#grain
Squirrel—ooh, busy squirrel,
don’t stress over a grain.
Dumber than me already knows:
your expenses need a whole bank.
Dec 19, 2025
Dec 19, 2025 at 4:45 AM UTC
shred, dash, drop, pinch, soupçon, jot, iota, whit,
atom, smattering, scintilla, hint, suggestion, tinge,
a modicum of good works,
my endeavor, to serve and deliver,
man's bounty of good words
from my kitbag,
fresh, hot, n' crusty
just like me....
Hello Poetry!
Feb 2014
Feb 12, 2014
Feb 12, 2014 at 6:21 PM UTC
Myth
by Michael R. Burch
Here the recalcitrant wind
sighs with grievance and remorse
over fields of wayward gorse
and thistle-throttled lanes.
And she is the myth of the scythed wheat
hewn and sighing, complete,
waiting, lain in a low sheaf—
full of faith, full of grief.
Here the immaculate dawn
requires belief of the leafed earth
and she is the myth of the mown grain—
golden and humble in all its weary worth.
I believe I wrote the first version of this poem toward the end of my senior year of high school, around age 18 in late 1976. To my recollection this is my only poem directly influenced by the “sprung rhythm” of Dylan Thomas (moreso than that of Gerard Manley Hopkins). But I was not happy with the fourth line and put the poem aside for more than 20 years, until 1998, when I revised it. But I was still not happy with the fourth line, so I put it aside and revised it again in 2020, nearly half a century after originally writing the poem! Keywords/Tags: sprung, rhythm, myth, gorse, thistles, wheat, mown, grain, sheaf, faith, grief, golden, humble
Apr 8, 2020
Apr 8, 2020 at 5:21 AM UTC
Life is grain broken
Barley thrashed and pulled apart at the seams of bread and beer
Grapeless wine
On tender loving vines in a budding vineyard still
Intent on being our sustenance from the start
Such things are born at the hands of man but by the will of Gods kind heart
Oct 3, 2019
Oct 3, 2019 at 7:56 PM UTC
it is small and has
a coat of fur
on this fact we'll
all concur
a dozen or more
were kept at the lab facility
where a researcher was
testing their reasoning capability
these animals are prolific
breeders
they're extra-ordinary
off spring seeders
they can be problematic
to growers of grain
many years ago there was
an infestation on the western plain
if you see them running
around your house
you'll say unto yourself
them critters ain't grouse
Apr 28, 2019
Apr 28, 2019 at 7:05 PM UTC
Golden boy, tell me you love me
under the distant, golden sun
In a golden grained field
where we can explore this love
Amidst the grained plain
where wildflowers roam
where wildflowers it has gained.
Mar 25, 2019
Mar 25, 2019 at 1:33 PM UTC
skimming the surface
upon celestial deep ponds
universal tides
Feb 17, 2019
Feb 17, 2019 at 6:27 PM UTC
How to describe this feeling ?
What name does it go by?
Does it even have a name?
The answers to my questions
Remain unanswered
But with absolute certainty I can tell you this
I never want to let this feeling go
I'm on this insane rollercoaster of happiness
And I never want to not have this feeling
Cloud 9 seems like childs play
Sky high is where I'm at
It's like being in love only a thousand times better
The sun and the stars are all in one frame
Both shining at their brightest
Someone tell me what this feeling is !
I take that back.
No one tell me.
No one utter a word.
For if I was to categorise this feeling
It would be sure to escape me
No one tell me.
Let me drown in this moment
In this feeling that is like no other
Allow me this one pleasure.
No need to name the feeling.
Just watch on by as I sink in it.
Grant me this one request.
Jun 9, 2018
Jun 9, 2018 at 11:41 AM UTC
My reflection is here
but my thoughts
are dissipating..
Like an hourglass broken
my conceptions
are dust...
And yet I still try to
remember
every grain that fell...
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 8:49 AM UTC
Somewhere, in a hidden mountain village,
Where only the initiates could find,
Bards have never found this muse,
A goddess of grain and wine.
She lives in eternal joy,
Dances, sings and plays all day,
With her sadness hidden,
Deep in her,
For mortals,
It is too far away.
Many court her,
Yet her heart belongs to the faithful,
That can unwind,
The many mysteries hidden,
Within grain and wine.
Nov 14, 2017
Nov 14, 2017 at 1:11 PM UTC
Take it with a grain of salt they say
little do they know
that one grain
does
make
things
salty
Oct 26, 2017
Oct 26, 2017 at 4:34 AM UTC
I'd silt there beside a barb wired fence
and once praised these vagaries again
then yesterday at daybreak
as aft-dew came this flow-r
and hit hers in between rows of attire
where her beauty was herd in raindrops today
and altogether was something very big
with milk and honey in a market of wares.
May 9, 2017
May 9, 2017 at 7:53 AM UTC
We are but a lingering breath in the
void of existence.
When we exhale a final vocalization
of our moments that shed a tear.
We are but a grain of earth that grows
petals. that will always fall.
Our place is in memory, we are but a breath
in a grain of sand falling.
Apr 29, 2017
Apr 29, 2017 at 2:38 AM UTC
I am the last grain of sand in the hour glass. I await the fall.
Mar 28, 2017
Mar 28, 2017 at 1:28 AM UTC
Sometime early in the year,
Calving drawing on,
Seeders and tractors
Lose their dormant chill,
Began demanding preparation,
Murmuring anticipation:
"Clean the seed for planting!"
"Till the soil and ready it for seed!"
The farmer, wanting rest,
Anxiously awaits first sprouts,
Anticipates the time to till the noxious weeds,
Watches capricious sky for signs of rain or hail;
Tends fences; guards his fields,
Where ripening grain cannot predict the yields.
June scrambling begins:
The readying for harvest,
The hopeful storage plans,
The preparation of harvesters
Expensive beyond budgets,
Soon to lumber out and gather
Dying summer in....
Autumn's chilling breath
Calls quickening to the work:
The gathering of straw,
The hauling-in of hay,
The opened stubble fields for cows;
The planting of winter wheat,
That first must sprout before frost....
(If not the seeding may be lost).
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 5:19 PM UTC
In the very dark of night
Where everything is out of sight
With a knife on pale white flesh
I made a creation, new and fresh
Bright and red I drew some reins
Trying to redirect the pain
Away from my swelling brain
So some sanity I might retain
But once I started I couldn't refrain
Knife sliced, blood flew
Laughter ensued
Now my body looks like tracks of a train
Everything still remains the same
Pain and agony stubbornly still remains
Nothing lost well ever be regained
Like the sand on the beach, I'm but a grain
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 8:56 PM UTC
When you're doing something against the grain of society's flow you're either magnificently aware or pathetically wrong. Good luck finding out which.
Dec 7, 2015
Dec 7, 2015 at 9:44 PM UTC
six string serenade
she smiled
she played
as her fingers bled
cool blue in shadow
a memory flees
caught sipping China tea
all the way from Spain
if I call
on a phone
hung on a wall
can I call
in all my memories
of tomorrow
. . . collect
(follow anybody , every grain of sand has destiny . . . and a duty . . . every single separate , meaningless , grain . . . of futility)
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 12:50 AM UTC
I hide myself Beyond those crossing clouds Simply because it's my temporary domicile Over there ... I hide myself In a spider's web Simply because I feel it good for some time ... I hide myself Inside a shell Simply because I love to be there ... I hide myself Inside a grain of sand Simply because I feel better ... My house is merely now An ugly tent that smells nasty and I feel cold over there ... It's me located anywhere and everywhere like any piece of rock or a piece of stone ... It's me missing in this world's sufferings and pains ... Loss accompanies me and its shadow Prey on me ...
Feb 5, 2015
Feb 5, 2015 at 3:37 PM UTC
A drop of water is a tiny entity By itself ... If I compare a drop of water to that Of a grain of sand , I feel that both are wonderful realms of Love and peace anytime .... A drop of water is a great world of fertility By itself and A grain of sand is a wonderful world of generosity ....
Jan 25, 2015
Jan 25, 2015 at 3:15 PM UTC
Take my hand, as we walk this terrain.
To the place where upon a branch a woman was hanged.
For stealing grain to make bread, ensuring that her children fed.
Look upwards, crane your head, a woman killed for baking bread.
Now, take my hand and look overland, where grains of sand make up this barren land. From barren life hanging in a tree, to barren sand eroded by sea, come to me. Come away child.
Let's build a sand castle and forget the fear in grains and sand.
Sep 13, 2014
Sep 13, 2014 at 9:07 PM UTC