Best Farmer Poems
The Farmer and his Corn
Snug and warm beneath the earth
The field awaits the coming birth
It holds the richness that they need
Provides the anchor for the seed
The farmer by his hand did sow
Soon he knows his seed will grow
When length of day and rain is right
And sun above shines warm and bright
The rain has come the soil is moist
New life burst forth, it has no choice
With a sudden wondrous surge
A field of green does emerge
The farmer feels it in the air
He comes to see his field so fair
Quietly, just after dawn
His brand new field of corn is born
Quickly grow those humble shoots
Drawing goodness through their roots
All hot and hazy summer long
The shoots thrust upward, straight and strong
Golden now as flaxen hair
New seeds upon them they do bear
The farmer picks an ear to eat
To check then that, his corn is sweet
The farmer comes to field one morn
Another with him that day drawn
No face had he and yet was grim
The corn all knew that it was him
A shrouded hood, his face to hide
He follows just two steps behind
The mice whose nests the stalks had borne
Know soon there will be no more corn
Not daring now to take a peep
They know for them they’ve come to reap
Both the men they carried scythes
They know they’ve come to end their lives
The farmer lifts the implement
To cut them down is his intent
A shadow fell, with mighty stroke
The farmers gone, with man in cloak.
I went to visit Farmer Fred
Found him out in his wood shed
He was splitting up some oak
As I approached, he paused and spoke
“When I was young, I served my country and was willing to give my life for what I believed this country stood for.”
“Today I’d give my life to protect my family from what this country has become.”
I looked at Fred a bit askance
And he could see at a glance
That he should explain his new stance
‘We will bury you’ is coming to fruition.”
“Our country is becoming the very thing I fought against.”
“Pravda had nothing on the propagandist news in our nation.”
“Give it any name or label you will, government control over people has failed “the people” throughout human history.”
“I do not hold that government is evil, rather power which is corrupting and evil.”
“It has always been about power over others.”
“Kings, Emperors, Chancellors, Prime Ministers, and Presidents all abuse it.”
“Using government power to control others by controlling their means of earning and amassing wealth.”
“Feudalism, Socialism, Communism, Fascism, all place government at the top and make all people beholden to government.”
“Free market capitalism was the only exception.”
“Some played it better than others and acquired more wealth and wealth is power.”
“Thus, the role of government should be to check that power by ensuring the playing field and rules were applied equally.”
“All men are created equal, not all outcomes should be equal.”
I hold my hand up
Fred paused quite abrupt
With a pained look like please don’t interrupt
“I will simply say, we are no longer ‘The land of the free and home of the brave’ rather the land of the aggrieved and home of the knave.”
This was all he had to say
Fred dropped his ax and walked away
A farmer drove into town.
Some posters made him frown.
They said, "Go to the Poll".
He said,"In the pasture below?"
"Right now, they're standing a'chowin'".
(To understand this limerick, you must understand that a polled cow has no horns from birth)
There once was a farmer called Mr Brown
Who with his duck in tow went off to town
The duck panicked and quacked all the way
The farmer had his fill and left the duck in the dray
Then disappeared into the Rose & Crown
There once was a duck left in the dray
Who settled down nicely in the hay
Then farmer Brown he did returned
To the noisy duck he had spurned
The duck had three golden eggs lay
The now inebriated farmer Brown was elated
On his newly found wealth he then debated
The duck was relieved in more ways than one
Otherwise off to the market she was gone
Thinking of her fate had he not waited
There once was a farmer Brown and his duck
Who both could not believe their newfound luck
Farmer Brown on himself a new tractor did spend
And the amazing duck got herself a brand new pen
Not strung up with her feathers ready to pluck
When Farmer Brown’s daughter grew busty,
The men pulling turnips grew lusty.
Brown then had to choose
Which shotgun to use
If one of those hands proved untrusty.
The pig overheard the farmers conversation,
talking about their crops and needing weather salvation,
the farmers saying "it'll probably rain when pigs fly!,"
to help out the pig thought he'd give it a try,
He wallowed out of his mud and snuck around,
to the inside of the barn not making a sound,
climbing up the ladder to the hayloft above,
he wished someone would help him by giving him a shove,
But then he cast all fear and anxiety aside,
with a running start he thought he would glide,
alarmed he fell down to the earth with a thud,
wishing he had never left the confines of his mud,
He was slightly bruised as well as his pride,
thanking God he had a pretty thick hide,
thinking wait till he tells his friends that are so dear,
to "not believe everything that you hear!"
2-24-17
My Fable~
He tills within the buzzard's flight
this cruel land he calls his home,
ewe and wether, milk and bucket,
broken spirit, ne'er to roam.
He's stuck for good, the laws of nature
guide him, be they right or wrong,
gone his hopes and his compassion,
save for the curlew's mournful song.
Courted by the country lasses,
love can't penetrate this soul,
pain and grief his only help meets,
daily toil his only goal.
Mother, father, gone to dust now,
confidants who'd calm his fears,
struggling with a heavy heart,
internalizing all his tears.
It's back to digging, discompacting
stones and boulders from the earth,
working 'til there's no more sun
in Wales, the cradle of his birth.
Striving against the elements
he stretches every nerve and bone,
every muscle, every sinew,
'til exhaustion brings him home.
Ne'er a smile adorns his visage,
there simply is no time for this,
haggard, careworn, slave to nature,
racked by weather's wantonness.
Two weeks gone, and there they find him,
chided by the wind and rain,
cadavered and condemned to fester,
never to be sad again.
*******
...dedicated to the Welsh poet R.S. Thomas
and his book, 'Song At The Year's Turning.'
Poor old Farmer McGillicuddy
He’s somewhat of a fuddy-duddy
He plows with an ox
All progress he blocks
No wonder his corn tastes so cruddy
I got out my pipe and stuffed it with pot,
You better believe, it held a whole lot.
I whipped out a lighter and thumbed up a flame,
Then sucked down that smoke which comforts my brain.
I tried alcohol; and smoked cigarettes,
Though, they did nothing, but give me regrets.
My mom had arthritis and couldn't walk around.
When I rolled her a joint, she danced on the ground.
I thought I was losing my lovemaking knack,
But, after I smoked some, to me it came back.
Soon I decided prices were too high,
So I searched for some ground I wouldn't have to buy.
I bargained for seeds from smokers all around,
Then, got in my truck and drove out of town.
I walked through the woods where the wild birds nest,
And found me the meadow I thought was the best.
I dug up the ground and sowed all my seeds;
Then said a small prayer for strong, healthy weeds.
I watered at night with a five-gallon pail;
The mosquitoes went hungry for I wore a veil.
Eight months went by; I thought I would die,
'Till the Halloween moon was high in the sky.
One night I went out, in my camouflage suit,
And used a corn knife to chop down the loot.
I hung it up to dry where it couldn't be found.
Then came back and got it, when it had turned brown.
I trimmed off the buds, and stuffed them in bags,
Called all my friends and passed out free drags.
In less then a week, my crop was gone!
But, I flew to St. Thomas with love-hungry blond.
Turkey farmer Jones was seen as a kook.
Many declared his whole life was a fluke.
But they were not aware
Jones had learned a skill rare,
he was fluent in speaking gobbledygook.
Mr. Jimmy Carter was a peanut farmer
When he smiled, he was quite a charmer
He'd grin and say that whenever he was feeling down
He'd take up a noble cause -- THAT would never let him down
February 03, 2019
Inspired by Line Gauthier's "Something Bigger than Myself" contest
-- but not a contest entry
Summer is over and the farmer now rests from his toil,
Having labored hard to wrest his crops from the fruitful soil.
Fall has arrived and all the crops have been gathered in.
The corn, wheat and soy beans lie dormant in the granary bin.
It was a good year - his farm was favored with abundant rain.
Thankfully, there was no wind or hail, an anxious farmers' bane!
Pecks of onions, pertaters and carrots are preserved in the cellar,
Along with bushels of resplendent apples - golden, red and yeller!
The hogs are ready for market but he'll keep a pair for meat,
And he'll butcher a steer or so to ensure there's enough to eat.
His wife jammed mason jars full of beets, termaters and peas,
And there are a few honeycombs filched from the gullible bees!
He and the boys used crosscut saws to hew cords of wood for heating,
To warm their Victorian home from the winter's snows and sleeting.
There are jugs of cider to sip and ears of popping corn to pop,
As the family enjoys a roaring fire to reminisce with lore to swap!
The humble farmer was so grateful that on his knees he knelt,
To offer his gratitude to the Lord, a simple prayer most heartfelt.
A benevolent harvest moon smiled on the pastoral scene below,
Seemingly to bless the peaceful panorama with its mellow glow!
With cotton candy
Pink and dandy,
Funnel cakes, sweet
All you can eat
A Ferris wheel
To make you squeal,
The carousel
Sure looks swell
Toss a ring
To win something,
Pop a balloon
You'll get it soon
Try to get that prize
Go for the biggest size,
Win a pet if you wish
Take home a goldfish
Stay there all night
For every sound and sight,
Like a kid again, be
So much to do and see
Show off what you do
Win a ribbon, blue,
Shower what you raise
With the highest praise
Craft and quilt
By hands built,
Goodness canned
Grown on the land
Pumpkins and pies
To delight the eyes,
Each cow and pig
The biggest of the big
Farmer's best on display
Sat in a pile of hay,
Take in the dairy air
At the county fair!
Gonna wake up
At the brink of dawn
With the d a r n little red rooster
Cock-a-doodle doodling alarm
Saddle
My horse and ride out
Cross the river to the green field about
Make sure those sneaky coyotes
Haven't had lambchop for dinner.
Then
Gonna water all of my crop
Gonna spread out
All the bales of hay
Where the goats and the horses
And the cattle stay
After
Dinner with a little moonshine
The best d a m nnnn... moonshine
That I ever made
With my woman Suzanne
6/7/2020
My first Cowboy Form poem
Try A New Style - Something You Have Never Or Hardly Ever Tried Poetry
Sponsored by: Caren Krutsinger
There once was a farmer called Seamus,
who had an incompetant anus.
When out on a date with girlfriend Kate,
he blamed his dog when he farted,
to prevent her being startled.