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Death Farm Poems | Farm Poems About Death

These Death Farm poems are examples of Farm poems about Death. These are the best examples of Death Farm poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

Details | Free verse |

The Loss of a Farmer of Man

The rivers of life are most dear to those with young.
These rivers supply life, ensuring the survival of what is most precious.
It is when the river runs dry; the last drops of liquid are tears...
Tears of all that is lost.

The fertile soil soon dries and becomes barren.
The efforts of man are unable to save the farm.
This farmer... a farmer for man... lost what is most dear.
His vision for the future has died.

The farm itself screams in pain as the river flows away.
Her life is leaving and she is unable to save what grows beneath.
What is most dear to the farm is dying.
Her life, everything she wanted... now stripped from her.

Such farms all have a gate that closes them to the rest of the world.
As the farmer stands staring at the sign above the farm... remembering that night.
He came from no where with no reason... stabbing his wife in her stomach and 
heart.
His memory, while staring at the sign..."Here lies both a loving wife and future 
mother."


Details | Free verse |

Take me to the countryside

Take me to the countryside 
where all the daffodils grow
fresh perfume saturating the air
dispersing sensational aroma
in the atmosphere.
Take me to the countryside
to inhale the balmy fragrance
of mother earth,
to walk on grassy lands
and hold each other hands.
Take me to the countryside
to gaze at the swaying trees, 
and listen to them humming breathlessly 
 in the chilly breeze.
enchanting birds singing in the gusty afternoon,
dancing vigorously to their melodious  tune.
Take me to the countryside 
where all the natural things grow,
tangerine, oranges , banana and  kiwi fruit.
homemade yogurt ,sweet yam
and fresh milk from grandpa’s lamb.
Take me to the countryside
to coalesce with earthy peasants, 
to run up and down the cornfield 
and waddle through onion beds.
Soak me in nature, 
and replenish my aching soul
purge my agonizing wound,
and distill my sorrowful tune.
My soul yearns for spiritual fulfillment
to drown the chaos from the external environment,
mineral water and running streams,
strumming guitars and melodious flutes
are singing harmoniously,
and whispering the truth.
lead me to a place of comfort,
a place where I can breathe,
a place of beauty and incomparable dreams.
Take me to the countryside
to mingle with the animals,
to go horseback riding,
and camp on the mountain top.
Take me away from this hopelessness,
to a place of peace and quietness.
Take me away from this desolation
and find away to solve this confusion.
I want to be free,
free from this burden and misery,
so take me with you before you leave.
When I close my eyes and count to three
at the sound of the whistle
I charge you to set me free.


©2013 Christine Phillips


Details | I do not know? |

Invincible

For how long and for how many times 
Should I be battered and crushed, oh my God!
Tell them their labour  will be in vain 
As after being unconscious 
I suffer no pain 
I know they still can go further
But it does not worry me
For the fact that if I die 
The matter is finished
If I do not 
What should I worry in life?

In fighting battles 
Of injustice and falsehood 
Or to revolt against a war thrust upon 
Or to protest against tyranny
I fear not death  
As I know I lose nothing 
Neither my honour 
Nor my conscience
Moreover, they fail to win 
Neither my heart, nor my mind 
In exchange of my death 
They gain not 
Even an iota of my loyalty
Nor an inch of unsaleable soil of my soul 
Except my dead body. 


Details | Rondeau |

He was the one to stop me


Long time in the agricultural field , working under the rising sun ,
counting the amount of time , to lead a lax time with my wife and son ,
the time never came , but I passed a dozen of month ,
where my master stopped me , leering at me like a beast of hunt .

I heard the legato of my wife - flowing with the midnight winds ,   
working continuously with no rest , logging all the work of my master -    who is malign ,
he - such a maniac , who stopped me from having sufficient food ,
coming from the dark lands of Mombasa ,  never came to know their kind of manhood .

Oh my dearest wife and son , I wish you knew the worst state of mine ,
I cried and prayed to my almighty Lord , - "When would I get rid of this worst - twinge ! ,"
I cried and cried till it became dawn , where the soil cried too - for thirst on and on ,
my eyes began remembering of the majestic "Magpie" , crying for nights in the native land of mine .

I kept on thinking for you my love , but my sinew grew weedy and  frail ,
never think for your frailty , for I have left you with nothing - but personality ,
the world is a stage which is too callous , no place for us , but only  devilry ,
  say no to your failure , keep inviting your success - for there is no time for me to exhale .

Now, there is no time for me to seek success , for my body is completely useless ,
I have no pain, no fear, no joy , for I have left the stage fearless ,
I defeated my fiendish owner ,who kept me far from my wife and son ,
that comes the end of my life , the setting period of my sun ... .


Details | Ballad |

Dakota Skies Part 1

My brother and I walk the south pasture on an early spring day,
The warmth of spring slowly melting, the cold of winter away.
The golds of old growth are broken by the green of new,
And we are drifting in dreams, though we have work to do.
Gathering the cows for milking, we allow Father Time to pass by,
When a shadow in the barbed wire catches my brother’s eye.
We run through the stubble of last season allowing dreams to lead, 
Shaped by childhood stories which we had seen and read.
The cries draw us near where she hangs, limply as if half dead.
Each barb is cutting deeply. She slowly bleeds the earth red.
The life within her still pulsing its unbreakable bond
We make a solemn vow, a promise, to the crying, broken fawn.
Freeing her from her prison, we discover she is too weak,
She cannot stand or fight, has lost the force of her instinct.
My brother lifts her to his chest and orders me to go on.
For the chore of our cow gathering still must be done.

Miles between us and home, they trudge, a child with a child
Him dreaming of what will be when we tame the wild.
The weight of the burden breaks him and he falls to his knees.
Looks to the heavens for strength, but there is only me.
Her hooves drag along beside and I cradle her in my arms -
The weight of her pulling me downward, and yet I struggle on.
We entrust her to the dancing shadows of the oak tree in the yard,
And beg our mother for help but her motto is “Life is hard.
The veterinarian is more than we can spend. Milking still needs done.
Wild animals should be left to nature and the course which it will run.”
With a child’s gesture of love, we leave her and gather grain.
The labor of farm children - as essential as the rain.
(There is a Part 2 which can be found on my page.)


Details | Ballad |

Dakota Skies Part 2

Earlier than usual, for the pigs have broken free from their pen,
We are allowed to quit the milking because someone must get them.
The excitement of getting to be with her sets us to a run
But when we discover the pigs, we know that it is done. 
From the woodpile we gather two-by-fours with which we lay into 
The backs of the wild beasts because it is all we can think to do.
They had formed a circle around her, pushing and pulling her pain
Her hind legs were strings of blood and bone, little did remain.
With curses of Christian children we hurled into the wind 
We chased the beasts away from her, beating them for their sin.
Though her cries had quieted to whispers, she was crying still 
And this time we cried with her, for we knew the what will.
Mother, we asked for the gun, but father was not home.
Mother, we asked for the knife, but the good knives would not be won.
My brother made me wait inside so I ran to the kitchen window
And perched myself on the sink, pulling the curtain low.
He sat with her head curled in his lap in the shade of the old tree, 
Crying into the warmth of her neck and then to set her free
His small arms around her neck and his unanswered cries 
Echoing across the plains and through the cold Dakota skies.

2/25/14