Your Poems, Your Stories » Eden

“Save the Pheasants”

PrairiePoems — Wed, 24 Jun 2009 03:51:30 +0000

The pheasants are starving in
four foot af snow!
With Northerners blowing, at
twenty below!
Out there in the Soil Bank, wher
snowdrifts are deep.
The pheasants are lying, for-
ever to sleep!

The news came from Washington,
right from the wire-
“Feed-the-poor-pheasants!” like
a prairie on fire!
John found a pheasant, its last
strength was shorn,
And it died in his hand, too late
to eat corn!

The pheasants get such a sad
gleam in their eyes,
When they take the last look, at
the wide open skies!
They can’t dig through snow, a
few weed-seeds forlorn,
And all that they need, a few
handfuls of corn!

The big Soil Bank acres, that’s
where they lay,
The snow is so deep, and they
can’t get away!
You find the big holes they dug,
struggling along,
With nothing to eat, and the
strawpiles are gone.

The spring-days are only a short
ways away–
The brook will be singing, where
soft breezes play:
The grainfields will wave, as the
warm wind goes by:
But not for the bird who looked
last at the sky.

They once were so happy, the
summer-days made
“A Garden of Eden!” in sunshine
and shade,
They died in a snowdrift, for-
saken, forlorn,
When no one came down the
road, bringing them, corn.

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at “Save the Pheasants”.

Memories of Summer

PrairiePoems — Wed, 24 Jun 2009 03:48:32 +0000

My brother J.O. Christianson left home at seventeen, went to Minneapolis. He went to
St. Paul Farm school college for forty years and with the superintendent for thirty years.
Was Knighted by the King of Sweden for starting the foreign student exchange.

John had been out here at HOME, in Dakota, and head seen the bundle-stacks,
and the HOBOS pitching them in the machine, and these bundles were the
“MEMORIES OF SUMMER”……

My heart, O it’s not in the city…..
With its crowds, moving where, no one knows!
It is out on the plains….that are pretty………
With their winds….and their storms……and their snows!

Its out where the sunsets are gleaming!
In purple, and russet, and gold!
And the freedom is great as is told in
The tales of the VIKINGS of old!

Its out where “THE MEMORIES OF SUMMER”
DO STAND IN THE TRAIL OF THE BO-
Who comes with his pitchfork, and “hummer”- (little tune he hums)
AND STAYS TILL THE NORTHERNERS blow! (NORTHERLIES)

THE PRAIRIES…..THE PRAIRIES ARE CALLING!
Me back to my horse and my plow-
AND IT’S THERE THAT MY BUNK I’LL BE HAULING
AS…..SOON…..AS….THE….FATES….WILL….ALLOW!

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Memories of Summer.

chaos

jorc709 — Tue, 01 Jul 2008 16:06:32 +0000

spinning out of the pool

of chaos

forcibly reordering life

back to the normal

the sedentary

the easy

still there is

the writing in the wall

caged passion

fire and ice

where is that woman

locked her up

threw away the key

again

cause chaos leaves scars

and those in it’s wake

will never be the same

so why

do i miss it so

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at chaos.

Damn…

kunjubi — Thu, 29 May 2008 15:39:25 +0000

The divine words of god, were heard
Like the chirping of a bird,
“Here is Man”; “He is my beloved son”….
Man sitting in the Garden of Eden
In paradise, said:” Amen! So be it;
Peace unto you, my God.”

But when he plucked the fruit of
That tree of dreams, the voice
Changed and became harsh,
That of God, with discord;
The horrid voice uttered,
“Here is man; I have rehabilitated him,
Into the hell; let him be there.”

In there, the man said:
“Amen; Hallowed be Thy name, Thank you, Creator,
So be it; thank you again.”

And, he started carrying the burden
Of his Eternal despair, and despondency
From that moment.
God shuddered and His eyes
Were inundated by tears;
Man is still trying to wipe away
The tears from his cheeks.
To see a happy smile, on His visage…

This post was originally published on Your Poems, Your Stories at Damn….