"untilled" poems
dedicated to all the better poets here...
don't know much about a quatrain
don't know how to write a refrain,
surely could not compose a
courtyard elegy
maybe after
and still untilled,
I been buried,
'n checked out
the neighborhood competition...
as for limerick,
that is Dr. Seuss
and Ogden Nash's shtick
with whom, eye,
a believed descendant,
cannot compete...
Oh dear me,
no ode node-ed within,
as for a pastoral,
kinda hard to feat,
where I live,
a pastoral is grass cracks
surviving under,
breaking through to the other side
of concrete and blacktop rulers
Maybe one of you
will haiku,
send us a senryu,
send off, see ya!
the doc once diagnosed
a severe case of inflamed iambic pentametery,
with antibiotics and a diet of Hamletery,
was cured most satisfactorily
this silly pen-man-sinking-ship
ain't capable of dat,
boy how 'bout
an epitaph
for a graveyard stone,
should be plenty of room...
as it will be plenty short...
all eye see and all eye know
is vignettes that birth in me
walking down the street,
that's my bread and butter,
my soul's delicacies...
and moments that recorded
here, for a posteriored posterity,
as noted in my all my living
testaments,
drinking and spilling the vin,
from the uninvented igniting vignettes
that consecrate and connect our
knowing each other though odds are
we will never meet...we can yet
drink together
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Don't know much about the French I took.
But I do know that I love you,
And I know that if you love me, too,
What a wonderful world this would be."
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 7:50 AM UTC
Awake! arise! the hour is late!
Angels are knocking at thy door!
They are in haste and cannot wait,
And once departed come no more.
Awake! arise! the athlete’s arm
Loses its strength by too much rest;
The fallow land, the untilled farm
Produces only weeds at best.
11.6k
An old, mad, blind, despised, and dying king,—
Princes, the dregs of their dull race, who
Through public scorn,—mud from a muddy spring,—
Rulers who neither see, nor feel, nor know,
But leech-like to their fainting country cling,
Till they drop, blind in blood, without a blow,—
A people starved and stabbed in the untilled field,—
An army, which liberticide and prey
Makes as a two-edged sword to all who wield,—
Golden and sanguine laws which tempt and slay;
Religion Christless, Godless—a book sealed;
A Senate, Time’s worst statute unrepealed,—
Are graves, from which a glorious Phantom may
Burst, to illumine our tempestuous day.
2.5k
These times strike monied worldlings with dismay:
Even rich men, brave by nature, taint the air
With words of apprehension and despair:
While tens of thousands, thinking on the affray,
Men unto whom sufficient for the day
And minds not stinted or untilled are given,
Sound, healthy, children of the God of heaven,
Are cheerful as the rising sun in May.
What do we gather hence but firmer faith
That every gift of noble origin
Is breathed upon by Hope’s perpetual breath;
That virtue and the faculties within
Are vital,—and that riches are akin
To fear, to change, to cowardice, and death?
1.8k
Revolution the course to freedom
Revolution a season of war
A season our lands are watered with our blood shed
A season people are starved and stabbed in the untilled field
Revolution a season of blood flow which end with the interminable joy of the nation
We are the people you make fun of because we cannot speak your accents
We are the people who dose your slave works,cleans your messes after party
We are the people who pays with our lives during festival to fight to death
You laugh at us
You snub us
Because we are nothing wicked like you
Your greed would make an end to everything we have and everything we ever lived for
This is not your land,you are a total stranger
We will not allow you to deprive us of our fathers inheritance yes we will not allow you to take what is rightfully ours
We will not pay the price to your greed
We will stay, we will not go away from our land
Our forefathers have lived here since before the days,yet you want what is rightfully ours
The only thing you could offer is brutal ******
Death is the only thing we can understand
You make us lots of promise
Yet you offer us starvation
Your promises are empty like the belly of our children
We will fight and shed our bloods for the course of our freedom
Our blood will water the land for we will not give up without a fight
Yes we will not give up without a fight
Arise oh ye youth of slumbers
Arise oh ye prisoners of wants
For the reason to revolt is at our course
Let's fight for what is rightfully our
Revolution the course to freedom
A course to the normal world
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 6:16 PM UTC
I stood before the town folk, who were all revved up, in gear,
" I'm laying claim to 'Yonder Road', which leads to my lot there".
And as I spoke, I found my voice~ "And I, G Clair, it is my choice
to take it back" and dared the few, who looked me in the eye, and knew
they'd met their match but here's the catch,
I took it straight, right down the hatch...
The road's not mine to take.
"We must decline. It's on the line, the Powell Township County Line"
~So half of it is theirs to sell? And so I'm thinking "What the hell?"
I never planned to buy the land, which leads up to my pile of sand,
and half a road? That's just a load of cock-a-mamey crap and toad!
Not one spoke on my behalf, that half-a-road was just a laugh,
but secretly I knew their game, to share the road, and to their shame,
I'd have to buy the township out, if private is, what it's about.
And so I kept my peace of mind. "I'll pay for Yonder, rob me blind!"
"And all in favor, just say 'Aye'" The room went silent. Then a cry~
from down behind the furthest row, an "Aye" and then the rest in tow
and everyone you would have thought, would die before the road was bought
and on that day, the vote was wrought, and ALL for one road to my lot.
the road was mine to take!
And as I drove on down my road, I wondered, if it ever snowed,
if they'd still plow a private road, or leave it to the one who owed
the price of owning graveled lane, which cut in two, by grassy mane
and wondered if I'd have to mow the place which pulled like undertow~
which drew the settlers through the plain, where nothing grows in fitful rain
yet wagons, traveling there in vain, would lose a wheel, and what a pain
and one last thought to keep me sane:
Those drivers who had lots to gain
whose hearts were heavy, just the same
from weary rolling over rocks
in untilled pastures, void of flocks
who held the reigns in calloused hands
and prayed while sweat dripped from their glands
to make it to their promised lands,
would LOVE... a road... like mine.
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 9:30 AM UTC
for the missed and the missing
~~~
lea - a tract of open ground, especially grassland; meadow; land used for a few years for pasture or for growing hay, then plowed over and replaced by another crop; untilled; fallow
~~~
In the Lea Field
And again that man
in the fallow fallen field,
grasps his own tiller,
looking ahead, downwind, leeward to plow,
impatient to cut rows of upturned earth
to grow markers,
plant seeded rows of words
and again that man
presumes time,
planting a yearly crop of
hoped for just enough time
but it does not suffice -
enough and sufficient time
will not grow in the lea field
this year
Now a man comes to mind,
living and dying
in a lea field
the man too,
field fallen fallow like the grassy meadow
that once fed his overcast gaze
yet the man believes still,
word seeds of lea poems prior planted
fullsome in their dormancy,
potent with patience,
shall not always remain so...
they are
bridges-in-waiting,
un-til,
ready once more
for the missed to
till
anew
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 5:54 PM UTC
1.
Princely I am, as Michigan loam,
as carefully turned mud,
as old, old dust––
my breaths are still and unresolved
and don’t dissolve in alcohol
like snakes or dead, bloated fish––
I am nothing monumental.
2.
Stuttered breaths lie in limp open circles around our feet,
hanging by threads of unmade promises––
symmetry was never my forte.
The bent nose,
the crooked lips,
the slow-ballooning wen where nitrogen bubbles––
my flesh is like untilled soil,
all raw and swollen with possibility.
3.
You asked me if it was probable
to find life on Mars
where the iron-leeched sand
crumbles like dried hemoglobin.
I don’t know about amino acids or genesis
or the first man of Dust,
much less mysteries of lovesickness, respiration,
really good ***
We’re barren in different ways;
your dust comes from dreams, from heaven,
crimson and majestic
and dead as Olympus Mons
while I am like moon dust,
just as cold as your bone-dry lakes of carbon dioxide,
but paler, heavier,
and more remote.
Dec 20, 2012
Dec 20, 2012 at 11:22 PM UTC
An old, mad, blind, despised, and dying king, –
Princes, the dregs of their dull race, who flow
Through public scorn, – mud from a muddy spring, –
Rulers who neither see, nor feel, nor know,
But leech-like to their fainting country cling,
Till they drop, blind in blood, without a blow, –
A people starved and stabbed in the untilled field, –
An army, which liberticide and prey
Makes as a two-edged sword to all who wield, –
Golden and sanguine laws which tempt and slay;
Religion Christless, Godless – a book sealed;
A Senate, – Time’s worst statute unrepealed, –
Are graves, from which a glorious Phantom may
Burst, to illumine our tempestous day.
Dec 28, 2009
Dec 28, 2009 at 12:52 AM UTC
I like Prada (what you like)
Got ***** in my hand(what u got)
And All yall ******* be like Yadda yadda yadda yadda yadda...
Got **** i don't think u even ******* understand
Come close, you dont even know who i am
Snappin at my *** like a ******* PARANA
You an under ******* achiever gona Snap ya like a twig..
Overdosed nirvana
When im up on the block all the men faint
Their girls hating cause i am who they aint
Im always open so call me for a date
Leave Ur girl behind, she'll never know what hit her
Up through the grass hissing like a snake
She’ll never know what bit
Oct 13, 2011
Oct 13, 2011 at 12:58 PM UTC
Awake arise The hour is late
Angle are knocking at the door
They are in hast and cannot wait
And once departed come no more
Awake Arise The athlets arm
Loses its strength by too much rest
The fallow land the untilled farm
Produses only weeds at best
BY IKRAM ULLAH JANI
Oct 13, 2011
Oct 13, 2011 at 12:27 AM UTC
#*The fertile weighs less than the barren
Exquisite fruits crumble placid stones
The farmer induces their own famine
Seeds may be perpetually sown
The costs of a cultivated spirit
are greater than its untilled counter,
yet produces a boundless harvest.
How do the fields fare, neighbor?*#
May 19, 2018
May 19, 2018 at 8:15 PM UTC
I walk into a field of not yet blossomed flowers
vibrant splashes of color resound in the sunlight
let me tiptoe to you through the sleeping poppies
pluck you away from the masses of eyes shut wide
we will find untilled earth, plant our own garden
such a sweet smell
my own personal heroine
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 8:56 AM UTC
Rise in the morning,
Fall back without a fight,
Right back into the night,
Falling 'till the mourning,
As the emptiness grows,
Time simply slips into the void,
The endless repetitions only shows,
Please the people, please the android,
The rain has been pouring,
Yet, the glass hasn't filled,
Though, never has it spilled,
And the answer they are ignoring,
No one knows,
Oh, the hollowness that exists,
The endless repetitions only shows,
These the worlds, these the cysts,
There has been given a warning,
Of this their creations of great sleight,
To achieve such false height,
But, still their hearts they are adorning,
And so it goes and goes,
While they raise their fists,
Right until the final throws,
The world fades into mists,
Meaningless is this warring,
Of a world that remains untilled,
Of dreams that remain unfulfilled,
Look on vacuous, look on abhorring,
As the emptiness grows,
Time simply slips into the void,
The endless repetitions only shows,
Please the people, please the android,
Rise in the morning,
Fall back without a fight,
Right back into the night,
Falling 'till the mourning.
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 1:09 AM UTC
One of my favorite William Bliss Carman poems...even though a Canadian by birth..it goes without saying that I believe all the Carman's are connected. Bliss I love your heart felt words!
EARTH VOICES
I heard the spring wind whisper
Above the brushwood fire,
“The world is made forever
Of transport and desire.
“I am the breath of being,
The primal urge of things;
I am the whirl of star dust,
I am the lift of wings.
“I am the splendid impulse
That comes before the thought,
The joy and exaltation
Wherein the life is caught.
“Across the sleeping furrows
I call the buried seed,
And blade and bud and blossom
Awaken at my need.
“Within the dying ashes
I blow the sacred spark,
And make the hearts of lovers
To leap against the dark.”
II
I heard the spring light whisper
Above the dancing stream,
“The world is made forever
In likeness of a dream.
“I am the law of planets,
I am the guide of man;
The evening and the morning
Are fashioned to my plan.
“I tint the dawn with crimson,
I tinge the sea with blue;
My track is in the desert,
My trail is in the dew.
“I paint the hills with color,
And in my magic dome
I light the star of evening
To steer the traveller home.
“Within the house of being,
I feed the lamp of truth
With tales of ancient wisdom
And prophecies of youth.”
III
I heard the spring rain murmur
Above the roadside flower,
“The world is made forever
In melody and power.
“I keep the rhythmic measure
That marks the steps of time,
And all my toil is fashioned
To symmetry and rhyme.
“I plow the untilled upland,
I ripe the seeding grass,
And fill the leafy forest
With music as I pass.
“I hew the raw, rough granite
To loveliness of line,
And when my work is finished,
Behold, it is divine!
“I am the master-builder
In whom the ages trust.
I lift the lost perfection
To blossom from the dust.”
IV
Then Earth to them made answer,
As with a slow refrain
Born of the blended voices
Of wind and sun and rain,
“This is the law of being
That links the threefold chain:
The life we give to beauty
Returns to us again.”
Feb 19, 2018
Feb 19, 2018 at 5:23 PM UTC
A mocking, a knocking, a rock at the sill
I untilled out the fill like mill undistilled
A swoon not too soon- at the moon's right prevail
A pail-friend, a trail end, and a heartfull of ale
A whiting, a blighting, a light-hollow place
Undisgraced I defaced the lying lier's place
A sweat-vine, a death mine, a whetted time, my beau!
In the shallow grave's hallowing, comforting bow
A mocking, a knocking, a rose on the sill
I lay his arm over me an pray I fall ill
Sep 11, 2013
Sep 11, 2013 at 8:37 PM UTC
There is a well within my heart,
Whose depth can not be known.
I draw from it, the nourishment,
For seeds of love, I’ve sown.
It matters not, how much I take,
The well can not go dry,
It’s deeper than an ocean, and
It’s broader than the sky.
And if my love should fall upon,
A vessel over-filled,
It is not lost, it falls instead,
Like rain, on fields untilled.
For love is like a river full,
Which sometimes overflows,
Yet leaves a richer field to which,
I bring more seeds to sow.
You see, my love is just a gift,
And giving is the key.
The happiness it brings is mine,
A gift I give to me.
No greater joy, have I yet known,
Than being able to
Reach deep within my well of love,
To pass the gift to you.
Jan 17, 2011
Jan 17, 2011 at 1:09 PM UTC
I’ve read the advice of the sages,
about being present in the present,
accepting what is for what it is,
but it hasn’t stopped raining for three days
with three more days of rain forecast;
this, after a winter that has lasted into April.
I’ve got cabin fever
and there doesn’t seem to be enough Zen,
enough rhythmic breathing,
enough yoga or tai-chi in the world
to still my pacing room to room,
my constant glancing out the window
toward the garden, untilled,
where I envision myself on my knees,
my hands dropping seeds in tiny furrows,
then covering them with soil and prayer.
Apr 8, 2018
Apr 8, 2018 at 8:46 PM UTC
Do you think
God held the sopping clod
with warm hands,
lifting and bending to
kiss it? Did God wipe the mud
from those worldwide lips
or stick out a slippery tongue and
taste the beginnings of
new joyous life?
Or do you suppose God never
bent down or breathed or buried
warm hands in an untilled field?
Did a soft stirring of wind eventually
crash and thunder and roar across
nations of trees before an expected rain?
And once it did, did it fall to
find the beginnings of you
and I? And when it found us,
did we look back to our sister of dirt
and up to our mother the sky
and laugh and breathe
and call both a holy prayer?
Jun 15, 2016
Jun 15, 2016 at 1:53 PM UTC
Whoever brought war to this world
Must have been an evil devil
See, fertile fields idle
Greenness they cradle
But inside them life crumbles
Lives many lives inside their bellies
They cruelly cuddles
What a human’s riddle
When masses in concentrated camps retires
As slowly they falls and expires
A heap of thin eaten bones
Humans as zombies-hell rotten clones
Just stashed skinny skeletons
Returns to humanitarians huts heartbroken
To wait to be just shrines
Of the fatal or battle famines
Fields sleeps still untilled
Occupied only by healthy bushes and shrubs
Humanity die unfilled
Fast of unsanitary outbreaks and scab-scrubs
Land lay undisturbed
Weeds wishing for someone them to pick
Humans perish perturbed
Of traumas, stigmas-too weak and so sick
Of hunger and starvation
Of thirst and malnutrition
Of deaths and devastations
Of infections and infestations
Of war-executions and explosions
Humans die of war-poverty and slavery-suppressions
Whoever brought war
To this well world’s wall
Must have been a devil for all
Can you look at them?
Once or if twice grace you've
Do you see little children?
If still they merit-forbidden!
Withered, shriveled like leaves in dry droughts
Just leanly stretched skins of skeletons
It tries to cry, a hiss like a yawn comes out
A malnourished mass-flame of fragile bones-
A stillborn foetus silently hibernating-mercifully striving living
Patched head becoming deserted and barren
Shrunken skull, inwardly bony discoloured eyes
Bony mandibles, jutting chops-sharp clavicles
Increasingly round tummy above thinly matchsticks of legs
A child hanging on a shrunken shred
Of its slim dermis and her was tissues of coveted *******
And we say she is breastfeeding
Fingers bony like satan's claws, feeble and brittle
On her thin slowly leaving heaving chest
Enjoying mother's nourishing milk
An image, an illusion of her and it sufficiently suckling
Who brought war, war to this side of the world-Africa, Africa!?
© Kìùra Kabiri. All rights reserved.
Feb 22, 2017
Feb 22, 2017 at 3:00 AM UTC
I was wondering if after all
I've done to you,
You left me alone in the darkness side
Full of agony and suffering
The shimmering lights
You bestowed upon
Now, just a memoir in the past
I couldn't ponder, why-------
Why we end up in here?
I can't let you go
Until now, my heart keep chanting your name so loud
I've didn't done wrong
I don't broke the promise we bind
In the first place, you know
No words that can described,
How much I love you?
I'm going to be insane
Thinking, how I can fix everything?
I miss you **** much!
Please came back my dear!
Light me up.
Free me from this pain.
Mar 30, 2019
Mar 30, 2019 at 3:13 AM UTC
Wild onion giving the wind away , a rebellious occidental gust ever so
slightly ringing the farm bell today ...Pie pans throwing sun lit reflections over untilled plats of earth , pine tree music with every ****** of air , every tantalizing breath .. The blue eye with contrails , the scraggily hair of a stray dog in every direction , walking coarse skin , high stepping all manner of human corruption and dander , feeling a bit parasitic about the whole encounter . Mans tug on the world , his greedy self proclaimed domineering attitude , the forest of March will prove to be a glimpse of July in a world of unchecked destruction and denial ..A Red Hawk passionately concurred with my write as I left the pine grove for home this night ..
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 3:28 PM UTC
Feed,
Fodder,
give your body what you oughta,
Needs,
get Fulfilled,
breaking new ground untilled,
Greedy,
it is Alarming
means somebody else is starving,
Food
take eat
Love
if found
repeat and give away
Shelter
safe place to eat food, and
Sleep
and dream of
Acceptance
that it is a reality,
Potential,
potential, great to be aware,
but dare, to go beyond the dream
and live.
Food, water, sleep happens to be only one part
so get a taste for life, good for your heart.
Somewhere, safe there, You have to start.
Apr 7, 2014
Apr 7, 2014 at 12:17 AM UTC
Fallow;
ice scarred and sun scorched,
untilled and untillable,
thrush, worn, and wasted
Bones of the land,
grow inward from the shore
White coral sand blossoms
and burns at the edges;
dry, blasted
our broken lands
Apr 22, 2020
Apr 22, 2020 at 9:21 PM UTC
tears fall
smiles died
windows closed
slammed doors
empty halls
For You and I
Feb 4, 2017
Feb 4, 2017 at 10:40 AM UTC