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Long Farm Poems | Long Farm Poetry

Long Farm Poems. Below are the most popular long Farm by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Farm poems by poem length and keyword.

See also: Famous Long Poems

Long Poems
Long poem by James Inman | Details |

A Day on the Farm

"You really wanna know? Cause I'll tell ya if you really wanna know. You'll be thinkin' I'm crazy before I'm done, but I'll tell ya... ifn' you really wanna know." The day started like any other, up before dawn, breakfast and fuel for the combine. Outa' the window I saw the sun rise above the horizon, no clouds in the sky, waves of heat pulsing like slow heart beats above the drying wheat fields. Already the fields are half bare. The twenty two acres out past the barn were harvested last week before the weather started to change and the 40 acres at the bottom of Rocky Point was finished just yesterday, hell'uv-a-place to plant wheat, what with all them rocks that broke three disc blades and the boulders that we had to plant around, too late to dynamite 'em by the time the rain stopped last spring. The plow got stuck in the muck for a whole day before we got the seeds in. But we did it and reaped a good return on our efforts that first year, thank God. I remember that piece of land from when I was young. We used to have an old green barn out there where we kept the live stock. Paw said it wasn't much good for nothin' else, said you couldn't grow anything out there. I think he was just scared to. There'd always been rumors 'bout that place. Some folks said that Indians had buried their Chiefs under the big boulders, and prayed to their heathen gods up on the hill that looked over the valley, said that some day they was gonna come back and reclaim this land for themselves, at least that is, that sacred part below the hill. Every morning around 6 o'clock me and Johnny would run out to that barn to feed the chickens and slop the hogs. He was always faster 'n me so he got to choose whatever he wanted to do. He liked slopping the pigs even though they smelled to high heaven. He liked ride'n on there backs. I'd laugh my head off when they threw him in the mud and he'd have to hide from Paw so he wouldn't know. Paw would wack him good if he found out. I can hear him now, "Boy I'll burn your hide if'n you don't keep off of them pigs. Your gonna break their backs. Your gonna wind up kill'n one of 'em, one of these days." Johnny would always be quick to reply, "But paw we're just gonna eat 'em anyways." Hard to believe I always like them hams so good at Easter after smell'n 'em for so many years. "I know, I know, I'm git'n to it. Give me a minute. I wanna get it straight. It ain't easy to talk about and you weren't there." I saw the clouds rollin' in long before I got out to the good fields on the other side of the creek. This was where our best grain was grown. We bought this land the year that Paw passed. I remember the tears Maw cryed when we got it. It'd been a dream Paw had for a long time. He was gonna put a road through it to the main highway so's to cut our drive to town by five miles. I've always felt bad that he never got to see it. I went on watchin' them clouds wonderin' if we might just have us a late fall twister brew'n. They was nasty look'n and it's been nasty hot for this time of year. I pulled the choke on the old combine and it coughed to a stop. Didn't see any rain fall'n as I neared the creek from the Rocky Point side but it was get'n aweful dark, and the clouds were startin' to swirl and boil way up in the sky. As I watched I swear on my Paws grave that I saw a horse runnin' across the sky. It was like the ones you see when your layin' on your back in the grass on a hot summer day lookin' up at the sky and pickin' out shapes in the clouds,... but it wasn't. It was breathin' and glarin' at me with fiery demon eyes. Then out of the darkness I saw another shape. It was a face, all white with dark puffy round cheeks. It looked like the pictures of Santa Claus we used to take with the kids after the Thanks Givin' day parade downtown. He'd huff and he'd puff and his cheeks would billow out and all-a-sudden he'd let out this big bellow, "Ho, Ho, Ho, Merry Christmas," but when the face in the cloud bellowed no sound came out, just ice cold wind. It near 'bout froze me to my seat in that old combine. The windows glazed over with frost and my hand got stuck to the steerin' wheel for a second, pulled some skin off get'n em free. I turned on the headlights and wipers and as the Window cleared I could see ice twinkling like jewels on all of the wheat stalks. Down by the bridge I could see the weeds reflected in a thin layer of ice covering the water. Then all Hell broke loose. Thunder so loud I couldn't think clear, and lightnin' everywhere striking every rock and boulder. Mist rose up after each hit like ghost risen' out of the grave. I forgot about the cold cause the storm froze me solid. A bolt of lightnin' hit the top of the combine and the thunder shook the cab so bad I hit my head on the back of the seat. For a few minutes I was in a daze but as my head cleared I could see fires all over Rocky Point. I didn't have time to do anything but start the engine of the combine and move it over the bridge to the next field so it wouldn't burn up too. I watched as all the grain left at Rocky Point burned to cinders. Funny thing is all the other fields around that one were OK. Not one never burned. It was like someone drew a line around the place, strangest thing. The weather guy on TV tried to explain it. What'd he call it? Oh, a micro... something, blow, burst, something like that. He didn't explain what I saw, but that don't matter no more. It's over and done. Lost all that good grain, though. Had some scientist from the college down in Lawton come by and do some lookin'. They kept scratchin' their heads and mumblin', looked kinda befuddled to me. We talked and they said something about the soil ph was wrong and there seemed to be salt all through the dirt, maybe all the way down to the bedrock. Well, All I know is I'm guessin' nothin'll ever grow in that field again. Can't rightly say for sure though, never plan on findn' out.
11/20

Copyright © James Inman | Year Posted 2015


Long poem by Gerald Dillenbeck | Details |

Why Life

Why does dawn dress robust morning,
while dusk undresses sight?
Each dawn incarnates another Earth Day
a lifetime of Easter mornings 
redeeming nocturnal sight's revolution,
another therapeutic day of gift-it-forward light,
some longer,
some shorter before naked covered night.

Why life?
To uncover love's enlighting therapeutic invitation,
integrity's eco-arising comprehensive bright.
To discover love life sustained bilateral becoming 
within Earth dependent ego-death's belonging.
To recover co-passion's perpetual peaceful pilot light,
decomposing fire's burning fuel and flame rate 
and flow toward warm home health, 
timeless regenerating sight.

Why universal rehabilitation,
repurposing of people, 
regenerative places,
recycling property,
revolving plants, 
revisiting possession, 
reculturing planet?
Recreation unfolds redemptive revolutions,
dawning/darkening new each moment 
expanding each day to contract each night
and present presence life
unitarian communality 
as co-operating species,
paradigm and meme,
language and information,
form as dynamically reintegrating function,
inclusive conscience as revolutioning regenerate consciousness,
each loving act of mutual gravity's emergence,
ego-eco zero-solidarity practice
practice
practice.

Therapeutic intent to rehabit and repurpose
to recycle
reprehend
reconsider
recreate
renovitiate
regenerate
remember
reconnect
redeem
revolution
grows internally nutritious inspirational DNA health roots,
natural trans-generational therapeutic branches,
ecological economics healing cooperative Paradise Lost
within our Tree of Life and Death, 
without our Tree of Languaged "Good" and "Evil,"
comprehensive polymorphic rooted organic landscapes
of Ego absorbing polypaths 
echoing Earth's co-arising transitional systems.

Language both fertilizes and farms,
produces and consumes
echoes and enthymemes
nouns and verbs
subjects and objectives
causes and effects
grows and harvests 
induces and deduces,
inhales and exhales
yangs and yins
optimizes and purges
lives and decomposes rainbow dyes
universalizes and integrally unites polyculturing visions
building on sight
reflecting off light
rebounding of sound
resonant feelings
polyculturing paradigms
polymorphing polypaths.

Speech and thought can both rehabit and repurpose understanding,
comprehensive comprehension,
co-passion feeds con-science
as ecojustice fills out anthrocentric peace with plants.

DNA's temporal analysis decomposes eating cultural memory, 
image evolving imagination, 
hope co-arising faith,
despairing dreams predicting syntax edicting climatic decay,
raping eco-screams restricting life's sensual gift potential,
universal dark negentropy swallowing and regurgitating
inhaling and exhaling
Earth's teleosynthetic life of time-squared zero-light,
both dissonance and confluence rainbowed,
chaotic energy swelling complex matter
ergodic clatter,
double-negatives justifying ecological positive balance,
contentiousness challenging co-operating contentedness,
fearing ego-death inviting beloved eco-climaxing ecstatic life,
longing regenerating belonging.

Noticing dipolar relationships,
Ego-yang swelling not-not Eco-yin's Earth flight,
enrich polyculturing fields of analogy,
Win-Win games reiterating time's perception of inclusive hope,
growing consciousness of interdependent iconic-ionic paradigms
feeding within and on each Other,
Double Dark dynamic love between weeds and seedy compost flowers,
brother and sister transparent organic kosmic farm
of deep absorbing ecologic.

Bi-identified RNA rests simply silent vital void
growing confidence in SunGod's compelling righteous revolution
resonant resolution
spilling out discontented longing roots
investing regenerate co-passion's peacefilled therapeutic NOW.

SunGod is to Yang/Yin flowing power potential
as ReGenerate Tribal Identity is to Earth's voiceless harmony, 
listening discernment to and of and in and by DNA's health-assurance systems
as non-violent intent is to recreative peace and ecojustice practice,
as embracing empathic conscience grows co-passion's Beloved Community.

Decompositional function of polynomial binary/bilateral language 
grows information's reverse hierarchy of ecoconscious bicameral systems,
where Right-brain not-not polycultural relationship 
rediscovers binomial space as fractal time's proportional construction,
revolving double-boundaried resolution of eternal time, 
coincidental co-arising
co-relational meeting of infinitely omnipresent past 
with omnipotent future.

Regenerate function of language creates,
subjects health objectives to empirical scrutiny,
nouns verbs toward analogical futurity, 
inspires,
enjoys,
insights,
conjoins,
brights dawns both ecologically wise and economically (0)-sum co-operative,
fueling Earth's Win-Win co-passioning power toward global peaceful justice.
 
Eco-systemic comprehension both biofuels and farms permacultural love,
organic ecotherapy emerging all four economic seasons,
including advent's winterish purgation,
winnowing Identity's weedy monocultural/monomial root assumptions,
composting Earth Tree's rehabiting spring production branches
stretching out gravity's mutual nutritious gratitude 
toward Omniscientific Earth's radiant emerging light.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2015


Long poem by Gerald Dillenbeck | Details |

Life's Midway Ride

Our body is only a cloak;
seek the one who has dressed you,
heed not the dress.
Midway means nothing to infinity.

When totally immersed in pursuits that you love,
illness and pain won't distract you.
Midway means nothing to infinity.

I wonder why when a bird 
clearly sees the trap laid out for her,
she's still drawn to fly straight in!
Midway means nothing to infinity.
Rumi (M Mafi translation)

Midway means everything present to binomial time,
captured between a polynomial past and  not-so-unpredictably resolving,
resonantly revolutionary,
mutually redemptive (co-arising) future,
where science religions polycultural metrics of infinitely wise and lovely bodies
discovering Interior Landscape's analogical ecology of evolution v. revolution,
competitive Yang v. cooperative YinYin,
diastatically co-arising compost 
mirroring and absorbing Earth's nutrient streams and flows,
functions and (0)-core frequencies 
of energy as life,
development within design,
decomposition implying regenesis,
organically fertile farming
Prime Relationships of loving peace-filled fairness
in and among Beloved Climax Communities.

Space means nothing to Time, as
Midway means nothing to Infinity,
half of timelessness means nothing to eternity,
as Midway equals Polynomial +Left-Deductive
reiteratively dancing with(-)(-)Polynomial (-)Right-Inductive,
as Yang-convex + Yin-concave = [(0)logic Tao]
balances Infinity's Prime Relationship
between Here and Now  cooperative economic ecologic,
meeting Economic Design CQI,
Globally Synergetic Optimization,
Natural System Development Standards
of ecotherapeutic orthopraxis
thermodynamic balance
and electromagnetic 4-equivalent dimensional spacetime Commons function.

Adults grow from children
deep learning prime relationship
between isolating comedic ridicule
and mutually humored information
emerging from both self and other,
confluently sometimes,
while other times only through sustained cognitive dissonance,
hard birthing events,
yet both confluent Yang/Yin harmony
and dissonant Yang-dominance
unveil redemptive merit
for polyparadigmatic comprehension of other complex
chaotic
stressful
metaparadigmatic
discontented love relationships.

Shared joy and beauty and goodness and wisdom
multisystemically regenerate
when polyculturally analyzed and decomposed
discussed and discerned
remembered and reconnected and religioned
reflected and redeemed
with karmic grace intent,
grateful noticing as-is here and now,
cooperatively redemptive practice,
mutually mentoring synergetic design,
incarnating Bodhisattva Messiahs and Prophets,
Teachers who are first EcoTherapeutic Listeners,
thus permaculturing orthopraxisizers.

Zero Space is Infinite Time
at Her best
wisely resonant Beauty
YangBeing what we are YinBecoming-Balanced
diastatically enculturing internal Climax Communities,
both YangJustStrength and YinOrganicBeauty EcoTherapists
enjoying our ride,
avoiding "I am Ego-Special" feelings
if only because catastrophic paranoia and megalomania both grow contagiously sad and angry,
slowly
transitioning
co-falling dusk 
returning to a self-regenerating dream of
Beloved Community Teleology and Orthopraxis
of active peace absorbing issues of lack-of-time fears
such as mortality and death and climatic survival
as something darker than a shadow chasing Infinite Light
and Midway as something other than this revolving ride between
our SuperEco One,
our Love,
our Contentment,
our being and belonging
where Here greets Now greets Here
eternal cooperative economic ecotherapeutic information
redundantly  and inclusively unfolding
enculturing
binomial/binary un-double-knotting systemic QBit string
of prime fractal-tel-ec(o)metric Beloved Community.

Midway is nothing to Infinity
as (-)(-) balancing information-bits grow everytimely
ecotherapeutic (+) prime Eulerian relationship function,
(0) Core Vector/Vortex Fullerian crystal-fractal spacetime.

Id is nothing to SuperEco
as ego-centrism confluently optimizes resonance
with Right-brained eco-natural systemic encoded DNA/RNA
SuperEco Metric Regenerative Optimization Systems,
both thermodynamic and electromagnetic
co-arising gravity.

Here is nothing to Now
as Now is Comprehensive Co-incident Intelligence
regenerating SuperEco Tao as Western eco-logical Time.

Fear is nothing to Love
as Love loses everything to Fear of Time's Unresolved Absence,
as Absence of Fear encultures
composts
Beloved Communities,
Exterior/Interior Prime (0)-sum Balancing Cooperative Landscapes.

Here means everything to Now
as Midway means nothing to Infinity
unfolding permaculturing past
enfolding polycultural future promise.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2015


Long poem by Robert Ronnow | Details |

Enduring Spinning: Agriculture, Culture and War

You can feel it spinning
                                fast
the Chinese, Japanese, American and European junk
orbiting at several thousand miles per hour could
                                                                  punch
a hole in your armor, future. Thanksgiving passes, then Christmas.
A nuclear detonation, we absorb that fact. The scientist in us
delays sadness by recording observations. What is is,
sorrow's for tomorrow.

By reducing probabilities to near zero I hope to avoid sorrow.
In yr suburb.
In history when there were many fewer people we still found reason
to cross space, explore, trade and war. Now
                                                            overpopulation
may not be the problem but food and water shortages
get our attention.
                         I have Korf's fears.
And hear what I want to hear.

Some hear singing, some hear speeches or complaining.
Martin Luther King sang his complaints, dreamed of a brotherly nation
which came to pass, spinning fast, past Thanksgivings, past jailings
into reconnaissance, small wars, drones, renaissance, inventions.
At the border,
                    where the Juaristas fought Maximilian:
Benito Juarez (1806-1872) Zapotec Amerindian who served five terms as president of Mexico. He was the first Mexican leader who did not have a military background and also the first full-blooded indigenous person to lead a country in the western hemisphere in over 300 years. For resisting French occupation, overthrowing the Empire, and restoring the Republic, Juarez is regarded as Mexico's greatest and most beloved leader.

Each soldier chooses what war at what border, or just
                                                                         shows up
spinning with the planet.
The neighborhood and surrounding nature is orderly.
But always there is implied force, violence holding it together,
                                                                                   chaos
is contained
kept out of the playground, government buildings, children's games
but lies within
the force maintaining order, a spinning tumor, a gyroscope of
                                                                                  inertia.
                                                                                                                
The force of the spinning, the speed of the force bring one to one's
      death
seasons, weather, earth.
                                   While the emperor's being beheaded
enduring seeds are discovered and invented, cross-fertilized and bred.
Corn, yams, potatoes, sunflowers, rice.
                                                      Food is life and a good study,
useful discipline
                      daily meditation.
                                             The fighting man protects the farmer
and the farmer feeds the fighting man.
They elect the governor
                                  who serves the people. Peace out.

Peace and war are transitory manifestations of spinning
electrons, planets.
                          The sun's a nuclear detonation, essential
to spring and planting. Food is life. Seeds endure
if man goes to his daily discipline. If woman is man.
Birth and death
                      together are orderly, the border can be known,
voluntarily. How we live together, by prayer or force,
is our story.

Knowledge
from laboratory to starry corridor keeps us very
                                                                 versed.
Did Juaristas consider the rights of animals not to be eaten?
Not during that spinning.
                                  And perform the history that surrounds us.
All that can be done
is written in the spinning:
The people of the land, the Indian farmers of North America - like their counterparts in Mesoamerica, the Andean region, and the Amazon - have continuously cultivated maize, beans, squash and other crops for more than five thousand years. One of the salient features of their traditional farming systems is the high degree of biodiversity. These traditional farming systems have emerged over centuries of cultural and biological evolution, and they represent the accumulated experience of indigenous farmers interacting with the environment without access to external inputs, capital or scientific knowledge. In Latin America alone, more than 2.5 million hectares under traditional agriculture in the form of raised fields, polycultures, agroforestry systems and the like document indigenous farmers' successful adaptations to difficult environments.





Copyright © Robert Ronnow | Year Posted 2015


Long poem by Robert Candler | Details |

Two's Magic Nose

Such a nose had Ol’ Blue.
Best in south Missouri... everybody knew.
Could smell a pheasant across the plain.
Could point a covey in a hurricane.
That’s the way the legend goes.
Ol’ Blue had a “magic nose.”
 
As Blue got older, his master’s mind would drift away
To a place where he and young Blue used to play. 
In the mornings, sitting over his coffee cup
He found it sad there were no pups.
He thought it would be such a shame
If the only memory was Ol’ Blue’s name.
 
So, Jim was compelled and full of pride;
He made a search, far and wide,
To find Ol’ Blue a suitable mate.
No doubt, his offspring would be great.
It seemed likely, he supposed,
At least one pup would have his “magic nose.”
 
She was a Champion Miss from New Orleans,
A beautiful “red” named Cajun Queen.
But Blue suddenly passed away, before the pups were born.
Jim was broken hearted.  He and “Queenie” mourned.
Then came the litter, but there was only one.
Jim struggled for hope; after all, he was Ol’ Blue’s son.
 
Dappled and lanky, a handsome little cuss,
He looked just like Blue.  Jim made such a fuss.
Naming this pup would require no ado.
It was obvious.  Officially, he would be “Blue Two.”
Oh yes, these were mighty large tracks to fill.
“Can he?”, folks asked.  Jim would say, “Heck yes he will!”

So his nickname became “Two” and he seemed to be smart.
Soon it was time for his training to start.
The basics went well, but Jim’s outlook grew very dim
When, instead of pointing, Two would wag and jump and bark at him.
Oh, Two seemed to be trying; but try as he might,
He just could not seem to ever get it right.

“Blue’s son or not, he’s got to go!”
Jim found Two a “pet home” far away, in Tupelo.
On his way back, he stopped in Texarkana.
Been too long a time since he’d seen his sister Hannah.
Six days and six pounds later, he was back on his way.
Work at the farm was callin’ and he’d be drivin’ all day.
 
He thought about Ol’ Blue and wondered if and when
He’d ever have a birddog as good as Blue again.
Oh, he knew another “magic nose” was just a far off dream;
After all, it wasn’t something any man could scheme.
A “magic nose” was a gift from God, only given to a few;
And he was proud and very lucky just to have known Ol’ Blue.
 
As he turned into his drive, he broke into a smile.
“Why… I can’t believe it!  It…It must be 300 miles!”
Two was on the porch, thin and dirty; but he struck a handsome pose.
Jim ran and hugged Two hard.  “How’d you get back?  Lord only knows!”
Suddenly Jim realized; and struck with awe, he slowly rose.
A tear trickled to his smile.  “Why Two… you have a “magic nose!”
 
Two and Jim are best of friends, together everywhere.
From milkin’ cows to bedtime, Two is always there.
Jim doesn’t hunt much anymore, now Two’s a rescue dog.
Just last month, he saved a little girl lost in Cooley’s Bog.
Jim struts and tells proud, heroic stories;
While Two wags and jumps and barks, and shares his glory.
 
Jim boasts, “Like father, like son!”, then speaks fondly of Blue;
But all know the largest tracks to fill are those of Two.
His deeds are known far and wide,
And fill Jim’s heart with love and pride.
For with every rescue, the legend grows;
About a dog named Two, and his “magic nose.”

Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014


Long poem by Gerald Dillenbeck | Details |

Beyond Death's Honor and Disgrace

Alpha

To live beyond death
we must know life beyond honor and disgrace.

Not "must" in the injunctive sense of "thou shalt"
but a more dusty must of logical integrity.

Midway

Those who know do not speak
beyond communication as active listening.
Those who only speak, without listening, do not know.
Fill up knowing's silent apertures,
Close logic's open-systemic doors,
Dull awareness of smooth-structured double-boundaries,
edges,
Untie double-knotted tangles of conscience,
Soften comprehensive consciousness
to radiate co-enculturally bleaching light--
This is co-arising with co-decaying unitarian mysticism.

Then love and hatred cannot change our ecoing egoselves,
Profit and loss cannot overwhelm polycultured Earth Tribe.
Honor and disgrace cannot effect and affect and defect us.
Therefore we eternally co-mentor power-optimizing regeneration.

Omega

How do permacultural farmers respond to bad environmental karma
arcing back across all four seasons
inviting devolution's sometimes too personal demise
of crops, nutrients, healthy wealth of resources,
seeds of hope?

Why do darkness and death stalk,
shadow us,
cast dusky gloom across culture's future expectations,
declaring each alient,
too egocentric for life's eternal repurposing
of economic probabilities,
of rationally co-redeeming praxis?

What can we do,
how can we respond to sub-optimizing stimuli
advancing in our ego hearts,
private minds,
personal body-enculturation,
weeding our language?

Nutritional inflow and outflow streams
intentionally co-optimize economics,
willing systems of hopeful eccentric Win-Lose ecologies,
consumption of mortality dissonant from infinite production,
decomposition without active, yet peacefully contented, designs
for regenerative response,
ignoring co-redemptive resonance of co-arising universal intelligence.

Monocultural intentions and pretensions
seek total exponential supremacy
withour our self/other marginalizin boundary
where and when and why polycultural ecotherapy
seeks zero-summed integrity
of mutual mentoring primal relationships--
between id and supereco,
between yinyin and yang,
between right-inductive and left-deductive hemispheres,
between physical-human Self
and metaphysical-sacred synergizing Self/Other.

Death's monopolistic economic assumptions,
like monocultural ecological identity,
more fruitfully and forcefully revolutioned
as polycultural challenges
to re-ligion re-sonant balance
harmonic frequencies of non-dual revolutions
reconnect dissonant decay with confluent cay,
disformation with information
where we have already become
polyculturally found outside silos of over-specialized blind alleys,
with what remains of inductive integrity's co-analogical potential.

To live beyond death
we must know life as eco-logical integrity.
To regenerate as eco-identity
we must decompose, release, redeem ego-id-entity.

Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck | Year Posted 2015


Long poem by arthur vaso | Details |

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 | Year Posted 2015


Long poem by Shanity Rain | Details |

young American days


              
                   To be in a young America ~
           visions of a ship upcoming statue of Liberty
               the young lad holding tightly to his Mothers leg
             in all excitement of a new Land to call their own
      celebrations of apple pie and fireworks on the 4th of July 
          
             thoughts of the old Hollywood on screen 
                films without 3-D costing less then a dollar
        Greta , Monroe , Betty Davis eyes tantalizing blue glare
       The Wizard of Oz or books written by Steinbach, Capote, Mark Twain

             exciting new visions of creating new concepts 
                 before Capitalism bought all little ones to bigger
           songs came from the hills of Virginia to the black Mountains
               surfacing in Tennessee for all to hear and wish to see  

          The day when one travelled by car on the road travelled
             every town a story told , learning history we once shed blood 
         American Indian tears to the British man whom choose freedom of taxes
            Boston held a tea party , now wishing they threw out marmite instead
 
         The day when we knew our neighbors and bought homes with a paystub
             Everyone had a chance to make their own with pride , even through wars
        When Martin Luther King stood proudly as did President Lincoln for Freedom 
             How many streets have been named after the man whom had a dream ?

             When milk was delivered on doorsteps in Glass bottles 
                 Babies wanting the very first of the top being cream 
             leaving doors open , watching news with your family at 6pm
                cartoons were shut down and it was now grown up time 

                      Cereal being a cheap snack for after school 
                         school supplies costing twenty dollars 
                      Grandma school clothes shopping for fifty 
                   before the internet , cell phones , and text for hello ~

                         2 week Vacations not afraid to put up Camp 
                Christmas sold in December with the sentiment of Love not money
        a day when if one were sick , you could actually get penicillin without question 
         The Doctor treated everything calling it General Practice no fear of Malpractice 

               Never forgetting our Motor city  
                 Old Ford Trucks Chevrolets and Dodge
                  The city that brought Ottis Reding and Marvin Gaye 
               

                     What happened to us ?  Where did America Go ? 

                   

         
  

Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013


Long poem by deb radke | Details |

Her Story of Why

These are her stories of why; the sad excuses of mother's life;
Her oft-honed chip, accented with her mother's old mink stole,
Tears most lovely in her eyes as she spoke of the beautiful farm;
Telling of the hundreds of acres owned by her mother’s father;
Land-granted, debt-free paradise; all they needed pay were quarterly taxes.

She told of the day the winds began to blow, that hot summer day;
Blowing away the moisture-filled clouds, drying the ground into cracked layers.
She told of bitter cold winter days, snow blown back into the clouds by the wind;
Pastures dry-freezing, blasted by cold winds from the west;
Kitchen gardens covered with old sheets in a futile effort to protect them.

She told of spring days with no rain, summer days with no rain;
Hot winds surging into bare, bleached pastures; cattle choking on thistles;
Government purchases of the remaining cow-shaped, walking skeletons;
Beloved horses loaded into rail cars bound for St. Paul stock yards,
Purchased by the army for $3 a head -- 75 cents per glue-filled hoof.

She told of morning rituals of scraping dirt from red, itching eyes;
Scraping grit from the butter dish; scraping melted mud from the ice box;
Lifting dusty scum from the milk bottles; rinsing dusty scum from mouth rags.
She told of the day the sky turned black, burying the farm in Colorado topsoil
And shovels were needed to dig open the doors of the barn and house.

She told of two years with no crops, two years of blowing dirt;
Two years with no rain, no snow, diffused sunlight, beautiful sunsets;
So much electricity in the air, in the ground, running from roof to wire,
Men would wrap their hands in pieces of cloth before they touched
The handles of their cars, lest they be thrown to the ground from the static.

She told of the day the wind finally began to falter, coming now in fits and starts;
And her grandfather stood on his once-proud porch, looking upon his lands,
Finally seeing through clean, clear air the farm he would soon no longer own.
Taxes unpaid, liens placed on farms, on equipment, on promises;
She told of how unable to pay the tax, he was forced to let it go.

She told of her birth in a migrant camp in Washington state; the one room shack.
Born with the eyes of desperation looking on; born into grief and sorrow.
Her legacy set before her as she drew her first breath; born into failure and futility.
She told us these stories, eyes shining with tears, pride in her fated failure.
She told us these stories with her head held high.  These suffering stories of why.

Copyright © deb radke | Year Posted 2011


Long poem by Frederick Moore | Details |

Ode to a Missouri Mule

As a country boy, up in the hills,
Life was tough, not much for frills.
I remember it well, yes, even now,
When spring time came and it was time to plow.
Afore sun up came, I was out of bed,
And pull the harness down, in the shed.
Then to the barn, for that dreaded chore,
To battle that four legged man-of-war.

A Missouri mule named Jezebel,
A demonic fiend than was spawned in hell.
She was Lucifer?s daughter, to say the least.
(That?s a compliment for that retched beast.)
While I woke her up and got her fed,
She gave me a look that could spook the dead.
I knew right then there would be a fight,
Just to plow up Momma'?s garden site.

So I hitched her up, set a goodly pace,
When her tail whips out, right across my face.
You gotta watch out, as a general rule,
When you?re at the south end of a north bound mule.
Made a sharp left turn, and sank that plow,
Wondering what that monster was up to now.
When she lifts her tail, with a bestial flair,
And the field?s consumed by exploding air.

With a stench of hell and fermented hay,
I knew I?d kill that mule today.
I swear I saw that jackass smile,
While I choked on her  fumes, so vile.
So I turned my plow, got around the bend,
That?s when she started up again.
She let go a noxious blast,
Nearly thirty seconds, it seemed to last.
But you gotta be tough, as a general rule,
At the south end of a north bound mule.

Well, I had my fill of that horrid witch,
So I smacked her hard with a willow switch.
When I thought that took her down a peg,
She bit a chunk, clean outa my leg.
Spurtin'? blood, like a stupid fool.
At the south end of a northbound mule

It was living hell along that rout,
Trying to control that repugnant brute,
She would first give me a rearward glance,
Then a blast of old mule flatulence.
If I had an axe, I would have done her in.
I got stepped on, time and time again,
Got bit four times, left me bloody and hurt.
She even sprayed manure on my best plowing shirt.

It?s been sixty years, but I remember the fight,
With her wicked ways, and her nasty bite.
And I hope old Jezzy went to jackass hell
For what she dished out, she?ll do quite well.
As for me, I took a solemn vow,
That these hands would never again touch a plow.
So I joined the Army, but to my alarm,
I MET MORE JACKASSES THERE,
THAN DOWN ON THE FARM!!!

Yet plows and mules still give me the chills,
From that horrid event, up in them hills.
?Cause ya gotta to be a masochist, and a gol-darn fool,
To get behind an old Missouri plowing mule

Copyright © Frederick Moore | Year Posted 2014


Long Poems