Best Farm(A) Poems
There was a land, and on this land lived sheep.
Like all good sheep, they had their rules to keep.
They lived on farms in their own different flocks,
sleeping, socializing, and taking walks
to find green grass on which they liked to graze.
They mostly lived in peace, but in a haze!
They did not see above them the entities-
(overlords controlling their destinies).
Most sheep were unaware of this, so they
just lived their lives since when as ewes they’d play,
content to later let themselves get fed
or by dogs (which were like police) be led!
The evil overlords who ruled them all
decided on each farm to put a wall,
assuring all of them be forced to eat
a strange new food which tasted rather sweet.
Seeing some sheep dying (even ewes dropped dead) -
a few sheep would not let themselves be fed
These rebel sheep cried out, “Let’s take a stand.
Green grass outside our walls is being banned!”
In protest, they lay down, prepared to perish,
denied the grassy land they’d grown to cherish.
They even found some mud and rolled in it.
The other sheep baa-baaed them, bleating “Quit!
Quit being idiots. Do as you’re told.
We’re sheep, you know. It’s good to be controlled.”
Just then, inside one farm, a wall came down.
The sheep on that farm gathered all around.
The rebels cried, “Perhaps it is a scam!”
when there appeared one of their own – a ram.
With rushing hooves, sheep followed that ram through
a pretty field, but where did it lead to?
There was a cliff which the ram went over.
Behind him followed every sheep pushover.
Three rebels saw what happened, and they tried
to flee their farm to warn all sheep worldwide.
Would other walls come down, each with a ploy?
What other mean schemes would their lords employ?
A tragicomedy needs to be light,
and so to make this story kind of right,
I’ll say a revolution came to pass,
and sheep again are gazing on green grass.
Oct. 2, 2022
for Joe Maverick's Tragi Comedy Poetry Contest
Shotgun shells, fireworks, an empty casing,
Burnt gunpowder sensed with imagined smell,
Bring a smile as the mind begins onward racing,
Of times past and grand stories to retell,
Hunts to remember; 4th of Julys raising hell.
Even the repugnant is remembered with glee,
Fresh swine manure upon beds of loose straw,
Time on the farm, a boy’s life lived carefree,
Fishing, hunting, and building with grandpa,
Learning gun safety and how to hammer and saw.
A favorite to this day is corn cut fresh,
Dust in the air with stalked rows piled,
Behind the red tractor and an 8 row thresh.
Memories overflow of that innocent child
Of the fun that was had, a boy in the wild.
The events that took place in a remote area of New Mexico about 230 miles south of Los Alamos during the predawn hours of July 16, 1945 forever changed the world. In the early morning darkness the incredible destructive powers of the atom bomb, code-named "Trinity", were first unleashed, and what had been merely theoretical became reality. Said General Groves, head of the Manhattan project, "We were reaching into the unknown and we did not know what might come of it". Some feared the consequences of radio-active fallout on civilian populations surrounding the test site. Observers were sent to surrounding towns to monitor the results of the blast and medical teams were kept on alert. But the hope and the focus was on the feeling that we now had the means to ensure a speedy conclusion to the war and save thousands of American lives.
A bit over 400 miles north, north east of the blast on that early morning in July, in a
small Panhandle farm, a girl of 17 rose, as was her daily custom, to milk the cows by
hand, she being the youngest child and only girl of second-generation Polish immigrants who made their living by raising maize and wheat, cows and chickens and selling their milk and eggs in the small town nearby. But less than a month after the July 16th test of the atomic bomb, this otherwise seemingly healthy girl fell into such a malaise that she could not even get out of bed much less carry on with her assigned chores on the farm. She was brought to a hospital in Amarillo and eventually discharged with no diagnosis other than she must have had a nervous breakdown due to some kind of female hysteria. She was sent away to a convent to recuperate but no one, least of all her parents, ever really knew what could have caused her sudden “nervous breakdown” that took place downwind and less than a day’s drive from that first historic explosion of the atomic bomb.
The dog gave a bark
When the cat did a fart
As it woke him from his sleep
Then the cat screeched meaoow
To the sight of the cow
Who'd just done a big brown heap
The smell was atrocious
Was he trying to dose us
The horse in his paddock thought
Then the sheep gave a baaaa
As the whiff travelled far
A lesson in poo you've been taught
I had a dog way back when
With white teeth and tail a wag
He slept so fine in steepled den
Crunched on a chicken, like a rag
With eyes of brown, and fur of black
Patrolled the farm, a canine cop
The silly cats he would attack
And barking noise should never stop
One snowy day he disappeared
Walking a road he often trod
Did not return, as I feared
Where was my dog? I asked God
Then one night, I heard him bark
My friend returned in pitch dark
He came out of the west riding slowly, the sun and sand
did their best to make him wish he had never begun this quest
He left Ohio when barely a teen, nary a thought to what he left behind,
a hundred acre farm, a father with a switch for an arm, a mother,
pain and hardship aged beyond her years, now at forty three,
tired and forlorn, seeking stability, begins the long trek home
The trail before him offers little hope, sagebrush undulates
in the wake of dust devils fashioned by rising heat,
face blistered, lips cracked, dry, overexposed, offer
no relief, until sunset, and the cool of the night
Weeks on the trail, his will to prevail broken as the desert
becomes his destiny, longing for what he will never have again,
the love of a woman to hold and comfort him,
memories rush before him as reliving again,
fade, are quickly forgotten, his body decaying,
bones bleached and polished by wind and sun,
his quest to be forever pending, his horse finally moves on,
so far from home, he dies alone
I was on summer vacation
San Francisco was the destination
The warm breeze, spring in the air
All looked bright and fair
The crooked street
I so wanted to meet
And drive thru the China bazaar
Looking at exotic filled jars
The cable car was an instant hit
It was hard to get in and fit
The heather farm a heavenly abode
Where flowers grew all along the road
Napa valley took my heart
From the wines I didn’t want to part
But it was the awesome Golden Gate Bridge
And its green overlooking ridge
That was the star of the tour
Left me asking for more
A vacation forever in my mind
For the tender memories left behind
there once was a man who farm-a-sea
he was the king of all he give his seed
but there was no trust between us
because he was just a devil in
a winterized coat giving with a
power of degree to do harm
and no one will see...
aka: lyricvixen
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To Farm A Sea
there once was a man who farm-a-sea
he was the king of all he give his seed (pills)
but there was no trust between us
because he was just a devil in
a winterized coat
giving with a power of degree
to do harm
and no one will (could) see...
aka: lyricvixen
(fixed? 5-5-2017 fri)
While stopped for some fast food and self-serve gas-
I saw her watching me watching her.
She was young- her late teens I guessed.
I did not know her, but I had known other girls-
others of similar circumstances-
at least I assumed so.
All dressed up and no place to go described her-
sitting on a battered suitcase at the cross-roads
on that hot July afternoon-
waiting for someone, anyone, to offer her a ride-
to somewhere, anywhere- it’s not like it mattered where-
as long as it took her far away from this place,
the only place she had ever known-
a share cropped farm- a red dust hell hole-
an unfortunate place of birth.
Times had not always been so bad-
times not remembered anyway.
All she had now was in that suitcase,
and her Sunday best she was still wearing-
that she had worn for the funeral-.
the final period to this existence.
No fond memories of childhood remained-
there were none.
It seemed that she had never really been a child at all-
always grownup worries and responsibilities.
But things would be different now-
she would escape this place-
she had dreams to fulfill- new memories to make.
I would offer her a lift- I was too late.
A big black limo approached-
stopping- the door opened-
I watched as she hesitated- the choice was hers-
a brief discussion with- I could not see who-
finally getting in- leaving the suitcase in the dust-
heading to who knows where.
I feared for her-
for her dreams- her new memories-
her very existence-
I felt deeply saddened for her.
Would anyone else ever again?
A soft bed, a good book, a big brother
Listening to stories that sweeten dreams
Expressively read to us by Mother
A fishing pole, bobber, and muddy streams
Catching grasshoppers and earthworms for bait
Walking with Father by lantern light beams
A cousin, a friend, a fun playtime date
Catching horny toads for spending money
Buying balloons – a few coppers bought eight
A peanut farm, a beehive, sweet honey
Eggs fresh from the nest, chicken off the block
Life much simpler then, it all seems sunny
Today I slow down, reminisce, take stock
How sweet my childhood, how fast-paced the clock
have you ever been in a battle
you could not winn (win)
where unruly Professor woman and Professor men
could murder you without
no one seeing there sin
to think there will be no trace
just your body laying on cold
none bending steely space
and your heart has quiver its last race
and your life has met its fate
and your doctored body
has fallen out of life's every running race
and those who are to blame
are protected
and will never even receive blame
for in winter white a coat of death
blinds us all...
and makes you dance
in the falling undeserving snowflakes of
its promises to do no harm...
aka: lyricvixen
The story goes Pa met Ma in the city when he drove a truckload of pigs to market. She was the young waitress who served him cup after cup of coffee and gave him three eggs instead of just two along with four slices of bacon.
Pa liked Ma as soon as he saw her so he told her he’d go back to the hotel and clean up and come back and take her to a movie if she’d like.
Ma said yes and one thing led to a marriage and Ma moved with Pa down to his farm, a strange place for a city girl who had spent all 18 years of her short life in the city.
Ma had a lot to learn on the farm and she did it slowly. The first time she took laundry out the basement door to hang on the line she met a skunk not bothering anyone, first skunk she had ever seen, and like most skunks no one had ever tried to pet him before.
Ma had already petted some of Pa’s cows and sheep and even a reclining sow with piglets so she put her laundry down to give this pretty critter a nice petting.
The skunk, however, had other ideas and raised quite a stink.
It was hours before Ma could go back in the house because Pa had to wait until dark to clean her up in back of the barn with very strong soap and buckets and buckets of water.
Eventually most of the stench subsided but Ma’s clothes were a total loss. They couldn’t even be used for rags and had to be burned way out in a field not planted that year.
All through the scrubbing and buckets of water Pa and Ma kept laughing and squealing. Like always, they had a very good time.
Donal Mahoney
William and I went to visit the zoo.
A big sprawling zoo exceedingly grand
We saw lions and tigers, some red kangaroo,
Cute mini monkeys from a far distant land,
And an ostrich who hid his head in the sand.
Past the wild horses on flat open ground
A wide green pasture beneath the blue skies
The wonders of wonders was there to be found
A huge grey elephant, enormous in size.
The poor child could hardly believe his own eyes
The butterfly farm, a wonderful sight
Like watching a dream of magic unfold
Thousands of beauties in motion and flight
Weaving with colours exceedingly bold.
A memory to keep for when I grow old.
First light of dawn
Uphill I walked it was still dark, had to be at
the farm a five, milking time. Hard westerly
wind makes the climb tough soon the cattle will
be mooing in their pens, the boss grumpy, I’m
hungry and no time to eat; milking eight cows
by hand is no joke. End of the last hill I see
the farm, there is light in the kitchen,
Emma, my dog, barks, stops when she hears my
steps, ten to five, morning light I stop and catch
my breath, they are not going to think that I was
hasting for them I’ll have a quick mug of coffee
a slice of ham, just like any other day, they will
wonder and the maids whisper, but not ask where
and with whom, I spent the night.
Almond Tree and Prisoners
As a child I lived near a farm a farm that was
next door to a prison camp. Russian prisoners
marched up and down trying to keep warm
it was January with much frost, year of 1945
I thought of this today on my walk passed my
almond tree that is situated so good it catches
most of the westerly sun, yet hidden behind
a Holm oak protected by Nordic wind blasts.
My tree is already flowering, it has pink petals
shivers a bit dressed in a delicate nightdress.
The Russians had to wait longer for their spring
when it came, it was false one, they were sent
home and put in prison camps for surrendering
to the enemy. For some the winter is endless.