And so all that we have nurtured has ripened and come to fruit. All is ready to be harvested. Your poems today are of harvest and all that it entails. Write a harvest poem. Reap the benefit of your gathered poetic skills. We’ll set the table for your word feast.
MARIE’S GATHERING OF THOUGHTS:
grace where you
kindness brings good
God’s most holy
softness ‘round your
truth to all you
love in all you
© Marie Elena Good, 2018
WALT, THE WORD REAPER:
HUNTER, GATHERER, REAPER, COLLECTOR
I search in the shadows
hoping to find that which I seek.
I take a peek under every leaf,
behind each tree hoping.
Setting my scope on the rhythm of your heart.
The great hunter with only the desire to love.
I pull the stalks of my disparaged existence,
sheared down by the scythe of life.
Bound and tethered, weathered and worn.
Shorn from the chaff, the wheat remains
to nurture and nourish, a flourish of love.
Into the silo of my heart, you are gathered.
At times, I portray the reaper.
Cloaked and hooded, flooded with emotion,
I have this notion that in the harvest of souls
similar and the same, I came to cut you free
from the bonds that imprison you.
Your freedom is your salvation.
I become the the collector,
the hunter of love,
the gathered of hearts,
the reaper of souls.
Harvesting all these
before my impending demise..
© Walter J Wojtanik, 2018
128 thoughts on “DAY 10 – AUTUMNAL P.A.D. CHAPBOOK EXERCISE: HARVEST”
Marie – this is lovely! I can see it read at a Thanksgiving feast. Walt…the images of harvest in juxtaposition with love is brilliant! I think your harvest will be bountiful!!
Here is my humble offering for today…
The sun plays shadow games on apples newly picked.
Glowing garnet with flashes of gold and emerald –
jewels of the orchard – ripe with treasure.
Like benevolent pirates – Robin Hoods of farmland –
we harvest the best of the horde.
But what are jewels without settings – simply so many rocks –
so, we clean and polish, fitting our abundance
into bowls and baskets – offerings to those who thirst
for the crisp, bittersweet snap of apples newly picked.
Oh my, too early in the morning and too rushed to finish so I can get ready for school. The second line should be “Glowing garnet with flashes of gold and emerald -”
Poetic blessings to all! I am off…
Fixed the line, Linda. I enjoyed your poem. The apple of all posted so far! But they are all gems in our eyes. Our poets all rock!
this is overflowing with a bounty of beautiful imagery for us to harvest
Lovely, I can picture it. Love the colours, like benevolent pirates, glowing garnet. Nice alliteration.
Lovely poem. Particularly like “jewels of the orchard.”
So lovely, Linda! What are jewels without settings, indeed. Yours, w0rd-perfect. And thank you for your kindness, as always.
Linda, this was a delicious harvest of visions, flavor.
Thank you all for your kind words! I love the challenge of writing before the day starts. I will once again be participating in the PAD for November, which also coincides with 30 Poems in November! the fundraiser for the organization I work for – Center for New Americans. I teach immigrants and refugees English and we write poetry together, to0. Their words always touch my heart. If you have time, take a look at my page and join us if you wish. Blessings to all!
Oh, Linda! A woman after my own heart! The Center for New Americans sounds WONDERFUL! Thank you for your time and efforts!
Love “jewels of the orchard “, and the snapping of apples.
AS YOU SOW…
Time to reap.
Keeping what we’ll use,
giving away what others need.
Either way, we’re helping each other to stay alive.
a true harvest of kindness
so very true.
Amen. I wonder if Fibonacci knows what he wrought.
Loved this Walt, the progression of concept to a soulful conclusion.
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Feeling the Change of Seasons
As comfortably as sowing leads to harvest,
faith summons us to follow.
As faithfully as spring leads to summer,
fall must always follow.
As assuredly as heart leads to joy,
love presently follows.
As completely as love leads to sharing,
peace eventually follows.
As ultimately as peace leads to calm,
life truly follows.
As predictably as life leads to death,
new life always follows.
And no matter how it follows, we surely will go! Lead by faith and conviction, we will not falter. Exemplary wisdom imparted here, Daniel!
Please make a small change in line one…”leads” rathe4 than “leading”
there is great wisdom and a peaceful feeling in this
Very ell stated.
I love the cadences of this piece; the whole effect is sort of a call-and-response.
Indeed it is, Bill. Thank you for pointing that out.
Daniel, as I said on FB, thank you for this!
And as I said on FB, thank you for you
I like it.
Daniel, these thoughts give purpose to change. Beautiful.
In an effort to convince everyone that our lives touch the lives of others in ways that we may never know, I present today’s offering. Hope y’all like it.
“Go Ye Therefore!!” the call came
In a revival tent way back when
From an old traveling evangelist
That looked directly at Matthew
With eyes that pierced his soul
As if God, Himself, had spoken
Matt stood and yelled, “Here am I!”
And the crowd applauded loudly
The evangelist held up his hand
“Praise God! Praise God! Praise God!”
As Matt was ushered to the front
And everyone prayed over him
The rest of the evening was a blur
So many congratulations and prayers
So much hopeful encouragement
So many promising to support him
And then there was his own shock
Still unsure of what he’d done
Nevertheless, Matthew pressed on
The hand of God had selected him
To “Go Ye Therefore” and preach
For the harvest was plentiful
But the laborers were so few and
Matt had so much harvesting to do
He would start in his hometown
On street corners and in pulpits
Taking any opportunity to spread the Word
To the lost and dying within earshot
But the townsfolk knew Matt’s past
And doubted his change was genuine
Jesus had the same hometown problem
So just like Jesus, Matt when on the road
From town to town and city to city
He spread the truth to all who would listen
Weeks turned into months, months to years
Years to decades, still he pressed on
Then one strange morning he awoke
Old, tired, and alone with his thoughts
Doubtful that anything he had done mattered
Where had the inspiration gone?
Had his efforts made any difference at all?
Had this life of dedication to God been a waste?
Matthew laid his head back on the pillow
And took his last earthly breath
When he awoke, he was standing at the Gate
Thousands were waiting to welcome him in
Thousands more lined the streets of gold
All to thank him for a life well lived
This was the unrealized yield of his efforts
Good storytelling, and in the tradition.
Great poem. Reminds me of that son Thank You for Giving to the Lord.
Well done, Earl!
“But the townsfolk knew Matt’s past
And doubted his change was genuine”
Goodness how this strikes home for so very many. How easy it is for us to doubt.
What a promise of God’s faithfulness to our faithfulness.
The Late Harvesters
The morning, dusted with a coating of frost,
Signals the end of my garden exploits
All the bounty has been gathered
The detritus of vegetable and flower composted
Leaves raked in loose piles, perfect for
Jumping into, or for mulching tender bulbs –
Protection from the snowy days to come
But the squirrels have just begun their harvest
Scurrying from tree to tree choosing only
The best nuts to fill their larders
I like the message in those squirrels…
I can see the squirrels doing their work. Nice poem.
nice word painting
I like this, Candy. We could learn from those squirrels, eh?
This was great, Candy. We often overlook the harvesters all around us.
We could learn a lot about survival from nature. If only we weren’t so self-absorbed sometimes. Thanks, Candy.
Squirrels are industrious. Know their needs, and are prepared.
Missed Monday as I was traveling…. so will combine the end of Sunday’s, Monday’s and Tuesday. Short and sweet.
and Ice cream
and Cinnamon Sauce
harvesting family memories.
Big smile here.
Marjory, you make me hungry. I’ve been travelling to, but to the hospital to see my Mom.
I pray your mom feels the arms of her heavenly Father around her.
Pray you all feel His love and strength
Makes me hungry both for apple crisp and for being with my family.
Awww! So sweet, this!
Again Marjory, such a master at this form, and the recall of those long-ago planted memories, just perfect for this moment.
thank you each for your comment. Glad that you can identify with it. 🙂
Short, always sweet, always well presented. Classic Marjory!
Thank you, Walt.
NO NEED FOR HASTE
should not harvest
today’s clouds too quickly,
lest we miss out on tomorrow’s
Nice, Connie. You shared memories with which I could identify, at least some of them. 🙂
William, love your poem for its brevity and being concise.
I’d love this on a refrigerator magnet, so I could see it daily.
Wisdom! Loved it, William.
A wonderful reminder for us-oldies and for the younger as well.
Sage. You are definitely a sage! Thanks William!
Wise advice, William. Good poem.
Walt, your piece reminds me of a homily. Wonderful.
How? Long winded and it puts you to sleep? 😉 I know what you mean. Thanks, Bill.
Marie, your poem has the persistent power of a whisper. Lovely.
What a lovely, lovely comment. Thank you!
This Darlene in 7hospital
I’m Ion the hospitAl and feel like I have had a close call
Darlene! Connie informed us. Many of us are praying for you, and looking forward to your return to us here, to bloom beautifully in our “garden.” May our loving Father grant relief from symptoms, and help you feel His presence moment-by-moment. Praying also for those who are caring for you. Gentle hugs!
FYI, I just learned from a friend, “Darlene Franklin is in the hospital with possible blood clots in her lungs. They’ve put her on blood thinners and diagnosed her with COPD and congenital heart failure. They are treating those and will send her home in a few days.”
I’m sure she’d appreciate your thoughts and prayers. My friend has one of the same publishers as Darlene, that’s how he got the news. Darlene is new to poetry but not to writing. She has published fifty novels or novellas.
Not fun. Will pray for her.
Oh no! Connie, thank you for telling us. May God make Himself abundantly known, and abundantly felt. May He touch her with His healing touch!
Thanks Connie for the heads up on Darlene. Certainly will be praying for her. Lord, send her healing!
Thanks for this, Connie. Darlene is held in our thoughts and prayers. She may be new to poetry, but has become a vital voice in our numbers. We wish her well. She is in Good Hands.
Thanks, Connie. I wish Darlene a quick recovery.
We neighborhood kids would run across fields,
over creeks and up and down wooded hills.
We would play make-believe with TV names,
all kinds of sports, an assortment of games.
We rode our bicycles and took our spills.
With all that action, we needed a snack.
Near harvest time, we didn’t have to go back.
All kinds of apples and elderberries,
plums, cherries and grapes from bushes and trees,
blackberries and hazel nuts, hard to crack.
And all of that fuel would last meal to meal.
Was free for the taking, we didn’t steal.
We thought ourselves lucky and even blessed.
To live how we did, we thought it the best.
Our friends from town didn’t have such a deal.
Should have placed my comment for Connie here. Oops!
I can picture this, Connie! And elderberries? YUMMM. I remember picking them with my grandfather, and cleaning them for my mom. Mom would then make elderberry pie, and elderberry jam. Our hands were stained for a good long while, lol! Thank you for this memory!
This reads like a piece from the Ideals magazine. Wonderful.
Oh yes, ‘country grown” is best.
Another rich memory, Connie, so well told.
A very focused theme and wonderfully written memoir of youth, Connie. his will read very well once fully assembled. Great work.
He looks out the window,
coffee cup in hand,
at the fields he once tended
watching others gather hay, straw, grain
and whatever else they grew
Ah, but he could still enjoy the fruits of the garden
the cucumbers, beans and beets
What colour this time of year
the gold of grain
green of the trees
that would soon turn to red and orange
from the work of hands
from the sweat of the brow
gathering it all in
He never minded the heat so much
if he could get out of it from time to time
an ice-cold drink and some shade
the company of his family
He knew whose hand sent the rain
and set the sun in the sky
didn’t like the hail so much
hard on the standing crops
but he was grateful for so many good harvests
would always be
he’d always had enough to feed his family
and to share
next to the greening of the fields in spring
this was his next favourite time of year
Reminds me of my dad. He didn’t farm but had a very large garden and a large family to feed.
Thank you, Connie. Was thinking about Dad looking out the window when he couldn’t do the work anymore. My cousins bought the farm and Dad was still interested in what crops they were growing where.
Such a joy to read, Carolyn!
Wonderful story, beautifully presented
A panoramic view of the Farmer, whose soul is in his soil. Loved this.
My grandfather had a lot across the way from our house. Anything that would grow in the area, grew on his lot. He shared with the neighbors. He just loved to garden. A gentleman “farmer”. Green thumb and a heart of gold. This bears some great reminders of a mentor, Carolyn. Thanks.
A lovely look at how things change, and how to make the best of it.
Probably not lined up exactly as wrotten, it copied and pasted left aligned but you get the idea.
a small kindness a sympathetic ear
some needed encouragement, words of honest truth
a spark of inspiration, some hope where there was none.
These are the fertilizer, the water and the sunshine
that gows the friendship I so nurture and cherish,
one that makes us both better than we were
before we became the mutual farmers
of the bond that we share.
You arre the bounty
Oh-so-much charm still right there, Linda! Love this! That said, I know you are disappointed it didn’t hold its form. I would be, too, as that is a lot of work and thought. I don’t think comments will hold a form, if I’m not mistaken. Walt?
Correct, but they should. The words are magic. The visual just adds a dimension all its own. However, the lack of form does not detract from your inspired intentions, Linda. Good work.
I love this, especially “mutual farmers.”
Linda, how strong a love for lovers who till, plant, and nurture life together. This was great.
I love “mutual farmers”. Wonderful, Linda!
well darn, when I posted it it left aligned again It is actually in the shape of a heart. It lost all its charm. 😦
Aww. No, it didn’t lose all its charm.
I like it as it is, lswenski.
Building My Tree
What a precious tree
I have built
from purpled pages
where words are arrayed
fancy and plain from
a humbled brain
filled with a harvest
and stanzas birds can sing.
Sara…”word-seeds, / sentence-limbs, / and stanzas birds can sing.” Perfect wording. Loved loved this.
I love your “tree”, and it’s clear what “tree” you mean! Casting doubt on Kilmer’s assertions, are we? Superbly done.
Thanks so much, Walt.
I think this is superb, and am impressed by the judicious use of “humbled.”
Walt, your gathering hunter is a valiant soul. Beautiful.
Marie, loved the links in your necklace of bountiful virtues. A treasure.
A Gathered Thought
A notion falls,
the meat of a nut,
inside a shell hard and dry,
to sleep thru winter soil.
A spring arrives,
and prompts the thought
to emerge from its womb
in a warming earth.
A seedling grows
becomes a sapling,
rises into a small and spindly tree,
with leaves, and blooms.
A day arrives
when changes come,
and from an old tree’s buds
nuts form and grow.
A front moves in,
dry stems grow cold
and on a predetermined day
a notion falls.
A poet tastes
the rich meat of a nut,
wanting a harvest of thought
for his art.
It’s then that a poem,
planted first in his mind,
breaks ground in his
© Damon Dean, 2018
(Ooops…S3, L3 should read “rises into a small and spindly tree.”)
There. Fixed it. All better.
Oh my, those last two stanzas are wonderful!
“I pull the stalks of my disparaged existence,
sheared down by the scythe of life.
Bound and tethered, weathered and worn.
Shorn from the chaff, the wheat remains
to nurture and nourish, a flourish of love.
Into the silo of my heart, you are gathered.”
Incredible stanza, Walt. All the words flow with meaning.
Late to the party.
This harvest was small
No quarts of beans, okra, jams
One night-purple fig
In the spring, seeds of love scattered, sown
on fertile soil of a fresh tilled heart
through His care have slowly grown
watered through gentle words of grace,
warmed in the rays of His loving face,
in autumn now gathered close,
a harvest of abundant gratitude and praise
to the One who tilled an empty field
and scattered seeds of love inside a soul.
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