Bags of Grain

I have had a very fruitful harvest,

My storehouse is full of grain. 

There are sacks upon sacks in assembly,

And I am in gain.

A bag of grain

Can feed a family. 

A bag of grain, 

Is wealth. 

One woman can eat only so much bread. 

One woman,

Limited times, 

To be fed. 

It is gluttony to keep it. 

It is gluttony to eat

More than your fill. 

I am in gain. 

What uses are there 

For grain? 

Such a plentiful harvest.

The storehouse is full. 

Grind grain,

Make flour. 

Sell grain,

Make a dollar. 

You can feed 

animals, 

Many will eat. 

Many will cluster. 

Forty-Thirtyone

Will I hear you in the quiet?

All I need is there. 

I do feel faint.

Tell me that I can

Understood, I am not

Perhaps not human

Only autopsy will tell

Now, we wait. 

Tell me that I can

Help my unbelief

Each breath takes air from me. 

Let me be understood,

Or, let me be gone. 

Really, I do feel faint.

Determined yet, to stay. 

Blossoms

The start is clear, 

The blossoms appear.

There's a bloom across my tree.

In each, there is a seed. 

Blossoms die sometimes

Sometimes I kill these. 

Blossoms come quickly. 

Fruit evade me.

Where, the fertile soil?

Where, the good earth?

Where, the strong rays?

Where, the bees?

Let that be me.

Better is one day,

Better is one day,

Better is one day,

Better is one day.

I meditate on how little I know,

And face the vastness of God.

Worship follows awe, and silence;

I am humbled and overjoyed.

Let me be good soil,

Let me be good earth.

Or, let me be seeds,

Honest and plentiful. 

Plants grow from soil,

Water and Sunlight.

They spring up from seed,

Let that be me.

Whatever seed you plant,
Will only ever be that tree.
Love, Faith, Hope:
Let that be me.

Stalks.

The stalks have wanted to come up for ages,

But I protected them with soil.

I could sense their need for nourishment, so I fed them.

More earth, more fertile coverage. 

I watered them too, 

And took keen note of their spot. 

I believed in the plant,

But I was afraid it would come up. 

With water, and food and the promise of light, 

Maybe one day, maybe. 

Fright. 

Just a little longer, under the earth. 

Earth is for roots, and sun is for branches. 

A Small request

I'm asking to avoid a fight, today,

Fights exist, and I'm aware of them,

But in this moment I'm seeking some foray

Of air, motion, colour, beauty and love,

Gobbling goodness

May I?

These hands

I have to do something with these hands. 

The fire burns me less when they are moving:

I could be broken, or I could be primed.

This could be a condition, or it could be time. 

Remember: Mill, not Monument.

No memorial of a past life

No statues, no stillness: there is still time.

Work is left to be done.