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Best Farm Poems

Below are the all-time best Farm poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of farm poems written by PoetrySoup members

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New Farm Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Farm poems are below this new poems list.

Tonight I farm by Raynes, Lewis
Down On The Farm by Smith, Tim
Writing Songs At Thomo's Farm by Duggan, Peter
Night sky at the farm by emery, clark
Farm on a Hill by Rose, Brynn
The Silent Code of the Animal Farm by Mumo, Hannington
The Farm by Sugarek, Trisha
FORGETFUL FARM BOY by Muideen, Afolabi
I was raised on a little old farm by NEWAN, SHARLOTTE
Chicken Soup Farm by Dillenbeck, Gerald

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The Best Farm Poems

Details | Farm Poem | |

Haiku 19 Barn Life

                                                    Haiku Form

                                              hay, manure, cows
                                         a low long bellow --  ancient
                                      birthing call,  s w o o s h . . . life


                                                   Tanka Form

                                         barn filled with hay, cows
                                    moist heat, the smell of manure 
                                     wet nose, brown eyes --- time
                                        a hard bellow, the birth cry
                                     final push . . . s w o o s h, miracle

dedicated to Mary Jo, you rock country girl!

David Meade

Copyright © David Meade

More great poems below...

Details | Farm Poem | |

Chapter and Verse a live poetry recital

Good evening Ladies 
May I say, I am honored and privileged
As this is the first ever time
I have read in front of a woman’s only group
And a fine group of bovine beauties you are

I truly hope you have enjoyed dinner
The poetry portion of your evening is about to begin
First I wish to thank Betsy for inviting me
She mooooed me over from day one
I must also offer my sincere apologies
If I have eaten any of your relatives
A simple but tasty misunderstanding at beast, ops best

This evening’s poetry reading will have background music
Lyrcial Jazz music is like the spice to my gourmet poetry
Richard here is on Sax, and Dave will play the guitar
So feel free to sit or stand, rain or shine
Graze upon this artistic feast of cultural poetry

I shall recite four movements here, thus to allow you
Breaks for your own movements so to speak
I wish you an udderly fantastic evening

This piece is called “Chapter and Verse”

Part 1)

Borrowed words

Overdue loans
On faded words
Tears melting ink
Wisdom's die 
Collection time
Bankrupt soul
With no words to share

Moooooo mooooooo Mooooooo 
Mooo Mooooooo Mooooooo Moooooo
Cow bells jingle
More Moooos moooo moooooo

You gals are sooooo  Mooovarlous

Now for Part 2)

Overdue books

Wine splashes the pages
Of my mind
Melancholy whispers to me
Here, here 
The past sings me a song
Withered books 
Our collective memories
Buried in the pages of history

Moooooo mooooooo Mooooooo 
Mooo Mooooooo Mooooooo Moooooo
Cow bells jingle
More Moooos moooo moooooos

Oh My God really stop it
You Gals are udderly amazing
Thank you so much

I really appreciate your Cowcil

On to Part 3 Ladies

Sad Chapters

I danced 
I drank
Love and wine
Penelope Sosa
Stole heart and mind
Debts paid
Her beauty refined
Lonely betrayal
I dine on sad chapters

Moooooo mooooooo Mooooooo 
Mooo Mooooooo Mooooooo Moooooo
Cow bells jingle
More Moooos moooo moooooos

You gals really are overdoing it
However I do have a part 4, you are such a great audience
For fans like you, I am willing to milk this poem to the end

The last Verse

Mathematical potions
Equations that dream
A soft kiss lade upon my sleeping heart
Is it you? Is it you that lightens my soul?
Spread your wings for me
I shall smell the sweet scent
Of your poetic juices
As we lay entwined
Inside the last verse

Standing Mooooooooovations
Moooooo mooooooo Mooooooo 
Mooo Mooooooo Mooooooo Moooooo
Cow bells jingle
More Moooos moooo moooooos

Well I must thank you dearly
I confess I was somewhat Cowardly to perform
However you gals where just great
I will be signing autographs back at the barn!!!!!!

Note: This poem was sponsored by Dr Doo Little

Copyright © arthur vaso

Details | Farm Poem | |

Shadow to Shadow - Shadows Contest

Shadow to shadow, shade to shade
In youth the Eden where you played
was left bereft, destroyed, decayed,
by trusts malignant masquerade

Shadow to shadow, shade to shade
Sweet grass dies in your fallow glade
as opportunist needs invade
and bleed the life from every blade

Shadow to shadow, shade to shade
First, victims surging song is brayed,
then dirges of the helpless fade
and urges pant their serenade

Shadow to shadow, shade to shade
Agendas you've arranged cascade
to keep your motives undisplayed
and cover cracks in your charade

Shadow to shadow, shade to shade
You've planted with your soiled spade
slick seeds of doubt in hopes that they'd
conceal the putrid plots you've laid

Shadow to shadow, shade to shade
Your blighted past will be replayed
and every bloom on whom you've preyed
must lie now in the beds you've made

Copyright © Lycia Harding

Details | Farm Poem | |


THE SWAINS Under cumulus clouds, grew cauliflowers. He planted them with love because I adorn them when they were harvested to the table of healthy man, my husband; sons; and brothers. All were vegetable farmers of California. We woman loved cooking for them. They say there never was a better meal than this one every time we cooked. That was each day of the yield. Spirits were high as hell. The profits were insurmountable. They increased each year. The sunshine brightly and this eased our fears. We became wealthy and retired well. Our children went off into the world. Both sons became Attorneys of Law. _____________________________| Penned on October 30, 2014!

Copyright © Verlena S. Walker

Details | Farm Poem | |

Comin' Hame - Coming Home -Scottish Dialect

A angry sky, as cauld as Loch Lomon'
fair drew me out from cot o' peat, an' bed.
The wolves wus wailin', an' thund'r respond'd
Ah gather'd tam, me tartan, an' dug Red.
To  'orse ah took an' found the 'erd sam 'urt. 
The 'ungry wolves 'ad already fed. 
Inta the bi'er blaw, the rill ah skirt 
thro braes a white, t'ward ham an' fire burnin'
the bleatin' sheep, the 'orse an' ah alert.
We wud mak it hame, stomaches churnin'
O smell the peat fire on the wild wind now,
'ear the cows faint distant ca', a lowin'
'erself wud know, we'r near ta the brow.
Noo, we 'ad beat the storm hame, an' kep' me vow.

Dedicated to Jimbo Goff & James Fraser
and the spirit of Robin Burns

See About the Poem

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi

More great poems below...

Details | Farm Poem | |

Surprise Factor

    (Why I'm Still Breathing)

When the cow was dry, she was compliant.
When she calved, she turned vicious
and no fence could hold her,
but she gave milk in abundance,
and Dad refused to sell her.

She chased Mother 'round and 'round the barn
until Mom panicked, climbed the corner logs,
and perched under the roof,
clinging like a cicada shell on a weed-pod.
Beasty pawed and bellowed until Dad came home.
"I could gain on her on the corners,"
Mother said, "because I could turn faster,
but she gained on me on the straightaway."

Plug-ugly tore through the fence,
into the garden, where Mom and I worked.
"Run, Cona Faye, run," my mother shouted.
How did she know? The cow passed Mother
and thundered straight for me. I ran.

At the fence, snorts filled my ears. Hot breath
steamed my back. I saw myself stomped,
pulverized into the dirt. I turned, screaming 
at full volume, and flailed my arms
like a windmill in a strong wind.
That old red cow locked her front legs
and skidded like a freight train on full brake.

I seized the moment, and scaled that rail fence.

Copyright © Cona Adams

Details | Farm Poem | |

Florida Nature

The sun emerge from its hide, smiling bright and it glide Promising a fine stay, for those who toil by the day Oaks surround the landscape, as ferns add in to the grandeur A heron’s displaying majestic pose, the farmers toil with ardor The placid stream that flow, bearing success into the future A land that God has blessed, with serenity he suture The grassland spreading far and wide, down the country line we trod Wheels turning and a group so old, no place we haven’t rode Of sunshine state I speak to thee, its heritage and splendor bold As we turn a bend in road, of beauty that my eyes behold. We arrive at the marketplace, with stalls lining the street It’s the day of harvest, where a merry crowd will meet The stalls full and brimming, with the fresh produce Homemade things in display, of those the villagers use. Cheese, honey and pastas, that makes our mouth water Pickles, meats and soaps, are also things they cater. At night the moon peeps out, of promised passion sought And a few but lingers, to feel the cool breeze float From the cottages flow the sound of mellow laughter of happy wives and kids, who are well looked after. © (13 Feb '15) Inspired by the Robert Butler paintings, especially “Farmers’ Harvest”.
* Placed 4th in the contest 'Simply Beautiful' by Kelly Deschler on 5 April 2015.

Copyright © poesy relish

Details | Farm Poem | |

Natural Instinct

         Three Sonnets tell a story, in sequence.
[From the narrative poem, "Don't Go to Wyoming Alone"]

         I. Natural Instinct  (Chivalric Sonnet)

He saves a wad of cash and designates
the stash to finance trek in far-off land
in hunting boots and custom gun he built 
for me with love and hope for trophy grand.

"Is this a trip I've dreamed about?" I ask.
"Can I enjoy the hunt, savor the kill?"
I contemplate the danger in that land -
will heat, dry thirst and bugs defeat my will?

Might this be atmosphere I cannot stand?
Excitement builds as I heft gun with ease
and find the answer soon on target range
as my bull's eye displays my expertise.

Though I have no inborn instinct to kill,
my reason tells me not to waste this skill.

               II. Lost Vacation  

Our trip is planned, we'll soon be on our way,
he's called and found the perfect spot to stay.
The husband leads you out to hunt the wild
as room is cleaned, clothes pressed, wife cooks gourmet.

Alas, things change, his current bent is new.
While Mom and I go west without a clue
he flies the skies to satisfy desire
from Air Force days where first the hunger grew.

But circumstance forced him to stay aground,
our funds were tight and kept him budget bound.
Since children now are wed and off the corn
he's free to choose to play or bum around.

When we return from trek out west by train,
he's spent vacation cash to buy a plane.

              III. New Dimension (Couplet Sonnet)

What fun we've had in years of golden age
as we, in freedom's row, our thirsts assuage.

We climb above the ground in utter glee
and view the earth below from Cherokee.

We join a pilot's group and meet new friends.
We travel now as time and space portends.

Each time we fly we bring two more because
two empty seats invite our friend's' applause.

But soon we build a smaller home down south.
I close my ears as words come out his mouth,

"The plane's for sale, I need a tractor now
to plow off snow and grade the road."  It's how

our trip to Africa, in quickened time,
became a tractor.  Surely, that's a crime.

Copyright © Cona Adams

Details | Farm Poem | |

Rain on the Scarecrow

We ask God’s blessings for food we eat;
those who toil to grow it deserve our prayers too.
In 1985, Farm Aid musicians took their beat,
rocking in donations for those who grew
in debt, not just crops, as mortgages came due.

Mellencamp cried out, “97 families lost 97 farms!”
Just the local tally of the Reagan years' unprecedented foreclosures
that threatened the nation’s bread baskets, sending out alarms.
Farmers’ financial disclosures
were bloodied by high-risk exposures.

We ate the fruit, but cursed the price.
Bounty still filled the market’s produce section,
even as running a farm became a roll of the dice.
A Kansas tornado would have had less convection
than growers who were denied debt protection.

Bailout money was tossed to the auto maker,
where corporate jet vacations sparked ire.
But farmer suicides climbed, blood on each acre.
A national famine might have transpired
if to save farmers, rock musicians had not conspired.

Inspired by John Mellencamp’s Farm Aid song “Rain on the Scarecrow.”  An Indiana farm boy, Mellencamp recruited Neil Young and Willie Nelson to organize the first Farm Aid concert in 1985, raising awareness about the loss of family farms.  The Farm Aid concerts have remained an annual event over the past 29 years, and as of 2014, the organization has raised over $45 million to help farmers.  I chose this song because it demonstrates the social consciousness of rock musicians.

Song is at:

*Poem written November 8, 2014 for Kelly's "I Love Rock and Roll Contest.

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire

Details | Farm Poem | |


Hot barn days
Dogs abound...idling
Lazing... farmyard ways
Train away
Idyllic Texan Days
Feed n Fodder
Stallions Whinny
Mare`s in season
A slinking
Hay dust settlin
May a Farm boy
I might be 
Texan Homestead`s
Got me i`m 

big thank you for insight 
you know who you are !

Copyright © Ian Guyler

Details | Farm Poem | |

Just Down The Road


              Just down the road there is a golden field of hay
              where there once stood a home where my sister
              and I did play. The moss covered trees and yellow
              daffodils bloomed, and the smell of Mother's
              clothes drying as the hot, summer sun fumed.

              The air was filled with the June bug's song and
              the tractor tilling along the farm. 
              My sister's hair was honey blond and how she 
              laughed when I would tag along . Eyes of blue as
              the sky above but just being her sister, brought
              to my heart so much love.

              Day would pass and night appeared, and the moon
              brought fireflies to enchant the way to the raspberry
              patch where we believed fairies did stay. It's time to
              come in Pa would say, oh just let us have one more
              minute, Pa and we'll be on our way.

              Time has passed and childhood is gone but for me
              Just down the road, these memories will forever
              live on.

Copyright © Sharon Gulley

Details | Farm Poem | |


We are known for our football, bratwurst, and beer,
Iridescent blue lakes with fresh waters, crystal clear,
Summer's sun blazes hot enough to make skin burn,
Cheese producing dairy farms are around every turn,
Our bright autumn leaves change their colors with ease,
Near spring, the scent of lilac floats upon the breeze,
Snowy winters, with temperatures below zero degrees,
In our green forests, raccoons and deer have a home,
Near the roadside, wildflowers grow wherever you roam.

Harley-Davidson was born, where the eagles fly free,
Wisconsin is as close to heaven, as home can be.

Kim Merryman's contest - "Tell Me About Where You're From"

Copyright © Kelly Deschler

Details | Farm Poem | |

My Molly May

My Molly May

I had a little pony
I called her Molly May
So often I would venture out
And feed her bales of hay.

So then she’d frolic
Kick her heels up high
Round and round she would run
Looking sweet as she passed by.

She’d run until she was worn out
Then to the stable she would go
I’d bed her down then for the night
My love for her each day would grow

She was my, cutest Molly may
This pony always made my day.

25 September 2014

Copyright © Vera Duggan

Details | Farm Poem | |


    fattened lambs no longer
    laze in sun -
    market day dawns


Details | Farm Poem | |


He stands against the old barn door
relaxed not a confrontational bone,
thin      as a pitchfork's tine.

Farmhand, hunter, true-shooter,
the lens flatters him.
A ring of white T-shirt gives a reverse
halo to his lantern-jaw.
Loose fitting pants rumple
just right atop his     kick ass boots.

He stands against an old barn door
who held up who 	the real question—
a bit of James Dean   in pocket pressed hands,
Paul Newman in his eyes.

Flannel hugs him. 	(When the woman aren’t.)
Capped by a bent brimmed hat,
he's rolled to perfection.
I’m sure the name tag on his shirt
didn’t do him justice—

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi

Details | Farm Poem | |

Border Fence

The flush of spring has bought new life to romp in greening feed,
along the border with the forest where domestic flocks do breed.
Managed through the daylight by the fear of being seen,
the sentinels of death await for night when they are keen.

Though distant lights may glow as beacons for the lost,
guerrilla’s stream out silently in pack form to accost,
and satisfy their lust for blood without no grace or fear,
frustrating yet the hand of man. By dawn they disappear.

Far reaching eyes in anger lies where wilderness is dense,
I know my soul is being watched beyond the border fence,
locked into disappointment where flies gather at my feet;
There’s blood-stained wool on rotting flesh, with no thought to eat.

Immediate is my judgment for no trial is needed here,
I am the executor of the guilty, who dare to wander near.
Survival is the wisdom tho’ for the wily streetwise cur,
the frenzy’s not in pattern! It’s too late for where they were.

The night is cold and lonely with the urge for needed sleep,
but as the shepherd of my flock I must protect my sheep.
A pack will form again when blood is dry and lost its scent;
Until the last sheep drops their guard, no dog shall here repent.

The lead appeared Alsatian bounding surprised in its flight,
for its escape back to the bush in my sudden cheating light.
The echo of my three-o-three thundered through the hills,
with-in the change of retrospect. ‘Tis I who wants the kills.

Death took a holiday tonight where death was meant to be,
my shot was high or wide or low, ‘twas more shadow I could see.
Silence returned and in my light that scanned the field and scrub,
I knew that I was being watched, beyond a woodland shrub.

Copyright © Lindsay Laurie

Details | Farm Poem | |


“Can you smell something burning,” Dad frowned and I said “Yeah.”
It had the smell of cooking meat, as well as burning hair,
Dad stopped the truck, lifted the bonnet… “Blimey look at that!”
Something was mangled by the fan, looking like Mum’s cat.

“Strike me pink” Dad shook his head, “Mum’s cat’s been on the motor.
It’s been killed by the fan”; and we knew that Mum did dote her.
Dad looked at me with steely eyes, “Get the spade and dig a hole,
I’ll tell you now and only once… don’t tell a living soul”…

… I was halfway through my tea, staying quieter than a mouse.
Mum asked “Has anyone seen Tiddles? She’s not around the house.”
All Mum got was puzzled looks, and the shaking of each head…
Dad glared to remind me, ‘don’t tell a soul the cat is dead.’

Mum loved her cat so much; she’d have Tiddles on her lap
out on the porch at evening time. Contented she would nap.
I hated seeing Mum distressed, but Dad just acted bored,
when Mum said, “I’ll write a note, with an offer of reward.”

‘Ten pounds for her return’; I thought that Mum would smell a rat,
when Dad said “Make it twenty, if you really love your cat.”
The Ad’s printed in the paper, in the column ‘lost and found.’
Dad said to me “I’m feeling guilty now, with Tiddles underground.”

Dad let me drive the tractor while he spread the ragwort spray,
and then blackberries copped a dose before they shoot away,
he emptied out the tank and we went home to wash the gear.
The Evans’ car’s parked in our drive… “What are they doing here?”

Laughter’s in the kitchen; a joyous Mother’s voice did say
“Young Misty here found Tiddles; she was hiding in their hay,
no wonder she would not come home.” I watched Dad’s eyes and jaw.
… Twenty quid, the cat is back… a box of kittens on the floor.

Copyright © Lindsay Laurie

Details | Farm Poem | |

The Farm

The Farm  ©

Fields of mustard
sway in a light breeze
off the river
farm dogs return 
dusted in yellow

the clapboard gray of
the farmhouse
weeps old memories
generations of pea farmers,
hunters, fishermen and cooks

heady fragrance of cooking food
saturate the senses as
the screen door slaps shut

the matriarch sings out
‘tea party!
and the city folk sit ‘round a table
laden with baked chicken that was
pecking out a meal in the yard that day
fried venison steak and mashed potato
green beans and corn hanging from the vine
just minutes ago
her biscuits and cornbread; the stuff 
dreams are made of

Later they sit on the warped porch steps
listening as the geese honk their way in 
to the seed rich fields and
 their nightly respite

bats fly across the moon, 
frogs call out their secrets,
a loon wails its loneliness
old stories are told

Trisha Sugarek
Moths and Machetes  

Copyright © Trisha Sugarek

Details | Farm Poem | |

The Farmer

The field is THERE
And that is all that can be said.
No feature worth recording.

The farm is FLAT
And that is all that can be said.
No need for more.

The farmer in this life,
And that's not all that I need say.

Copyright © Julia Ward

Details | Farm Poem | |

Farm Life at Dawn

As dawn starts to streak across the sky
heralding in the new born day
feisty rooster already perched on the wall
giving forth with all his might, he crows

Sleepy hens, ducks and geese scat for worms
low moos emitting from the milking parlour
mingling with the sucking sounds of machines
as they gather the rich creamy milk in containers

Banging of impatient hooves from the shire horses
hungry for their grain, tossing heads and stamping 
loud neighs and whinnies fill the early dawn
so they will be at work ploughing and farrowing fields

Farmhouse door opens smell of eggs and bacon wafting
farmer's wife emerges carrying pails heavy with slops
as she nears the pigsty the grunts and squeals grow
barging, pushing as they search for tasty scraps 

A caterwaul of noise from the rookery deafening
as they wheel and spin around the yard thieving
slowly as the animals return to the sweet meadows
life settles back to normal, until tomorrows dawn

written 09/15/2013

contest Nature

Copyright © Shadow Hamilton

Details | Farm Poem | |

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 
His memory, while staring at the sign..."Here lies both a loving wife and future 

Copyright © John Sine

Details | Farm Poem | |

Farmer's Seed

You are the salt of the earth;
Farmer, we say that to you;
You are hardworking and true;
We recognize your worth.
To the crop you give birth,
The soil, you subdue,
Cornstalks break through,
to avert famine and dearth.

But where is your son?
He’s not learning how.
He won’t be outdone—
living the life of high brow,
He forfeits work in the sun,
renounces his seed and the plow.

Copyright © Kim Bond

Details | Farm Poem | |

Country Life

Fields filled with stalks of corn
A plow that is dirty and worn
Jars of milk and eggs from chickens
For breakfast cooking in your kitchen

Cows are mooing-- Roosters crowing
Planting seeds for veggie growing
Muddy pigs are such a fright
Goats eat everything in sight

Horses neighing in the barn
For a carrot to munch on
Dogs are rounding up some sheep
Hay is stacked in big tall heaps

Porch swings used most every night
To see stars shining oh so bright
Country songs are playing loud
To attract a dancing crowd

Neighbors waving and say hi
Every time that you pass by
Country life is hard and fun
Lots of work is getting done
Good times start and never end
Until the sun wakes up again

Copyright © robin davis

Details | Farm Poem | |

Life on the Farm

Life is fun down on the farm
Though the work is often hard
Folks know how to turn on the charm
They raise their food in their yard!
Farmers feed the people on the boulevard
They never do anybody any harm
Farmers hold others in high regard
Your worries they will quickly disarm
You will quickly let down your guard
As they fill up your arm
With the food they raise in their own yard.

Copyright © Marvin D. Schrebe

Details | Farm Poem | |

Farmers Wish


Woke up this morning with the sun in my eyes
Wishing for rain in the clear blue skies
We’re faced with a problem every single day 
Our stocks are all dying right were they lay

Tanks are all empty once again, bore’s all dead & dry
Banks want more money, but lord how I try
Year after year praying for rain
Hail Mary, my prayers are in vein

I can remember when I was a boy 
My dad and his dad too, had so much green
Had so much green green grass

We used to play and swim in the creek 
But all that I’m left with is barren ground
More dead sheep, stacked ten deep

I can’t give up not while I breath
Cause I’m a fair dinkum Aussie guy,
Who never ever gives up
Too much to live for before I say goodbye

So while there is food on the table and a beer in hand
I’ll keep on fighting for my home on the land
With my wife standing tall along my side
We’ll keep on fighting till the day we say goodbye


Copyright © Roger Hawes