Best Barn Poems
It’s always a good practice when living on a farm,
To have a family of cats living in the barn
They always keep the rats and mice at bay and furnish humor too –
Wherever you find kittens there’s usually a laugh or two.
Now, I remember one time, I was out there milking cows,
When I noticed three young kittens, out and on the prowl.
One, a fine young tomcat, was really acting brave
And I wondered if he faced some fear just how he would behave.
Skillfully I squeezed and threw some milk across his face –
He winced a bit, then licked his lips – he knew he’d found the place.
We played around awhile and soon the playing stalled
When he stopped and took a minute to answer nature’s call.
He didn’t know it but he backed himself up to a fresh cow pad
He grunted; then had the best little poop a kitten ever had.
He turned around to cover it; then began the fun.
He knew what he saw lying there was more than he had done.
He arched his back, let out a scream and broke into a run.
I thought, at first, it might have been something I had done.
But soon it was no mystery what scared that little cat.
There was the giant pile of poop I couldn’t help laughing at.
This kitten was the alpha kitten of the litter
Who ultimately proved to me that he was no quitter.
So, when the time came to find him a name…
Well ….. I just called him……”Fraidy”
Written By John Posey
05/29/13
It has stood for decades along the county gravel road.
Skittering mice and barn owls now call it their abode.
What was once a stately building is now a shambles,
Surrounded by barren fields and prickly brambles.
Where once its weather-boarding was a bright cherry-red,
Due to the ravages of time, they're now a silvered-gray instead.
Yet can be seen a faded Mail Pouch Tobacco sign on its weathered side,
And a rusty weather-vane twisting in the wind, though a bit cockeyed!
Seasons of howling gales have striven to raze its sturdy oaken beams,
But they've held the old barn together though straining at its seams.
Its cavernous lofts once abounded with fragrant alfalfa hay,
That provided children a playground on many a rainy day.
It sheltered horses, sheep and cattle on frigid winter nights,
And for lack of electricity, it was lit by flickering lantern lights.
It was built when neighbors helped neighbors who were skilled,
At wielding hammer and saw and cherished great pride in their guild.
(The old barn of which I speak still stands on Indiana's Farmers' Pike,
Where I spent many happy times as an unassuming Hoosier tyke!)
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
Was Selected as Poem Of The Day by Soup 26 July 2016
The loud roar thundered in my ears.
Never had such a large shovel ripped at my heart as this one did.
I tip-toed through the doors of the old red barn so as not to disturb the memories.
My mind raced with times of childhood antics, happiness, and innocence.
And dad.
I was always happiest out in the barn with dad.
But now,
I watched this large thundering shovel tear down the walls
and rip the old red barn apart.
It seemed as though so many happy memories too were ripped and torn apart as well,
and it left sadness.
Sad.
I felt sad.
For now, the barn was gone, like dad.
Curious.
The pain is supposed to eventually go away when someone dies.
But, as I watched the old red barn fall down and die,
I cried.
And I remembered dad.
Kittens In The Barn
He stops and removes his boots before opening the door. He enters the kitchen and smells the familiar aroma of morning coffee.
"Breakfast's ready, have a seat. How're the kittens" his wife asks.
"Damn cat" he says. "Should have run her off when she showed up last year". "Don't know why she stays where she ain't wanted". "Nothing but a nuisance is all she is". "Now got all those little ones running around". "I hate cats".
She gives him his plate and pours him a cup of coffee. He hungrily digs in, sopping up
his eggs with a warm biscuit. He tips his cup and pours some coffee in his saucer,
blowing on it to cool it off. "Damn cat" he mumbles.
When finished, he carries his dishes to the sink, rinsing them and setting them aside.
When her back is turned he quickly grabs the saucer and stuffs it in the pocket of his
bibs. "I'm going to milk the cows he says". "Take care" she calls, pretending not to
notice. In another moment he is gone.
He grabs his stool and bucket and sets to milking, the warm liquid quickly consuming the
container. He rises and walks into a distant stall. Bending down, he pulls out the
purloined saucer and fills it from the bucket in his hand. He places it beside the
squirming litter and watches as they stagger to its brim.
"Damn cat" he mutters. "Don't know why she stays where she ain't wanted".
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
I ran by this thing with haste, that malevolent beast as to school I went
Centered In a beautiful field i never played, because we all knew of the shallow graves.
We never saw them, no one dared to find them, and no one ever even looked
For the other children that were buried there, trust for a child is given by word of mouth.
The rumors grew, as the tulips did in the field that held That Old Red Barn.
A child’s fancy, the minds plaything sometimes given over to the rule of what it thinks must
be
Because Jennifer said it, it must be so; I don’t dare to find out the actual truth. I’m not that
brave
So I leave it alone, this beautiful thing, because the cover does not always tell the story
within.
If I had given it a second glance and not been so scared that I didn’t notice,
That just beyond the reaches of the trees at its circumference laid a house of golden hue
And in those walls, a grander story than even of that of “That Old Red Barn”
A family of two … now ancient to me spent their time growing corn and raising grain
That would one day come to the table I sat, nourishing me and giving me strength.
Letting me have the energy I need, to quickly run by “That Old Red Barn”
So that I could fly past this place that they built and in their hearts would always treasure
I don’t think that they knew of the fear it instilled all because of one child’s rants
But now that I know and am older now, I look out my front door and see what they mean
This Beautiful Field and “That Old Red Barn” once seemed a curious creature
Full of fear and malevolence, they were too old to invest the time to restore it to splendor
So I purchased from them all this vastness of pleasure, That Beautiful Field, and yes “That
Old Red Barn”
Written By: Ryland Joshua Matthews
Date: 11/13/2010
There was a barn once painted red
that stood on grandpa's old homestead.
T'was built so very long ago -
a sorry sight. I told him so.
I often, as a boy, had wondered
why it hadn't ever timbered.
I knew the sagging rafters creaked
and roof, with missing shingles, leaked.
I stepped inside, the barn doors gone
and found it home for sparrows' song.
Circled they, around freely,
over floors in man's debris.
No matter which way I would glance,
dust in the sunlight rays would dance.
The warning cobwebs seemed to sketch.
Between the timbers, they would stretch.
Foundation laid in cobblestone
but its sure footing wasn't known.
Between the stones were gaping cracks
that could not hide the basic facts.
Now every post in building leaned,
and wall to wall had needed cleaned.
The winter winds would whistle through.
That big ol' barn had lost, I knew.
The weather's sin had taken toll
and wind and sleet had found its soul.
Its only purpose, couldn't render -
so it offered full surrender.
Now that ol' barn is much like us
and in our wants, we make a fuss.
Our sagging souls are so uncouth
that we no longer seek the truth.
Deceit flies in our open door
'til we care little anymore.
We’d rather compromise instead
as cobwebs fill our empty head.
Our minds are filled in sins' debris
with anyone whom we'd agree.
The love is lost between our bones.
It leaves us cold with loosened stones.
Will our beliefs stand firm, upright -
or will we yield to windy blight?
Are we responsible instead, or
is our character really dead?
Down through the years, the time has lapsed
and long ago that barn collapsed.
As I look now at its demise
I listen to the worlds last cries....
©2008 louis gander / ganderpoems.org
The moon is bright, and the chores are done
Tonight's the night to have some fun!
The harvest in, calls for a night's hell-raisin'
Take me out in the old hay wagon!
Not far to go, where the old dirt road ends
There on the left, where the oak branch bends
Let's hurry, Pa! ....Hitch the old grey mare!
We'll share with folks sorghum pies I've made
Stop la gaging, there's some moonshine waitin'
I'll wear my calico, with petticoats wavin'
Fiddles playin', and banjos are strummin'
Feet are flying, to some do-si-do-ing!
We'll kick up heels, with a still of whiskey
Come'on old man, while I'm feeling frisky!!!
___________________________________
For the Hoe Down Contest:
The first time I painted the old red barn
I was twenty years old and the skies were blue.
There it sat in the middle of the hay field
Waiting to be immortalized on canvas.
The second time I painted the old red barn
I was thirty-nine and my life was in turbulence.
The fall thunderclouds predominated the picture.
The hayfield almost orange with the coming sunset.
The last time I took my easel to the field
The barn had faded to a dusty rose colour,
But the skies were blue and the clouds were fluffy.
The hay waved joyously in the breeze.
The barn and I had both aged and faded with time
But we were still blessed with the sun shining on the hay.
Old McDonald's had a barn
Dutta, Dutta,
In this barn he has a charm
Dutta, Dutta,
Why, look to the left, i see a waterfall
I'm going to write about a waterfall
It's pretty.
Old McDonald's had a barn
Dutta, Dutta
In the barn, he had a list
Dutta, dutta
Everyone on the list had a chore
Dutta, dutta.
Old McDonald's became famous
The End
(SPECIAL NOTE)
I did a play on my last name
Dutta, dutta.
I hope you think I'm clever.
Dutta, dutta,
BY: Jolene Dutta Almanac
PLEASE LEAVE A MESSAGE
swallows'
cobalt blue glistens
as they dart catching insects
at dawn against foggy creek rise
freedom to be alive
The Old Red Barn
The old red barn sits down by the river,
The tin roof glistens just like silver.
For many years it has been standing tall,
An old ad about Burma Shave is still seen on the wall.
I remember the fields where we brought in hay,
We had to harvest it without delay.
The old red barn would guard the yield,
Just like the knight got protection from his shield.
The harvest of the corn was next on the list,
We shucked the corn and made it ready for the grist.
The old red barn received the corn meal right away,
Just like a girl receiving her first bouquet.
The old red barn is still in its place,
There is no corn, nor hay, not even a trace.
The people are gone that once made it thrive,
In your minds-eye they were like bees in a hive.
The old red barn has closed its door,
No one comes to visit any more.
I look back as I walk away,
The old red barn seemed to be weeping that day.
©2008 Lynn B Glover
~*~
I am one of nine babies born in a farmer's barn,
The barn is cozy and even has an owl door;
My birth nest so warm with stuff like grandma's yarn,
To keep us fed- into the dark mom will soar.
The barn is cozy and even has an owl door,
My perfect ears, heard the farmer call us owls;
To keep us fed- into the dark mom will soar,
While waiting for food I do whistles and howls.
My perfect ears, heard the farmer call us owls,
Oh, we are the only owl with a heart-shaped face;
While waiting for food I do whistles and howls,
Today I went hunting- had my own prey to chase.
Oh, we are the only owl with a heart-shaped face,
Felt the urge to leave today- on my vibrant wings;
Today I went hunting- had my own prey to chase,
I flew to a church steeple- made a nest of odd things.
Felt the urge to leave today- on my vibrant wings,
My birth nest so warm with stuff like grandma's yarn;
I flew to a church steeple- made a nest of odd things,
I am one of nine babies born in a farmer's barn.
_______________________
January 31, 2016
Pantoum/Personification/The Barn Owl
Copyright Protected, ID 16-750-702-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
For the contest, Owls Personification,
Sponsor, Eve Roper
Second Place
I stopped by the old red barn today...
I guess I was there about an hour.
What will they do with it after I'm gone?
It's been in the family for five generations...
Great Grampa's initials are carved in the door.
Once, Pappy fell from the loft and broke his arm.
It's where I watched Dad's mare
Give birth to my first pony.
And, it's where we told Mom and Dad
We'd decided to get married.
Such a stable part of my family's history,
Now, leans abstract against the autumn sky...
I think I'll go back tomorrow...
And take a few shots for the family album.
Farm boys, farm boys, go and do your chores
Better take your hat for it’s sunny out-of-doors
Farm boys, farm boys, gotta milk those cows
Milk-em twice a day and feed the hungry sows
Make your mother butter in the butter churn
Argue with your brother when you think it’s not your turn
Measure off the distance you both will have to run
Where it is you’ll need to go to get the milking done
Toe the mark to challenge your brother at the gate
Divvy up the pails to balance out the weight
Farm boys being farm boys down there on the farm
And you’ll milk the cows if I beat you to the barn