Treasure Island

Tirupathi Chandrupatla


Cornfield (Maize Field)


As I take my walk
By the cornfield
Of tall standing
Vertical stacks
Golden tassels
Waving on the heads
Of a huge class
Of graduating pupils
Clad from head to toe
In lush green robes
I begin to wonder
What a service it is
This farmer's effort
To feed all the rest.

Seeds that are sown
Open up to germinate
Growing in height
A long wait it is
For the anxious farmer
Who watches with delight.

Tassels keep shedding
Grains of pollen
On to silks of the ear
Pollination at work
Seeds form on the cob
Ear keeps growing
At node in the middle
Where leaf meets the stack
Corn on the cob
A delight to eat.

Stacks and ears
Must dry on the field
Which turns golden
Pleasing the eye
With birds flying
And farmer keeping watch
Field seems to look
Like von Gogh's painting
Machines and labor
Harvest the grains
Grains're our food
Grains're our life
Grains're the seeds
For a new crop to grow.

Submitted: Tuesday, July 23, 2013
Edited: Wednesday, March 05, 2014

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Topic(s): nature

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

Cornfield is Maize Field in many parts of the world.

Comments about this poem (Cornfield (Maize Field) by Tirupathi Chandrupatla )

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  • Doug Bentley (7/25/2013 2:27:00 PM)

    This is art. A series of metaphoric balances and progressions based on similarities between farm and school. Corn stalks and students, both grow under the farmer's/teacher's care to be, alas, fit food for the gods (ie. business) ? This is art. (Report) Reply

  • Thomas A Robinson (7/25/2013 7:18:00 AM)

    The circle of life repeated every year to perfection.
    It is the same painting every year but more magnificent than
    last years.Also we are the same stalks of corn with our tassels tossed i to the air.
    Every year some become picked and harvested for their ears to enable life to procede
    as it should. (Report) Reply

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