"reapers" poems
When will the day bring its pleasure?
When will the night bring its rest?
Reaper and gleaner and thresher
Peer toward the east and the west:--
The Sower He knoweth, and He knoweth best.
Meteors flash forth and expire,
Northern lights kindle and pale;
These are the days of desire,
Of eyes looking upward that fail;
Vanishing days as a finishing tale.
Bows down the crop in its glory
Tenfold, fifty-fold, hundred-fold;
The millet is ripened and hoary,
The wheat ears are ripened to gold:--
Why keep us waiting in dimness and cold?
The Lord of the harvest, He knoweth
Who knoweth the first and the last:
The Sower Who patiently soweth,
He scanneth the present and past:
He saith, "What thou hast, what remaineth, hold fast."
Yet, Lord, o'er Thy toil-wearied weepers
The storm-clouds hang muttering and frown:
On threshers and gleaners and reapers,
O Lord of the harvest, look down;
Oh for the harvest, the shout, and the crown!
"Not so," saith the Lord of the reapers,
The Lord of the first and the last:
"O My toilers, My weary, My weepers,
What ye have, what remaineth, hold fast.
Hide in My heart till the vengeance be past."
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The sea is flecked with bars of grey,
The dull dead wind is out of tune,
And like a withered leaf the moon
Is blown across the stormy bay.
Etched clear upon the pallid sand
Lies the black boat: a sailor boy
Clambers aboard in careless joy
With laughing face and gleaming hand.
And overhead the curlews cry,
Where through the dusky upland grass
The young brown-throated reapers pass,
Like silhouettes against the sky.
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The soul reapers take until there's nothing left,
walking by like hollow vessels.
All expressions far too faded,
endlessly wandering with no meaning.
Long gone are feelings of remorse and sympathy,
now only gestures with no sincerety.
Corpses lie empty on the ground,
so grey, soon abandoned by all color in the skin.
Reapers walking by devoid of empathy,
reavealing their indifference and disdain.
Their minds are breeding lies,
creating the venom their tongues are spitting.
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 12:51 PM UTC
so
here we Are:
Arnold......Shortman,
Shorty......Meeks,
Mr......Meeseeks,
Ezekiel......Whitmore.
Morphine,,,,,,Morpheus,
Neo......Geo,
OG......Sour,
Sour......Diesel.
DeeDee's......Brother,
Cousin......Vinny,
Vinny's......Lover,
Brothers......Grimm.
Grim......adVentures,
Billy......Madison,
Hansel,,,,,,Gretel,
Chelsea......Grin.
Grimace,,,,,,Misery,
Mister......eBonic,
Bonny,,,,,,Clyde,
Kyle,,,,,,Kenny.
Kenny......Powers,
Powder Puff Girls,
"Girls Girls Girls",
Girls Gone Wild.
Wilee......Coyote,
Coyote......Ugly,
Ugly......Betty,
Betty......Crocker.
Doctor......Parnassus,
Doctor......Krieger,
Doctor......Horrible,
Doctor......Evil.
Evil......Knievel,
Felix......the Cat,
Captain Jack Sparrow:
"Captain......my Captain".
Tinman,,,,,,Scarecrow,
"Rowrow Rowyer Boat",
Bo......Burnham,
Earnest,,,,,,Vern.
Verdict,,,,,,Votive,
deVotion,,,,,,Vengeance,
aVenging......Evey,
V,,,,,,Vendetta.
Denace......the Menace,
Crystal......Globes,
Snow,,,,,,Aesthetics:
Skeletal......Shedding.
Head,,,,,,Tail,
Sally,,,,,,Jack,
Jack......Rabbits,
Magic......Hatters.
Shattered......Glass,
Glasgow......Smile,
Guile,,,,,,Vega,
Akuma,,,,,,Ryu.
You,,,,,,Me,
Beneath......the Bleacher:
Jeepers,,,,,,Creepers,
Reapers......of Seeds.
Seeds......of Chucky,
Chuckie......Finster,
Principal......Muriel,
Yuri......Gagarin.
© Copyrighted Jesse James Adams
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 12:44 PM UTC
The reaper always comes for his dues
I know this to be true,
he stole my heavenly muse!
On my knees I begged him not, yet he refused.
No matter my threats he never withdrew.
The reaper always comes for his dues.
Never once have I been more bemused
when the reapers came through,
he stole my heavenly muse!
I was half asleep, just taking a snooze
then he appeared right in front of my view!
The reaper always comes for his dues.
He looked at me and my muse, like he was trying to choose.
His hands reached out, to grab my muse, then he flew!
He stole my heavenly muse!
Out my window they cruised,
I, with shame, never pursued.
The reaper always comes for his dues.
He stole my heavenly muse!
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 5:19 PM UTC
We were reapers in a past life
I was the cape and you were the scythe
We pulled the wool over their eyes
And made their dreams death in disguise
Wrapped up lilies reaching for shade,
a familiar tragedy,
even they cannot bear the sun's gaze
Wretched.
Reaching for the wool and the knife
In the heaven-less night
Where the shades of confessions danced,
we walked
But, I was not there to get them to talk
The Reverend and the pew
Never did what they were meant to
Tangled lilies reluctantly reaching for shade
Ashamed to accept the slight--decaying hope
and disparate daydreams
Reaching for the cape and the scythe
For the heaven-less sight
Here lies a city
Of flowers-the lilies
In the dark its clarity profoundly makes
A sunlit city dreary
And, we were reapers in our last life
I, your loveless lover,
you with another spouse
Drove me into despair, dragging
the night-sky into our love
made-up of lies
So, we perfunctorily made death
a heaven-less guise
Death, made out of dreams and lies
Be careful, of love's cape and scythe,
If you're to keep your life.
***Sui Caedere translated from Latin, "of oneself ****
" Suicide in a Sunlit City."
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 1:23 PM UTC
163
Tho’ my destiny be Fustian—
Hers be damask fine—
Tho’ she wear a silver apron—
I, a less divine—
Still, my little Gypsy being
I would far prefer,
Still, my little sunburnt *****
To her Rosier,
For, when Frosts, their punctual fingers
On her forehead lay,
You and I, and Dr. Holland,
Bloom Eternally!
Roses of a steadfast summer
In a steadfast land,
Where no Autumn lifts her pencil—
And no Reapers stand!
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~
the Nth culling
~
she gentled sleeps besides the imperfect poet,
who has wandered the hallways since four am,
retuning his returning
to their temple bed,
to cull, pluck, her each precious breathing sound,
source material for his
Nth
love poem
smirking at his own
Nth foolishness,
weeping tears at the consequences
of human interactions,
he wonders,
why does he worry,
searching to distinguish
between the black and white of life,
hunting for meaningful words
*when all the while
he has the vein of her breathing to mine,
as if he were a
Ruth,
following behind
the harvest reapers,
culling a bounty of
dropped grains,
fallen unto him to
garner, imbibe and memorize*
those Nth breaths,
that last but seconds,
but here memorialized for
his own
all time
Jun 18, 2016
Jun 18, 2016 at 10:59 AM UTC
The reapers flock
To the edge of the dock
At the glitch in the glock
On the gravediggers clock
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 5:53 PM UTC
I am my brother's keeper not his reaper
But it seems to me people rather die than survive and become stronger than they already were
Tsk shame on them, shame on me
It is sad that we are stuck in our old mentalities
We rather put each other 6 feet underground than help one another climb a mountain
Slavery may be over but now we are just binding ourselves in these rusty shackles that were left behind
They're cutting through our skin, poisoning our blood, corrupting our minds, making us forget that we have come a long way
That we are not where we once were
They strain us, drain us of all of our energy
Leaving us crawling on the floor searching for scrapes to put ourselves back together again
I understand that we are not where we wish to be
That we still have a long journey ahead of us
That we are still marching forward like soldiers
But it is not helping the fact that a brotha can go out and serve in the military for 13yrs and survive but come back home to his own street only to be shot in the head by his own partner
Then we complain saying the white man is killing us
Hell we are killing us
**** black lives matter
**** white lives matter
**** all **** lives matter
What we fail to realize that we are our own future
Not them
We control what we do
We control where we go
Not them
But if we continue down this dark path we are heading down
Well let me just say we won't have a future
And again I say...
I am my brother's keeper not his reaper
But the way things are looking
We will be our brother's reapers not their keepers
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 5:44 AM UTC
A little plant of little acclaim,
A small flower of smaller fame
A tiny plant without any sun
A creature that's only now begun
If it stays deep in deep gray shade
Its life and will will surely fade
How could one allow such sorrow
Cowardice to turn from tomorrow
A plant that strives not for shine
Will give its life for reapers' dine
It cannot last a second's breath
Without light falls quick to death
A plant that stays in the shadow's wake
Can only tremble and weep and quake
But a plant can grow, and grow towards life
A plant can flourish and cast off strife
It needs to bend and twist and turn
Push itself towards the sun-beam's burn
Grow and stretch up towards the sky
Demand to live, refuse to die
How it hurts and burns and stings,
The sight of those to the shadows cling
A bloom worth seeing sees the light
We must be brave, as a flower might
Apr 10, 2013
Apr 10, 2013 at 2:01 AM UTC
The sickly slice
The perfection maddening
The perfect spray
Erupting with beauty
Maddness pure and simple
The symmetry of crazy mind
My brothers anarchy and chaos
Simple Symmetry
Ran wildly across your body
More Symmetry
I need more
Don't leave just yet
You can't take the reapers hand
Not until im done
I won't let you
Slicing maddness
Entire limb loss
Goodbye old friend
May you rest in pieces
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 8:56 AM UTC
Mundane celebrations to mask our ever closing demise
Working 9 to 5s, never fully enjoying our limited lives
Never knowing which day will be our last
So we choose to slave away for a world
That we will never fully experience
In the hopes our successors will enjoy the fruits of our labor
But inevitably enjoy the same propaganda pamphlets that their parents once read
And slave for a world, that their successors might enjoy
All the while, the reapers scythe sharpens.
Sep 4, 2021
Sep 4, 2021 at 6:06 PM UTC
It is curious,
how the body can
go on without the
soul.
We Reapers are
careful to not
take a soul until the
body is already
dead, regardless of whether
it is too late or not.
It is
common courtesy.
Still, the amount of
already-dead souls in
still-alive bodies
astounds
me.
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 6:23 PM UTC
Used to be convincing, now I'm word mincing
Funny guy telling lies, stop that face from wincing
Shut the word forge down, absurd surge start to pour out
Brain matter splatter in colored conviction, how I rattle off with four dimensional diction
Once this **** was scripted, now these lips don't do cryptic, legendary fiction, not yet mythic
Contemporary Christians sit listless, labeling those they hardly know
That's we, people like me, as infamous and wicked, can you even conceive
Not that I need the acquittal, never say please for a spoon full of ******
Hate this human disease; doubtful economic, muted mumbles of Ebonics, questionable hearts freeze
Turned cold-blooded because violence it seems is our cure all reprieve
Instead of honest admittance, no room for forgiveness, when we elect politics that lie
Ignite the engines that chain drive, infernal furnaces of the reapers design
Calling out to the sky; "forgive us were blind!"
Upon final inception, the birth of nightmarish conception
Awoken to world of hard line lesson, seasons of trick testing
So tell me then, can you live with A or B? dip those toes into sea and you'll know what I mean
Dare you to please.
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 12:43 PM UTC
They made the chamber sweet with flowers and leaves,
And the bed sweet with flowers on which I lay;
While my soul, love-bound, loitered on its way.
I did not hear the birds about the eaves,
Nor hear the reapers talk among the sheaves:
Only my soul kept watch from day to day,
My thirsty soul kept watch for one away:--
Perhaps he loves, I thought, remembers, grieves.
At length there came the step upon the stair,
Upon the lock the old familiar hand:
Then first my spirit seemed to scent the air
Of Paradise; then first the tardy sand
Of time ran golden; and I felt my hair
Put on a glory,and my soul expand.
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The reapers only few in number
Form rules with cunning tools
Knitting loopholes while we slumber
Find jewels in captives’ joules
The reapers take what isn’t fair
In the name of piety
Writing off what they declare
With impropriety
The reapers ravage all our laws
The poor find nothing more
Using all their battle maws
For war of pseudo lore
Aug 18, 2011
Aug 18, 2011 at 1:00 PM UTC
(Scene 2, Take 1)
Off their table and into his gurney
Wheeling you out I start you on your next journey.
With a push of a button he unlocked the latch
Slipping you now into the back and through the hatch
Metallic flakes embedded in the darkness
Sporting twenty two inch chrome rims
He earned it, it's his pleasure, and it’s his pride
You were the second to lie in the back and go in his new ride.
Thoughts of what you will look like run through my visions.
I only know your twenty years of age and if you look into my past
And turned back the clock you would see on the top of the page
Where my first son lost his mom only three years older
From the same cause sixteen years before.
Pulling behind to the parlors back door
We slide you out and your wheels landed on the garage floor
Pulling the chain now I lock us all in and with no escape
Through the windows no one can peek, not even through the drape
With a count of three we place you on your next table
Your remains are contained in a white disaster bag
That bears a zipper with your name on the tag.
Ever so slowly pulling it down with eyes closed till the end
I prayed hard with devotion and with pure respect
Once I saw what was inside my screams were muffled by a silent gasp
Eyes were opened to only see I now was just beginning to inspect
Cause I'm now looking hard for something familiar to detect.
Scanning for the cause he made me stop and with it a long pause
Tearing and scaring the ****** flesh of my mind I then felt
Upon the sights, the true power of the reapers claws.
On a new strange quest, I see now, I'm taking a test
Mentor with a grin on his face I can't contest
I don't complain for I watched him get his fill.
Knowing this is the greatest and now to date,
I now only hope when we get done tonight
I'll get an A in the end
On my test.
(To be continued.....)
P.S. Buckle up for Scene 3 Take 1 it's all about sewing him up an putting the pieces back together for casket viewing....
(CARSr. 2012)
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 4:47 PM UTC
Justine whispers in delirium
of Mediterranean summers
of lunar carriages
and pulsating drummers
Where exists rapture
congregates hosts
closing curtains on time
while releasing their ghosts
They who play chess with death
in vineyards of veins
are tangled in torment
and lamented remains
Vessels of reapers
who crucify hearts
host on the gentle
lacerate souls apart
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 3:43 AM UTC
I once knew a man
with a natural gift for death.
He would sing in a choir of reapers
and dance with the demons at night.
Then when the day was over
he'd sleep in the house of angels.
How he, oh great wielder of life,
knew how to change the time on a clock.
He'd turn the minute, then the hour
but never let a second pass
He was not of death
but he was not of life
or at least no life I knew.
He came to me one night and said,
in nothing more than a whisper,
the secrets we all long to uncover.
I cannot speak them,
I cannot say.
My mouth is sealed from now
till the last of my days.
My mind is closed, and my eyes are open.
I know of death, and death knows of me.
I call him friend
I call him brother
He wanted to take me once,
into a life after life
and I stood my ground
with my head held high
and denied him.
He unsheathed his sword and stared me down
the tip sparkled in the sun.
"Fight me then, and we shall see
who will walk with the souls
and who will walk with the living."
Again, I said no.
I would not fight this man.
"Strike me!" He screamed, veins popping from his neck.
He was pale and thin, almost fragile.
these things I had never noted before.
"I will not." I spoke, calmly.
"Then I shall fight myself!" He sang, and drew his sword to his neck.
The man cut off his own head.
I let out a breath I was holding,
and looked down gravely at the man.
"You walked the Earth like a God,
but you were more mortal than I."
and I spit upon the dirt of arrogance without a second thought.
Nov 8, 2018
Nov 8, 2018 at 5:23 PM UTC
Seeing faded memories of faded nights
Lying on faded baby blue sheets
The inoxication of two styrofoam cups
Feeling heavy in hands made of feathers
Eyelids the weight of the world compressing onto cheeksbones dried on tongues of new sneakers
Float away
Away
Away
To a world unknown
The cartographer of your own mind
Pick up the next sip
Let it be your map
The thickness sliding to your stomach
The river to bring you home
Ferryman collects no fair from pain filled travelers
Close your eyes
Let the purple jungles captivate you
Your baby blue eyes are the way home
Call me a runaway
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 11:33 PM UTC
A strange and eerie silence just before the midnight train
in the distance rolling thunder, through the darkness,
here's the rain
now wind is whipping sideways, tearing limbs from massive trees,
it's a wonder, jolt of thunder, every man's not his knees!
In a frenzied call to sleepers, get your loved ones up, she screams
it's the grimmest of all reapers come to rob you of your dreams
and it's grinding up the ground ten miles south, a mile wide
and it's headed your direction, so you'd better run and hide!
So panic takes the front seat while we quickly dive for cover
and we pray for God's deliverance, 'cause no one wants to hover
and we wait upon hell's plunder,as it devastates the land
and leaves it's monster's calling card, demise of all things grand.
lighter than a feather, yet never made for flight
carried on this wrecking train through blackness of the night
butcher knives! and power tools! an airborne metal shed!
A rabbit cage! an auto harp and someone's unmade bed!
the stuff which neighbors value, all their papers, jewels and cash
have been caught up in the whirlwind, torn to shreds and churned to trash
it's then I hear the grinding of the wheels upon the track
and brace myself with others in the bowels of my shack
a locomotive bearing down, we hold on tight and pray
the shrill wind screams, you can't believe it's happening this way!
and all we care about right then is staying on the ground
and keeping those we love alive, intact and safe and sound.
The way it goes, no one quite knows the way it's gonna be
we trust that God is here to lead us through the deep Red Sea
though man's no match against it, we'll find shelter in the storms
and pray escape the reaper in the whirlwind as it forms
Aug 29, 2013
Aug 29, 2013 at 10:45 AM UTC