If rocks or thorns are left upon the ground
by those who have been hired to tend to
his field, the Farmer won’t keep them around
very long. Instead, He will look for new
farmhands who will care for the land. The crop
is, after all, the purpose of His field.
He will seek for workers who will not stop
striving to find ways to increase the yield
produced by the land. Labourers like these
are worth every penny that they are paid,
but woe to those who do not seek to please
the Farmer. They have cause to be afraid!
Without care taken to help the plants thrive
The crops that grow will struggle to survive.
Just a note about the image: I decided to try my hand at drawing a thistle. I’ve never been much of an artist, but had the desire to try anyways. Watercolor pencils on paper. I utilized the “watercolor” aspect of the pencils in the top of the thistle only.
that the pyramids
were constructed to make
us wonder about Egyptian technology
or would those ancient Egyptians engineers
wonder why modern technology isn’t more advanced?
I could not abide your inflammatory words
your writings that went against the status quo
and so I took your pages and painted over
all the objectionable verbs, nouns, adjectives
I redacted you down to “ifs”, “ands” and “buts”
to snuff out each spark of revolution
not knowing what you were trying to teach
and not caring to understand
So now I stand back
and watch a conflagration
of my own making
too late did I learn:
my Wite-Out® is flammable too
This whole piece was inspired by looking at a bottle of Bic® Wite-Out® correction fluid and seeing a label indicating “Danger: Flammable”
Tomorrow (Nov.11), I will be attending a Remembrance Day service (along with thousands of others across this country and in many other countries around the globe. In Canada, the poem “In Flanders Fields” by John McCrae is one part of the service. Please click on the poem title to read the original poem!
The purpose of Remembrance Day (Veteran’s Day in some countries)is to do exactly what the name suggests: Remember. Remember the men and women who sacrificed their lives on fields of battle so that you and I could enjoy the freedoms that we have today. Countless lives were lost in far too many bloody conflicts…but I live a life of freedom today because those men and women died for future generations. So for one day, we set aside a few moments to remember what our freedom cost.
In 2014, I wrote a poem to encourage my readers to remember throughout the year (and not just on November 11). I used the same poetic structure as McCrae used, and echoed some of his words as well. I hope that be re-posting my poem, you might be inspired to remember not just on November 11, but throughout the year: that your freedom did not come for free…
In Flanders Fields by John McCrae
Is heard on each Remembrance Day
And on that day, with heads bowed low
We think of those who fought the foe
“We will remember”, we all say
Yet in that pose, we do not stay
And soon we turn and walk away
To let forgotten poppies blow
In Flanders Fields
Those young men died, so that today
In freedom we can work and play
They paid a hefty price, and so
Let’s not forget the debt we owe
To those who will forever stay
In Flanders Fields
Roses might tell you they’re not always red
and violets are sometimes not blue
the things that you think of as facts in your head
are not necessarily true
To say your work is second rate
Would give more credit than you’re due
I won’t say that you’re dumb as rocks
‘Cuz rocks are brighter far than you
You claim that you can do your job
You even say you know your stuff
No evidence though have you shown
I have to say”enough’s enough!”
This latest stunt, though, takes the cake
You said to us you’d booked a trade
The plumber, though, had not been called
How long will you keep this charade?
You take the word “incompetence”
To levels never seen before
Each time I think I’ve seen your worst
You find a way to make worst more.
Roses are red
These words are purple
My poems always rhyme
Soil quality will affect the yield
that a farmer can expect from his land.
for untamed land to be turned into field,
he will have to do much hard work by hand
such as clearing rocks and trees, or burning
brambles and weeds before he will ever
plant any seeds. The process of turning
land from rugged to fruitful is never
easy. Likewise hard work is needed to
make a wise adult out of a child.
Discipline and counsel are needed through
childhood or the youth may remain wild
To give his future crops the greatest worth
The Farmer knows He must prepare the earth.
Hard packed, sun -baked dirt is of little worth
and so The Farmer uses blade to break
the ground before seeding. This way the earth
is made more receptive. He’ll also take
fertilizer and spread it on his land.
This process adds nutrients that his crop
will need. Does the soil ever demand
that the tilling and fertilizing stop?
If you have faced trials or trouble in
life, you are blessed! For these can be the hoe
and fertilizer that help you begin
to be soil in which good crops will grow
The Farmer understands that on his field,
soil quality will affect the yield.
To read all parts of this sonnet cycle (as far as completed), hover over “The Elemenent – Sonnet Cycles” at the top of the page and select “Earth”.
Sharing this at dVerse for Open Link Night
The sky was brass that year in spring, there was no rain in sight
Old Sol burned fiercely in the day, cool did not come at night
The townsfolk spoke without much hope, for there was little doubt
That with the land so parched and dry, this year would be a drought
The farmers planted, knowing that they sowed their seeds in vain
Unless things changed and changed real soon, the fields would grow no grain
Town Council rationed water, for they had to draw the line
If anybody had green grass, they’d have to pay a fine
Then fin’ly in July the clouds came, white and tow’ring high
And at the top they flattened, making anvils in the sky
The children laughed “now we’ll have rain! We know that it can’t fail”
But those who had more years said, “go inside, we’re in for hail”
The kids were right: the rains came down in buckets and in sheets
and chunks of ice like baseballs fell on houses and on streets
This rain was not the kind that folks had wanted on their ground
For though the rains had fin’ly come, now all the land was drowned.
Written for dVerse, where quatrains are being explored. I have written a poem in the style of a “fourteener”. Each quatrains follows an AABB rhyme scheme.