hospital,
Bobby kicks at things that make sounds like the whips used to beat at him,
so Bobby is behind a wall with a window for his head to poke out,
and he pokes it out all time when I stop by,
and I hate to leave because goodbye leaves me to cry,
I'd of never seen Bobby's body,
if it wasn't for the spaces inbetween the bars on the wall,
Bobby back used to be nothing more then ripped up flesh,
Bobby lives in his own world of fear now,
in that little stall,
in that little box he is safe, yet trapped in his past,
Bobby reminds me of my past,
and how my room is like his stall,
and sometimes I get to stick my head out,
but I will always be reminded of those sounds of fear,
like to Bobby those sounds that scare him as if he was getting whipped,
I have my own fears,
I keep hold of,
never to get rid of,
Just like Bobby,
and like Bobby no matter how many times you tell us it's okay,
we still are fearful of the wrong that was done,
and easily could become done again.
Bobby, I may not be able to own you,
even if I could,
they wouldn't let me,
because you're in horse hospital,
so I want to make you and myself get better,
so I would be able to take you home,
and not cry when I leave you in the stall,
as you stick you head out,
and watch me leave the horse hospital,*
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 10:03 PM UTC
The green barn stands alert,
in it’s structure it resounds,
singing hymns of it’s majesty.
To an outsider, it’s prominent,
plentiful with straw and freshness,
no one can see the pain it haunts.
The lonely aura of it’s scented past,
on the grounds where she departed,
strangled herself as the breath faded.
The storage where loneliness visited,
drowning every emotion she had,
pushing her to sink deeper in the abyss .
Jan 30, 2016
Jan 30, 2016 at 4:18 PM UTC
The snow set in the barn,
Where the horses once laid
On a cold night, ice spiraled
We tossed,turned, all packed
The troops tamed to acquiesce
Rifles silenced, bullets sacked
Stocks in deficit, awaiting ambush
Sores overturned and edged in holes
Our nerves dead in the silent night
Risking an aching machine, a body
Pushing to extremities, thrill seeking
My mind numb, body ignited in dumb
Left, right… series audibly recurred
Halting to reflect the extreme valour
A salute to quench and honor a reality
For I once sacrificed my "liberties" for "others"
Jan 29, 2016
Jan 29, 2016 at 1:00 PM UTC
Well I have no clue how it came up
But there are flames pouring like blood.
Like magic healing in our lips
Intertwined like death is on our heels
I never thought that I could feel like this
There are sparks flying like a blow torch in a barn.
I love the way you comfort me
Whenever I’m sad and down
When I’m mad I say “back off”
You say “not until you calm down”
I make a face
Then you smile
And all the while I’m crying
You hold me tight
And gently rock away my fears
You don’t care if I ruin your shirt
As long as the pain stops flowing
Then we are one sitting there
Loving each other
Is it just me, or is this room heating up?
We’re flying
Sparks like a blow torch in a barn
Aug 16, 2015
Aug 16, 2015 at 10:58 PM UTC
The blushing barn barks
With bleeded hues
Gutted girders
The once held the strict structure
Now hold hollow hidey holes
For all the remaining vermin
While the festering flesh
Of the butchered beasts
Burn the sinuses of strangers
Who walk through the burnt broken building
Apr 23, 2015
Apr 23, 2015 at 1:18 PM UTC
We were mixing our affections
Kissing Dixie cups of wine
Laughing at the passing time
Our fingertips touching
And wishing for another
Chapter to be read
We were down at the barn
Where the horses stay
We were hanging around
messing around in the hay
You dropped your Dixie cup
I threw mine away
You smiled and said what the hey
The moon came harvesting
The stars were laughing
And we had our day that night
Mar 11, 2015
Mar 11, 2015 at 10:41 PM UTC
Da der intet var tilbage tog du
mit sukkerkolde hjerte.
Du tog det som man tager slik fra
et lille barn.
Men jeg er ikke nogen sukkerknald
blot salt i forklædning.
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 5:05 AM UTC
Barn
A graveyard of empty whiskey bottles,
curled, browned labels coated with dust.
A farmer drank in this dirt basement, alone,
wind chapped face illuminated by a kerosene lantern,
swollen fingers forever clutching the
glass neck of his half drained bottles.
I drink ***** in the renovated kitchen,
lit by dimmed lights, gentle shadows
dancing across the glossy hardwood floor.
I look out at the dark bodies of trees
swaying, uneasy in the night breeze.
Sometime after midnight,
the farmer’s ghost
stumbles up the creaking staircase behind me,
to our bed.
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 4:39 PM UTC
Johnny remembers the barn
He kissed his first cow in
It burned down two years ago
Johnny holds his head low
Pointing towards the floor
Pointing towards the door
He drinks homemade grape juice
And thinks about how odd
It is that we crush small things
And drink their blood
Johnny does not want to be crushed
He does not like the sinking feeling
He gets when he thinks about
The grey silo that still stands
By the dark patch of grass
That won't grow back again
He wishes the clock would stop
Talking at such a steady volume
Johnny has trouble sleeping
Ever since the barn burned down
Jul 29, 2014
Jul 29, 2014 at 5:02 PM UTC