#fields
tangential stanzas
broken speech
veering heartbeats
a song for love
silently loud
going nowhere
up with the lark
summers lovers
conjoined singing.
May 13
May 13, 2026 at 8:33 AM UTC
The heavens roar and thunder
while below I cower under
the crushing, incessant sky.
Between each roar is a shrieking wail
of wind against trees so thin and frail,
daring to sweep me far away.
Drenched beneath a weeping sky,
I hurriedly flee for my home to hide
to perch myself upon my castle's high walls.
Where zealous gales and booming growls
stalk the land and relentlessly prowl,
roots take hold and rustle so free.
As I'm locked tightly in these nooks so small
of my meager castle's stolid walls,
I see vast fields of grass grow -
for one solitary,
motionless moment, I am dry,
and the world sprouts with vigor:
Horizonless fields of damp green groves
waving at me in bright, glistening rows -
and timidly I wave back.
Apr 5
Apr 5, 2026 at 4:02 AM UTC
The road is everywhere now
houses adrift, clouds sliding past
Preet’s roof, past every gate.
Blue water swallows the old fence lines.
Boys who ran through mustard fields
float face-up, eyes wide to a sky gone silent.
The wheat called for rain. Rain came,
and came. And will not leave.
Barefoot on the crumbling bund, I watch
yellow blooms bow beneath the current
mustard that grew waist-high last month
now learns to breathe sideways.
A duck dips through a bus shelter.
My father’s tractor, red once, rusts in a stranger’s field.
The floodwater knows no Punjabi, no Hindi—
just the physics of fill and drain.
At the relief tent: women,
silent, wringing silt from dupattas.
A child asks when. A mother shakes her head.
This water plays no favorites.
It takes the wedding album, it takes the diesel can.
Roads will spend years remembering their routes.
My sister says: ik teer naal do shikar—
but this arrow hit everything, killed nothing clean.
The proverb floats by, useless as soap,
and we stand in water to our thighs,
watching the old words
drift.
Oct 5, 2025
Oct 5, 2025 at 12:45 AM UTC
I was seven
That day we waded the south fork
Of the rushing Stillaguamish,
Cousin Mel and I,
Each a hand tightly grasped in
Father’s.
We had pitched camp
Amongst the crumbling foundations,
The sinking brick paths,
Near the still standing chimney
Of Big Four Lodge,
Once playground of the wealthy,
Once only reached by train.
We climbed the dusty, steep,
Old, old trail.
Together we stood reviving
In the chill breeze
Of the cave,
The tons of ice overhead
Melting drop by drop
To fall on heads and shoulders.
Blinking, back in sunlight,
We watched reflections shimmer
On a small pool.
Father having dared,
Clothes shed,
We jumped into that mirror
Of heart stopping
Melted ice field,
Screaming, scrambled out.
We ate Mac and cheese
Hot off the white gas stove
That eve,
Hot dogs charred in our fire.
As dusk fell to darkness
Far from city lights,
We lined in shared anticipation.
Chins and eyes skyward,
Father gripping elk hunting field glasses,
Our vision darted
Horizon to horizon,
Searching, searching
A thousand and one stars.
Look, look!
A hand shot up, pointing.
We shared the nation’s fervor, fever
To spot a speeding satellite,
For every night held that dawn
Of the Soviet/U.S. space race.
We kids
Slept in the open,
My parents
In the big green canvas tent.
‘Round midnight
Mother woke us
With a wild yell,
A big, fat bullfrog
On her feet,
Its eyes found with
Flashlight.
Sep 19, 2025
Sep 19, 2025 at 3:40 PM UTC
Say that you don't need
just sunlight and water, because
you're more than a sunflower.
Zokhlo—
Jul 23, 2025
Jul 23, 2025 at 3:58 AM UTC
Together we'll dance in fields of gold,
As love's sweet song is forever told,
And our heart,
as one, will surely hold,
The love we share, forever bold.
Jun 18, 2025
Jun 18, 2025 at 5:54 PM UTC
over snow fields
chimney smoke versus clouds
racing shadows
Feb 21, 2025
Feb 21, 2025 at 7:18 PM UTC
I have laid in the tall grass
and let the sweet smell of its lush
green blades,
fill my lungs and head,
until giddy,
and light headed.
I lay back and become enveloped
in and ecstasy of
heady tranquilly.
My fingers traced the stems
sensually
liken to a lovers fingers
over silken skin
Papus are freed and fill the air
drifting on the breeze
carrying my dreams and wished
to my love
Dec 10, 2024
Dec 10, 2024 at 3:11 PM UTC
From Publius to Livia
Livia, I write to renounce your fields,
My sweat no longer yours to claim.
My harvests fed the eternal city,
Yet you see only Gaius and his shadow, Marcus.
...
Blind to the furrows I plowed,
The terraces I raised, the grapes I nurtured,
I tamed wild Ceres before you came,
Turning forest to field, field to farm.
...
Then you arrived, trailing discord’s hound,
Gorging on Gaius’s hollow praise,
Stealing credit for my toil,
Casting me as a shade on your wall.
...
I prayed to the Capitoline Triad,
Offered a white bull to Jupiter, king,
Begging radiant Sol to burn through your guise,
And bless my path with brighter horizons.
...
To Juno, I burned frankincense and myrrh,
Pleading ****** to sweep you astray,
Your pets adrift on Sicilian shores,
Left to Polyphemus’s wrathful gaze.
...
To Minerva, I poured my own wine,
Urging her to unmask your arachnid soul,
Your arrogance a web of self-woven lies,
Dagger-tipped legs stained with stolen blood.
...
The gods have heard, Livia. Your weave unravels.
My fields await under noonday sun,
While yours wither in my absence,
Your perfection a fading, frail deceit.
Signed, PERTINAX
Jul 7, 2024
Jul 7, 2024 at 10:44 AM UTC
I'm waiting for the Rain to fall from the Sky
and gracefully sway with the Breeze.
Bringing Calmness, Sanity and Peace around.
Blessing the green fields and the Trees.
I'm waiting for the Rain to fall from the Sky
and Splash on the window Panes.
So Children can hum their rainy Tune,
While it makes puddles in the traffic Lanes.
I'm waiting for the Rain to fall from the Sky,
To Wish Us Hello and Goodbye.
To each Pretty Soul, it gives a tender Hug.
Taking their Blues to the Mighty Sky.
I'm waiting for Raindrops to fall from the Sky,
So We all can have some Fun.
The Raindrops must Kiss, each one of Us.
Before the Sky, gets covered by Sun.
Jun 17, 2023
Jun 17, 2023 at 6:51 AM UTC
And opposite,
In the electricity fields,
Sit rows of hollowed-out shells.
Now in-land,
Though out of place,
The lightning whelks generate Hell.
And parallel—
Conducting phantasmagorical light—
The pylons coil around them:
Reverberations from the industrial fields
Where the blood lines coagulate and dwell.
And the blood lines—
They feed the hollowed-out shells—
Form conglomerate veins.
And in their hands—
Great fires they weld—
Ever-surging, moth-coaxing light.
Apr 1, 2023
Apr 1, 2023 at 7:49 AM UTC
My Mom, she was well versed in the Old ways
I remember in the late summer and autumn time
She was always making jam
Blackberry jam, strawberry jam, gooseberry, raspberry, blackcurrant, apple, plum, damson
I don't even think we had any damsons
But still she could make damson jam, such were her powers
So one day she said to me "Go on down the fields there and get me some blackberries, and I'll make some blackberry jam", she gave me a plastic bag
So I looked over the fence, checking to make sure the farmer wasn't around
I don't think he liked us walking on his land,
So I go down to this field and I look over the gate
And as far as I can see, there's nothing in the field, no animals at all to be seen
So I jump over the gate and walk right across the field to the bottom ditch
Where there's loads of blackberry bushes and I start picking my blackberries
It's very quiet in the field, eerily quiet and there's this strange sense of space, that you're very small in a very big field
After about five minutes I'm getting kinda bored so I stop and turn around to take in the view
And straightaway I see in the very corner of the field, under some overhanging tree branches
This big white horse and he's watching me,
(You wouldn't have been able to see him from the gate
There might have been a little indent there in the ditch where he was hidden)
I said to myself "God, you're lucky, lucky it wasn't a Bull or you'd be in real trouble, Bulls can be vicious, they can **** you, I'd heard stories
And I'm no matador"
Anyway suddenly the horse he starts galloping towards me
I say to myself "Well, nothing to worry about, sure it's only a horse"
Well he gallops right up to me and then he rears up on his hind legs with his front legs pumping and him whinnying like crazy
And I'm shocked thinking "What the ****
And I start backing into the ditch 'cos I'm afraid he might kick me or something
Then he goes and drops his big hooves about two inches from my foot
And I'm thinking "Wait a minute, you could have broken my foot there if you had have landed on my foot, with your big hooves"
I was going to tell him "Look Mr.Horse you're starting to cross a line here man"
But he's not finished, he moves in closer to me
And with his big head and his big long face
He starts nudging me further and further into the ditch
And he has these big teeth that are clenched, their almost grinning at you
I'm nearly afraid he might bite me
So I'm now there in the ditch, I've long since dropped my blackberries
And I don't know what to do, I know nothing about horses
What am I, John Wayne or something
What am I gonna do, shout "Help! I'm being molested by a horse"
And I wonder "Why don't they teach you this at school Self Defence against horses, something feckin' useful for a change,
Then I think of that Mel Brooks film Blazing Saddles and the mad guy Mongo punching the horse
But I say to myself "you can't punch a horse, that might really make him angry, god knows what he'd do then, he probably would kick you"
So I'm there practically in the ditch at this stage and very traumatized by the whole experience
Suddenly the horse he seems to tire of me
He turns around and starts to slowly trot back to his corner
(It was probably a territorial thing),
So I pick myself up out of the ditch and tentatively start to try and cross the field back to safety, to where the gate is
But I'm half afraid he might turn around and come back and catch me out in the open,
But no! He keeps on just trotting back toward his corner...
So when I judge he's far enough away I suddenly clandestinely take off in a sprint across the field back toward the gate
But still there's no reaction from the horse, he's just not interested anymore,
It's a funny thing about human nature but once you know you're safe you kind of get a bit brave
I remembered I'd been on Summer holidays a year or two before
And I'd gone for a walk in these woods on my own
And I got attacked by a swarm of fuckin' bees, I must have disturbed their nest
I got stung 5 or 6 times in the head, the ******* nearly killed me
I remember passing some tourists and me screaming like I was a man on fire,
Now I'm thinking, Jaysus I just go down the fields to pick a few blackberries and now I get attacked by a fuckin' horse
What's goin' on, the feckin' Universe seems to have it in for me, I should stay at home in my bedroom where it's safe and lock the feckin' door.
And I'm quite angry now, in fact I'm really ****** off
And of course, now I know I'm safe, I know that if he runs at me I'll get to the gate first and can hop over it
So I start walking toward the horse and I start taunting him
"You ****** you fuckin' horse", I give him the finger or the fingers, then I put up my fists like I want to fight him,
"Come on you ****** come on out and fight, I'm going to McDonald's tonight, gonna get myself a nice big horse burger, yummy yummy,
Lots of onions and ketchup, you'll taste lovely,
I'll be licking my fingers over you baby,
The Knackers Yard that's where you're going to sunshine
Then I think I'll insult his mother, that's what I'll do
Your Mom, yea! She was a tasty little snack
A nice little snack box
I hope you're not gonna be too stringy now.
I turn around and start shaking my bum/bottom at him,
"Fuckin'horse! ****** you're a fuckin' ******
Then I make a run toward him with my fists flying, "Come on you ****** you white c**t!"
The horse just stands there looking at me, he doesn't make a move.
Then I start to think better of my actions **** You better watch out, better be careful, someone might see you, you might get into trouble
Imagine if the farmer was watching he'd be saying "There's something wrong with that kid, he must have some mental health issues, Look! he's abusing my horse
Well Farmer your feckin' horse abused me ,
I'll probably have PTSD Post Traumatic Stress Disorder after this
I should take him to court, that's what I should do.......
Then I thought funnily, ..."Mr. Ed anyone ?"
Oct 2, 2022
Oct 2, 2022 at 8:58 AM UTC
i feel the heat in my cheeks
and from your hands
say it again
when i sleep
when i lay on fields
when i pick on the pedals
whisper it in my ear when we're alone
to me, it lost its meaning, becoming
an overused invaluable phrase
something everyone expects but never gets
i did for sure, and learned my lessons
but from you, it was different
nothing less than my shooting star wish
i landed on the right pedal
you say it when you are
when i think you're not, but you mean it
but you always remind me
and show me you do,
i do too.
Jul 27, 2022
Jul 27, 2022 at 3:56 PM UTC
I am most alive on a warm summer night at dusk
Walking through a field of tall grass
With a warm gentle breeze blowing
Stars just starting to fill the sky
The sound of the frogs and crickets in the air
No one know I’m there
Feb 1, 2022
Feb 1, 2022 at 11:19 PM UTC
winter solstice comes
bare trees, long hibernation
~ don’t risk bleeding lips
gardens lie fallow
field mice attempting entry
~ long dark frigid nights
Mark Toney © 2021
Dec 22, 2021
Dec 22, 2021 at 12:18 AM UTC
I want to build a rocket ship, but this full moon blanket,
keeps me tangled up in bed.
Maybe a sun shower ,will birth a rainbow,
and I could build a bridge with that instead.
A walk with the weather, may be what I need,
to clear the clouds above my head.
The soggy sounds of rain, strum the chords,
that sing a song inside my brain.
A violin or guitar riff, to untwist the tornadoes,
my heart’s stuck with.
Who needs the stars, when I’ve got the sun,
to shine for me when bad times come.
My sandy feet always have the waves, to wash away,
the darker shades of cloudy gray.
These lonely lips even have a kiss, and the warm caress,
from her outstretched fingertips.
I want to build a rocket ship, but today,
I’ll just exist.
Jul 19, 2021
Jul 19, 2021 at 6:38 PM UTC
Youthful exuberance never grows old; I suppose, until the creeping ivy cradles your gravestone.
This life; to me, is a passing train that always makes its way back around. Just not for you.
Every stop lets off the lost and picks up a child; weary, on their first day of school.
The hero in my mind rides, toward the destiny where he dies.
The wink inside his smile; resigned, for one more longing look up at the deep blue ocean canvas, where he penned the story of his life.
In his fading grin, he whispers one last nothing to wind. A cool breeze carrying his freedom. The silence, his last season.
Jul 13, 2021
Jul 13, 2021 at 5:47 PM UTC
A laugh is not a pretense
I wanted to tell you that, Urooj
And maybe to myself too
Because I know you saw peeps
Of the vacancy
Nestled in my skin
And I too was acquainted
With your queer sorrow
That rises and falls
With a schedule of its own
We saw the jolly winds flirt with greyed trees
And heard many a strange talks
In golden fields of youthful wheat
And mustard flowers alive
But we ran too, didn’t we?
I pointed to the slender tree far, far away
Count as I go, I said
And count you did as I rushed
Rushed clumsily on
My feet twisting in troughs
Eye-lashes fighting dust
Twenty, you shouted, as the tree grew
But I barely heard
my body singing a battlefield
You stumbled through the ploughed soil
Hardened through suns
Crushing the remnants of harvested wheat
beneath the flat soles of your sandals
(who wears those to a field?)
Then more
Through soft, chestnut soils
Trying not to damage the baby onions
And I laughed through my burning lungs
A smoke piled up in me
Yearning to gnaw all away
And we licked the gusts singing gossips
Of sour, raw mangoes
Then relished the cool water that
You forced the earth to puke
(I still don’t get how that hand-pump worked)
And I know you sneaked along a wilted rose
From your sister’s grave
And wept, quietly sniffing
Seeing her in all the birds I pointed out
All the leaves dried to immortality
In my notebook
I too treaded through rows of childish guava trees
And struggled to will my ghosts away
I too got stranded in the insolent rays
of the dusty sun
But we joked still, didn’t we?
And when, on the way home,
I reminded you stories
Of the silly children we once lived
Your laugh glimmered all around
And mine mimicked
And the radio was ****
So we swam in our own private silences
Got lost in the rowing birds
And I know, at some point,
All the dead days
And all the rotten mangoes
Seated themselves in the car
Along with us and our shackled beasts
And the villages and the stalls and empty fields
Ran past in silence
But we had laughed
When the restless winds nearly sent me
Tumbling down the tree
And we had laughed when
The freshly-watered soil tried
To **** us under
And a laugh is not a pretense
Urooj, a laugh is not a pretense.
I wonder if we know.
May 13, 2021
May 13, 2021 at 10:55 AM UTC
Alone he sits,
in the field,
waiting for the birds to migrate,
from an eternal winter,
he hears their song no longer,
except when she smiles,
only when she's around,
does the sun fulfill its duties,
warms him,
for he is cold from the rain.
Apr 7, 2021
Apr 7, 2021 at 6:32 PM UTC
The birds sing silently,
the flowers start to cry,
you ask yourself why,
in the field with no privacy.
The trees whisper to you,
'you're a fool',
'look what you blew',
What you did was so cruel.
Oct 29, 2020
Oct 29, 2020 at 5:24 PM UTC
1. Headlights glowed like cigarette ends in the twilight
2. As soon as they winked out in the warm, weedy field, and the harsh engine noise snapped into silence, I began to cry.
3. Father stepped quietly towards me and I sniffed as I smelled the earth I was digging, the sweat I was dripping, the carcasses I was covering.
4. Beneath the distant moon Father paused, watching me sift dirt over the remains of two limp goldfish.
5. The morbid scene glittered as moonlight sparkled off my tears and the half-buried scaled.
6. A small tribute to their salty home.
7. As if on cue, the wind ruffled the tops of the grain in the neighboring unshorn field; the undulating stalks mimicked the ocean.
8. Their grave remains unmarked.
Oct 14, 2020
Oct 14, 2020 at 8:29 PM UTC
The wetland red
Cranberry fields
Ripe and glistening
Like the morning dew
That forms on wild thicket
In anticipation of harvest
Sep 21, 2020
Sep 21, 2020 at 7:43 PM UTC