Best Farmer Poems

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

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New Farmer Poems

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

Shorter Farmer by Breese, Richard
There Once Was a Farmer by Shaw, Indiana
Cunning farmer by Ochwo-Oburu, Solomon
Boiling Ox message to the farmer by Ochwo-Oburu, Solomon
Boiling Ox meat message to the farmer by Ochwo-Oburu, Solomon
DELL THE FARMER by Rodrigues, Kim
THE LAST FARMER by Vidheya, Harshath
He Was A Farmer by Hunt sr, Harold
Barbara the Farmer by Price, Franklin
Farmer John Meets Someone Nice by Mahoney, Donal

View all new Farmer Poems

The Best Farmer Poems

 
Details | Farmer Poem | Create an image from this poem.

I want your SEEDS

**"And his name was Jack"**

No one perceives what abides above the clouds. 
A giant, a harp, maybe golden eggs. 
I demand to see and feel before I believe. 
A castle, a dream…. I want the magic beans!!!
~~~

I'm the daughter of a farmer. 
I have a donkey to ride, a story to tell.
“Jack and the Beanstalk” my favorite tale. 
 
Once upon, a morbid dawn. 
I inhale a tiny simple yawn
Like the morning sun levitating over the farm,
I rise towards the village square to sell my ass
Along the open path, my ass and I desired a drink. 
Near the rustic river, 
I'd seen an old Englishman, sitting on a log. 
It looked as if time was approaching his brink. 
In his hand, he had a sack.
A bag, a bag, embroil of ivory and black. 
His eyes were not from this ground. 
His body fragile - it uttered a moaning sound.
He was of dirt. 
I was pure. 
He pledged his life to me. 
I debated .... with many thoughts, 
Although his eyes... 
My eyes... Will never meet again.
"I want what's in the bag!"

In a gasp, he whispers, 
"I'll give you anything for that ass.
my legs and bones can’t hold up on their own!”
I knelt down to where he sat 
Smelling his essence of rot
I reached forward and grabbed his baggage 
He griped, "This bag is all I got!" 
 
I answered, "And this sir is a fine ASS!" 
He replied, "I have no cash." 
Scowling at him, “NO I want your demon seeds!" 
My blood grew thin... 
Inhaling and exhaling  - his sin 
The old man all shriveled and timeworn, 
Proposed the birthright of the seeds. 
"Yes, plant them! Plant them!" 
I cried excitedly! 
He pat the field. 
Said "there I am done, 
now clock as it expands"
 
To breed this story short... 
He dispenses his seeds. 
AND, I GAVE HIM MY ASS. 
 
  BY;PD   


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013

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POOR PETER PUMPKIN

Poor Peter Pumpkin had a very itty bitty head.
So the farmer made him stay inside the garden bed.

The farmer said that he was going to keep him warm with hay.
And there the itty bitty pumpkin stayed for many a day.

Finally, the farmer came to check upon poor Peter,
measured him and then exclaimed, “You’ve grown an extra meter!

I think it’s time for you to finally go and face the world.”
Peter got up from his bed. He twirled and twirled and twirled!

“My,” the farmer shouted, “You’ve grown two legs with feet!
You’re a special pumpkin. My daughters you must meet!”

Poor Peter heaved his hefty bulk, waddling away,
following behind the farmer so he would not stray.

They traveled rather quickly, and soon they reached the house.
The daughters saw the pumpkin and grew quiet as a mouse.

The silence lasted just until at last one daughter spoke,
“A pumpkin with two legs? Is this some kind of joke?”

Her father knelt beside her and whispered in her ear,
“Do not be afraid, my child. You’ve not a thing to fear.

We can carve a lantern. It will be your Halloween treat.
Then we can make lots of pumpkin pies for us to eat."

Peter trembled with a chill to hear their horrid plan.
Jumping out the door, he yelled, “Catch me if you can!”

He ran into the pastures. Then he tumbled down a hill.
As  he rolled he bumped into the couple, Jack and Jill!

“Oh dear me,” cried Peter, “I do not wish to be
a lantern for this Halloween. Please, can you guys help me!”

Jack and Jill then led him to the land of Nursery Rhymes.
His sad fate has now been told to children many times.

For he ran across a man named Peter Pumpkin EATER.
Maybe you can guess now what became of our poor Peter!

10~12~14
Contest: Halloween Co-Writes
Sponsor: Diane Locksley
Written By Jan Allison & Andrea Dietrich
~awarded 1st place~


Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2014



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On the Death of My Wife Lilian

From the brow of the hill
I could see clearly the panorama
Beneath me.  Worried I saw from afar a farmer
Scythe in hand reaping the crops
In far off fields full of tall grass.
It was not the farmer who interested me.
It was my wife, a marriage of forty seven years.
I saw her hobbling down an uneven path,
Her body bloated with disease.
She never looked back.
Strange I thought,
There were no birds around.
Only profound silence.
Arriving at a crossroad, 
Without hesitation
She took the right narrow trail.

My heart thundered in pain.
I knew what was in her mind.
Incautiously she arrived at a bridge.
Thick fog covered the other side 
An extension that led to unknown worlds.
Head straight but body limping
She dragged herself over.

Helpless I looked on till she disappeared.
Disconsolate I sat down on a stone.
She had suffered enough. She will now rest forever.
But I?  Will I find some salutary rest?
I felt the pain of separation.
From afar a bell chimed an Ave Maria.



POTD 26 February 2017


Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2017

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The Farmer and His Corn

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.







Copyright © Richard D Seal | Year Posted 2013

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Clerihew Soup

I tell you I like, that Wayland a bunch
He'd be the guy, to be there in a crunch
Not afraid of humor, he paves the way
With clerihew words, he loves to play

Let's talk of Eileen, the Queen of passion
Her verses of pleasure, will not be rationed
She causes men to rise, women to weep
Many a farmer, have stopped counting sheep

Then there is Shadow, who is a bright light
Her name suggests darkness, but that isn't right
With a pen and paper, she loves to play
Out of the Shadow, poems brighten our day

There is the woman Donna, she is filled with charm
For her animals, she'd give her left arm
Still here in the soup, she adds her own spice
She's a little bit hot and a whole lot of nice

When it comes to Eagles Montery's the last word
She's not in a flock she's a solitary bird
With her strong wings creating a breeze
Verses dance on the wind with the greatest of ease

I can't forget about Richard, now there's a man
He teases Eileen, just because he can
Yet within the humor, his clever exists
His poetic talents, impossible to miss.

My friend Vicky T, has brought me to tears
She possesses insight well beyond her years
A voice from the wilderness, please take heed
Wisdom resides in her poems that we read

When it comes to nature, our Nette is the girl
She makes mountains quiver and pretty leaves twirl
To angelic worlds she causes us to travel
Brooks are helpless she makes them all babble

Our Andrea she is well beyond great
Her words are profound they carry such weight
Regardless of form, many contests she wins
She's top of the heap, before she begins

Becca's a doll, with a sensitive pen
She writes of the now and also the then
Her words magical, a muse guides her pen
Capturing my mind again and again

This place amazing, a Mystical Rose
A unique handle my creative friend chose
Perfect for her that woman has style
A perfect seven at the top of the pile

My buddy Drake he has really mad skills
With words like honey the airways he fills
If you are lucky he'll let you co-host
To him I raise a glass to happily toast

Others must wait I'm running out of Rymes
I will write of them some other time
Until then I must wish you all goodbye
Have a sip of my soup, give it a try.




Inspired to try my first Clerihew by 
Wayland Bunch. Hopefully I have got it right.



Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2013

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Poor Peter Pumpkin

Poor Peter Pumpkin had a very itty bitty head.
So the farmer made him stay inside the garden bed.

The farmer said that he was going to keep him warm with hay.
And there the itty bitty pumpkin stayed for many a day.

Finally, the farmer came to check upon poor Peter,
measured him and then exclaimed, “You’ve grown an extra meter!

I think it’s time for you to finally go face the world.”
Peter got up from his bed. He twirled and twirled and twirled!

“Oh my,” the farmer shouted, “You’ve grown two legs with feet!
You’re a special pumpkin. My daughters you must meet!”

Poor Peter heaved his hefty bulk, waddling away,
following behind the farmer so he would not stray.

They traveled rather quickly, and soon they reached the house.
The daughters saw the pumpkin and grew quiet as a mouse.

The silence lasted just until at last one daughter spoke,
“A pumpkin with two legs? Is this some kind of joke?”

Her father knelt beside her and whispered in her ear,
“Do not be afraid, my child. You’ve not a thing to fear.

We can carve a lantern. It will be your Halloween treat.
Then we can make lots of pumpkin pies for us to eat.

Peter trembled and grew chill to hear their horrid plan.
Jumping out the door, he yelled, “Catch me if you can!”

He ran into the pastures. Then he tumbled down a hill.
As  he rolled he bumped into the couple, Jack and Jill!

“Oh dear me,” cried Peter, “I do not wish to be
a lantern for this Halloween. Please, can you both help me!”

Jack and Jill then led him to the land of Nursery Rhymes.
His sad fate has now been told to children many times.

For he ran across a guy named Peter Pumpkin EATER.
Maybe you can guess now what became of our poor Peter!


Written by Andrea Dietrich and Jan Allison, for the 
Halloween Co-Writes Poetry Contest of  Diane Locksley


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2014

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Crazy Thoughts No 1

Why do they call it 'tourist season'
If you're not allowed to shoot 'em
Seems like a great opportunity
To end the over crowding problem

If a house fly loses both of its wings
Would we have to call them 'walks'
Is it possible to have a civil war
Of course not that's just silly talk

Any idea what the best thing was
That came before sliced bread
If a turtle somehow loses its shell
Is it homeless, naked, or dead

I find this saying quite unnerving
“Practice” is what doctors do
And braille on drive-through windows
Find that kinda scary don't you

If a parsley farmer ever gets sued
Can they legally garnish his wages
Well that's enough of this silly talk
At times I go through these phases

© Jack Ellison 2012


Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2012

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You never know till you get to know

One dark night a saucer crashed; the military quickly cleaned up the trash. In the distance, what they didn’t see; a thin, white face between the trees. Once all was quiet, little Gili-ok crept, from the woods where he had slept. The rising sun, he felt was great, but without his transport, he’d met his fate. A distant farmhouse, he drew near; he’d find food there; the scent was clear. To the doorway he did head; but he was overcome by sudden dread. Standing just inside the door, a human creature loudly warned… “Come no closer, you little freak, or I’ll put a bullet, a’tween yer teeth”. Gili-ok stopped dead in his tracks; he thought about just turning back, But reading farmer Jones’s mind; he beamed his message, oh so fine. “I come in peace, my human friend; I only want my wounds to mend”. Old farmer Jones, lowered his gun; He said, “I see that you are wounded, son.” Into the house, Gili-ok walked and they ate breakfast, as he talked. Old farmer Jones, then smiled and said, “It’s a wonder, you ain’t dead!” Guli-ok was soon patched up and graciously, he fixed old Jones’s truck. One finger touched the clunker’s hood; the old sparks fired and that thing, ran good! “Say, yer a fine repairman son and I could use a hand on this farm. Would’ya stay a’spell; help me plant seed? I’ll give room, board and feed.” Now Gili-ok knew he’d have to wait for friends to rescue him from his fate. Into the barn, he did go and soon the tractor…out it rolled. “I’ll be.” Said Farmer Jones, surprised; he really couldn’t believe his eyes. Little Gili-ok thrashed a ton of wheat; he filled the silo, nice and neat. The hogs and chickens were swiftly fed, when Gili-ok simply turned his head. Old Jones, he watched with shock and awe, as hay bales levitated into the barn loft. Week after week, Gili-ok did work, fixing equipment and working the dirt. The one year there, Gili-ok spent; made farmer Jones, a rich old gent. When Gili-ok’s pals finally arrived, they gifted Jones’s truck with a new hyper-drive. On his tractor, they added super-warp and on his house, they zapped a porch. As Gili-ok waved a sad goodbye, Farmer Jones began to cry. Into his head a message was beamed, “You must forget all that you’ve seen”. Never again did old Jones need to struggle planting all his seeds. His new warp tractor would miraculously plow and seed his crops; how he was, “wow’d”! A lesson Jones did learn from this; to befriend aliens, can be bliss. He was so happy that he didn’t shoot; he gave Gili-ok a brand new pair of boots. As Jones sat up watching the late, late show; his HDTV began to glow. It bleeped twice; the pixels morphed and on the screen was Gili-ok, of course! Gili-ok winked one oval eye and Jones waved back, with a sigh; happy that he’d gotten to know, that skinny little, alien soul.


Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2017

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Dandelions, Daisies and Golden Buttercups

Dandelions, daisies and golden buttercups
Carpet the fields, below a tree they look up

This colossus of wood with arms so spread
Capturing the sunlight, photosynthesis fed

Its reach out for life to the heavenly skies
Another marvel of nature in her portfolio surprise

The plough of the farmer and his sowing of the seeds
Turns this bright carpet to soil to feed our needs

When we have harvested the sown, and reaped natures rewards
The soil of life allows the carpet restored

Dandelions, daisies and golden buttercups
Like the colossus of wood, its their right to look up




http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/nature-8.php


Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2010

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The Fable of the Fox and Goose

 There once was a fox, as wise as can be,
 He lived in the hollow of an old oak tree.
 Not so very far from an ol’ Farmer’s Farm;
 A farmer he knew would do him great harm.

 Also, on that farm lived a lively young goose,
 And he caused the fox’s dry mouth to juice.
 Without a care, the goose gandered about,
 Causing the fox great apprehension, no doubt.

 One day they met at the edge of the farm:
 The goose knew, for sure, the fox meant him harm.
 Mr. Fox, I know you can eat me, he said,
 But, I know a better way you can be fed.

 The farmer has many an egg you can eat,
 and they are more juicy than feathery meat.
 I’ll tell you just how to gain your supply;
 as quick as a wink, or the blink of an eye.

 The farmer is rich and he doesn’t have need
 for all of his wealth, and all of his greed.
 We poor of the earth, he cares not about:
 We should take eggs from the lecherous lout.

 Sure, he feeds us, and quite well in fact,
 But he profits from the sweat of our back.
 We animals are brothers, and should take heed
 About each others wants and each others need.

 You can sneak around by the ol’ mill gate,
 while I distract the hound, down by the lake.
 His threat to you I shall circumvent,
 and you can then eat to your hearts content.

 The sly ol’ fox, he surmised this odd tale:
 Hen’s eggs were delicious, he knew quite well.
 Oh, this we will do, he quickly agreed:
 Eggs, he knew, were quite delicious indeed.

 So, the goose set off, the hound to distract,
 And also the fox, to the mill gate out back.
 But, the goose had another plan in his mind;
 A problem solution of a far different kind.

 He enlisted the hound in his subversive trick,
 To solve the fox dilemma finally and quick.
 He sent the hound round to the ol’ mill gate,
 Leaving himself to just piddle and wait.

 Then suddenly upon him with claw and tooth
 Pounced the fox, ‘fore he could honk or hoot.
 In this moral lesson we all can deduce,
 Why no-one says: “he’s as sly as a goose”.

The SLY fox knew: “If the goose would betray 
 the farmer that feeds him, he will betray me too.”
Lionel


Copyright © Lionel Ledbetter | Year Posted 2013

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The Tale of Billy Bob Bunny

When Billy Bob Bunny turned one, his mama said, “Listen up, son. I’m sure you could get away from a net, but beware the guy bearing a gun! If a gun-toting farmer you see, you must hip hop away instantly. If he has good aim, you might end up lame or worse yet, rabbit stew you will be. So do please, Billy Bob, take good care that you don’t end up being the hare that loses his life so Farmer Jack’s wife has a soft rabbit stole she can wear!” But it wasn’t Billy Bob’s habit to listen to his Mama Rabbit. Without using good sense, he hopped over the fence, saw a carrot and started to grab it. Farmer Jack spied that rascal. Oh, my! From a gun, bullets started to fly. When a shot nicked his ear, Billy fell down from fear. Then he heard a small sound like a cry. “Please don’t shoot at the bunny again,” cried the farmer’s sweet daughter, and then Billy could feel her stroking his soft fur, and at night he was placed in a pen. Mama came to the pen and she said, “You are trapped. I’m just glad you’re not dead.” Though no freedom he had, Billy Bob was not sad. “I’m a loved pet,” he said, “and well fed!” The moral of this story is: You can tolerate any condition as long as you are loved and well fed!


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2012

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The Dog Days of Summer

We let down the top to soak in the sun
Now that the harshness of winter is done

As you let back the seat and put your feet on the dash
Saying, “keep your eyes on the road I don’t want to crash”

I truly must admit that I’m torn completely in two 
The coast has its beauty, then again so do you

As the beauty of the Sun is absorbed by your skin
Like a kid at the candy store I simply want to dig in

If life is a candy store sweetheart you are the treat
All the other candy I tasted, never tasted so sweet

The reason I love summer is because of the heat
The skimpier the bikini, the greater the treat 

I can’t begin to express how wonderful you are
Saying, “hey take a look at her I’ll steer the car”

At first I truly had no idea what I should say?
Though now it’s, “ok sweetheart, have it your way”

I think that is because you know these words are true
I may take look at her but I shall forever belong to you

Summer is a time that is as bright as the sun
Out goes the cold as it’s replaced by the fun

We have our barbecues and sit under the stars
Let down the tops and go for rides in our cars

Go tend to our gardens in farmer John clothes
Truly amazed at how fast everything grows

Go hang out at the river as well as the lake
Cover ourselves in oil than let our skin bake

Embrace the moments because these words are true
The days last much longer and the sky is so blue

The dog days of summer I reckon that’s so
We bark and howl at folk we don’t even know

If life is banquet then summer is the feast
I think we should gobble it up, to say the least


Written for john's Summer contest.


Copyright © Michael Jordan | Year Posted 2009

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OMNIPOTENT: HE KNOWS ALL

OMNIPOTENT: HE KNOWS ALL I know today, at this time You... my son(man), may not wholly know me. but, may I ask you... Have you taken one time to close your eyes in silence, feel me in your midst... and somehow reflect why despite say: your abounding richness still, you feel lost or empty? your waterfall trials still, you find yourself standing? your ten thousand sins still, you are given another day to live? My eyes, My hands, My feet. My heart, My breathe, My mind, All of them are filled with unselfish love for You. Before... I created the world complete and beautiful for you that all you need and all you want is there within your grasp. Within your reach. No hunger. No thirst. No killing. No stealing. No pain. No disease. Nothing evil is there nor anything to cause a tear from your eyes. I created you my son as like me unto my image and likeness you are mold yet above all these, how was I to know... that with some lies of a devil you will desire to be greater than I am. but I have forgiven You and given You always chances to change, to be better and once again look unto me as Your God alone. Yet, You seem to be blind, deaf or seem to be high-pride Hence, I have come to the point of sending you, my Only Begotten Son Him, who I answered and empowered through His uttered prayers. Him, whom I asked to fully demonstrate how it is to be human and more to be God at the same time. Him, who didn't consider status, gender, race or age. Selflessly, He embraced all but overall still He wasn't accepted . Him, who begged with blood of tears that I will take away the cup from Him but later, surrendered and humbly said: MY WILL BE DONE. so even His follower who was bribed-- became a traitor. And so, He was condemned and put to death. Again, my son, I ask you to ponder on this Do you need me to every now and then be infront of you? (when I am always here knocking at Your heart's door) Will by seeing me in flesh and hearing my voice convince you? (aren't my Creations: the sun, flowers, the waters, the air tell you am around?) that I am Your God, who will never leave you nor forsake you. (aren't my spirit, your friends, family, supporter, or even a kind stranger tell you am present?) Don't you recognize every single day that I am performing miracles for you? (but sad. Sad. Sad that you don't notice them) Have I not given you a heart and a mind to know and decide? To name a few.. I am a builder. I am a teacher. I am a healer: the greatest physician. I am a fisherman. The great carpenter. The great farmer. The great gardener. Oh yes! yesterday, today and even tomorrow you will hear or you will see so much about me from anyone but have I not told you always to seek me by your heart and that apart from me you can not do more and that you need faith, hope and love to see me... As strong as the wind, as quiet as the forest As fearless as the fire, as immovable as the mountains from east to west, from north to south to the flying spell of the night, to the erupting swell of the sun even borders and beyond... I am the way, the truth and the life I am the alpha and omega I am the one and only God I am who was, who is and yet to come I am the God who knows all... I so love you my son that above all this, I gave you free will, I am leaving you the choice... to open your door for me or not. Will you let me enter, my son? _________________________________________________ 10:03 pm, March 24, 2015


Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo - Fraser | Year Posted 2015

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I Touched The Wall Today (The Vietnam Memorial Wall)

Emotions flooded my very soul as I viewed that Sacred Wall.
Etched for all eternity are hero's names who sacrificed their all.
I sensed that I was on hallowed soil as I knelt on bended knee.
I touched The Wall today, but more than that, The Wall touched me.

I offered a silent prayer for each of the names that I caressed.
Tho' their time here was brief, by them we were truly blessed.
They placed national destiny above their own defending liberty.
I touched The Wall today, but more than that, The Wall touched me.

They were ordinary Americans who performed extraordinary things,
Such grand and noble acts to ensure that freedom's bell yet rings!
They gave their full measure that humankind might live free.
I touched The Wall today, but more than that, The Wall touched me.

What might they have become, I muse, had fate not dealt them so,
A teacher, doctor, a farmer?  Alas, we shall never know.
To teach nations The Golden Rule, I suspect would be their plea.
I touched The Wall today, but more than that, The Wall touched me.

Tho' grander monuments have been built for those of greater fame,
This simple yet powerful memorial will keep alive the flame,
Of humanity's quest for brotherhood, peace and dignity.
I touched The Wall today, but more than that, The Wall touched me.

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)

Placed 7th in "The Best Day Of Your Life" Contest
Placed 3d in the "Your Best Poem" Contest" June 2010
Featured Poem Of The Week 2-9 May 2010
lst Place in Security Public Library (Colorado) Poetry Contest - May 2006
Published in Poet Bob Casey's Book, "An Oasis In A Cluttered World" - 2006



Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2010

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NOT RELISHING CAKE

My baker’s commissioned to bake A huge cow shaped iced wedding cake The groom is a farmer He sure is a charmer Its design could lead to heartbreak When the bride saw the cake how she cried Her traditional cake was denied She screamed at the groom Get out of this room Then she plunged the knife in the cow’s side Inspired by but not for contest 02~09~17


Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2017

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The End of Summer

The meadow lies ravaged
beneath the scorching sun,
fields covered with dust,
grasses yellow and flat,
sunflowers hang their heads.
Only dandelions survive
releasing seed into the air.
Few birds chirp, singing sad songs,
Spiders move slowly
weaving their webs.
Insects undeterred abound.
Ants carry their meager harvest
to their underground caves.
The breeze too cold,
the skies occasionally grey.
No farmer tills the land,
afraid of sweat and backaches.
No tractor sputters to life
no tools lie around,
Only a sickle is stuck upright 
in the fallow land.

Placed 1

5 September 2017
Contest/Sponsored by Cecelia Hopkins-Drewer
____________________________________________________________
Contest Description

September is the month when summer ends.
Please write a free verse poem on your thoughts about The End of Summer.
Visual imagery is essential.
Good grammar and spelling are essential.
Date your poem. 
No Names.


Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2017

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Bamboo

Standing straight and tall, I am happy among my next of kin,
graceful and gracious, accepting and at one with nature.
The gentle whisper of the wind is music in our midst,
A cornucopia of chirping sounds, gleeful gifts from the birds.

Do you ever wonder how I have grown at last
For it was only six weeks ago that I was not on this spot
Yet it would seem that right before your very eyes
I suddenly appeared overnight, you were surprised!

My story cannot be told without mentioning the farmer.
Day after day, year after year he never gave up on me.
A powerful testimony of perseverance and trust, and hope and faith 
in The One Almighty and... the power of a dream.

Knowing the value of patience, he waited and cared for me
oh so tenderly and never gave up.  I dared not ever
conceive of disappointing him, so while he gave my needs 
every day, I did what I had to do... I grew.

Not above, but underneath the ground, where no one can see,
to build that inner strength, deeply rooted in my seed.
One day in the fifth year, the right time came and
I literally leaped off the ground. Miracles do abound!

I am ever giving. I give food to the hungry, a shelter 
for the homeless...even a bed. I am seat and a fence.
I provide clothing and more. It is my nature to give.
From my innermost being I provide freshness in the air.

Strong and resilient, I am not cowed by storms
They give their all to topple me from where I stand,
yet I hold my ground. I may bend and sway for the wind,
but after a while I stand, straighten and do not lose my grip. 

I learned to accept my weakness and be proud of my strength
An image of one who is calm, I am at peace with myself.





26 August 2015








Copyright © KP Nunez | Year Posted 2015

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The Honey Diet


Anytime I feel hungry instead of eating a full meal I eat Honey. The best part is that Honey doesn't mind, she's a sweetheart. Maurice Yvonne 20~11~2014 The Refrain I bought a box of Animal Crackers. On the box it said "Do not eat if seal is broken" So I opened the box. I looked inside and sure enough... The Encore If a parsley farmer doesn't pay his bills can they garnish his wages? Closing Remarks There is a new virus. It has no symptoms and no consequences. I am terrified. It turns out I have been diagnosed with it. I am not a hypochondriac. I really do have it. If you don't believe me ask my Gynecologist! Maurice Yvonne 11~20~2014


Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2014

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HARVEST TIME FOR NATURE ONLY CONTEST

Blue sky, glorious golden sunshine Elements every farmer needs. With crops rippling in the breeze Combine harvesters whirl into action See them steadfastly snaking along the fields I can hear their dull drone from morning to night Farmhands work tirelessly to gather the harvest Making hay whilst the sun shines Every second of the day is so precious Until the final rays of the red sunset fade Only then the farmer leaves and can rest Harvest moon rapidly rises Silhouetted in the majestic oak tree A barn owl roosts silently in the quiet of night Nature Poem – Sponsor Shadow Hamilton 08~02~15


Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015

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WAITING

I did not know that one could feel death cold in summer sweat,
as images of you flash lightning fast, the wind remains still and vigils
past the midnight hour, no relief comes from the short rain shower.

But images are not enough when the cold of the night yearns for warmth;
for the bed never used to be this big, the sheets this chilly to one’s touch,
the hours never used to be parched lips waiting to be moistened by your kiss.

If only dealing with feelings was as simple as watching scenes from old movies
where in despair, the heroine can just crumple the letter to throw in the bin,
only to pick it up later and lovingly remove the creases, to be read again.

So as a patient farmer waits for the grains to grow from green stalks
and a mother who calmly expects to see the face of the child in her womb,
I will soothe the sorrow in my breast, till fate deigns for me too, to rest.




12 July 2015
Open Poetry Contest - 6th Place
Sponsor: Charlotte Puddifoot


Copyright © KP Nunez | Year Posted 2015

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The Farm Fields

The wind swept across the fields of wheat

The breeze curled around each head of grain

Waves would ripple through the fields

Looking like the waves of an ocean lapping to shore

As the sun beat upon these heads of grain

They turned from green to a golden color

They now have become prairie gold

The harvest in the fall has truck loads of wheat

Taken to the elevators for shipping to the coast

From the coast wheat goes  world wide

To feed the hungry and give man bread

From the wind swept prairie's

Where the farmer makes his bed.





Copyright © Phyllis Babcock | Year Posted 2009

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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: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=joNzRzZhR2Y

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



Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2014

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Sister -- a poem in 2 parts

            I.

End-Cut Prime Rib of Beef,  
Crab-cake, Lobster Tail,
Sea Scallops.

I feel — no — need to, 
eat those foods 
you asked I get you. 

So I scour the internet 
for upscale Manhattan 
restaurant menus, listing, 
first and foremost,
roast prime rib of beef, 

confident, if I find that, 
the seafood items 
will appear on at least one 
of them, also. 

It’s the Post House,
on East 63rd Street,
that has everything.
And, on this day, 
the 1st anniversary
of your death, 

I’m eating the foods 
you craved, yet, I do not 
savor a morsel. But 
not to worry, Renee, 

for next year, same
date, I’ll try again, and 
maybe, just maybe, 
I’ll find it easier to enjoy 
what you surely would have, 

if only I’d realized there was 
no time left. No time left, 
as I held your hand and 
watched American Idol.

while you morphed into what-
ever it is one becomes 
at death. 


              II.

I muse if Robert Frost
had taken the other road, 
would he have moved to
England, where 
his poetry was a hit
from the get-go; 

would he have remained, 
the constant farmer, or 
teacher, or journalist
he been, rather than 

the bard who'd crafted 
the simplest words 
into mysterious, 
memorable poems; 

and the father who
couldn’t prevent 
his children’s deaths; 

not the husband 
who couldn’t keep
his wife from sinking 
deep into depression.

Renee, every day, since
your death, I think about 
what I could’ve done 
and should not have done 
as your sister, your twin. 

How I’d sat on my laurels 
and let you navigate 
on your own, with me 
never wholeheartedly
trying to steer away
from conflict with you. 

Me, who found it too hard
staying involved in that life 
of yours. Truth be told, 
if I'd seen two diverging roads 
to choose from, way back when 

— neither the worse for wear, 
I would’ve sought you out — 
asked you which one you’d take 
if you were me, and surely 
I’d have taken the other.











Copyright © Ruth Sabath Rosenthal | Year Posted 2014

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The Cricket and The Dragonfly

A Long, Long Time ago, there was a cricket whose name
was Blue, she was named after the sky that she loved so true. 
All day long she would look up at the sky while the other 
crickets played and hopped merrily on by.
Then one day a dragonfly landed near and he heard the 
whispered wish, the cricket held so dear.
Crickets my dear, he said, belong on the ground and if 
you fell, well, you may never ever be found. 
The little cricket answered yes I know, but to the sky
is where my heart longs to go. I have wings to help me fly
but they only carry me about one foot high.
To the top is where I long to be. 
Hey! Maybe you could help me.
I don't know if that is a safe thing to do little cricket 
but if you can help me then I will try and help you. 
What can I do to help dragonfly, the cricket cheerfully asked?
Some rain would be nice to put in my water flask. 
I carry water to those of us who are sick but there seems to be a 
water shortage since the farmer filled in the ditch.
I would be more than glad to help and the cricket sung her beautiful song,
then tender raindrops fell from the sky and the dragonfly was pleased
as he carried water half the day long to those in need.
When the sky cleared and there was no more rain, the cricket waited
for the dragonfly to return again, and when he did not come back to her, 
the cricket's face had a look of concern.
I know he will return, the cricket whispered to herself low, he just has to
for he promised me so. Just as the sun begin to set low, along came the dragonfly and asked,  Are you ready to go? 
The cricket said, Yes as her heart for this had cheerfully longed. 
The little cricket jumped on the dragonflies back and held tightly on.
To the top of the tree he flew and landed on the tip top as he promised her
he would do. The crickets eyes filled with wonder and tears.
This is what she had been dreaming of, for years.
The dragonfly's days were never worried about drought, whenever his cricket
friend was about and the Cricket took many journeys on the dragonflies back.
She told her story in a song again and again. The tale of how a cricket flew
up into the sky, on the back of her dragonfly friend.

3/09/2017


Copyright © Sharon Gulley | Year Posted 2016

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An Angel In Disguise

An Angel In Disguise He labors in the field in blazing sun Beneath a sky of blue with clouds of white... His wagon and his farmer tools at hand. With wide brim hat and buttoned shirt undone, From dawn to dusk he works the blessed land… Brings life to fertile soil with brawn and might. His heart is happy in the time he spends To make a good life for his new-found bride, To be together, come the sun or rain, To share in nourishment from crops he tends; To bear the long hot days, sore muscles, pain His work demands in order to provide. And now he has an angel by his side... She stands by him throughout his work-filled days… Her hours are long with chores of farm life too. And in the evening, both at rest abide The coming of the next day to renew Their modest joys in life of simple ways. So often through the day, she is right there At window of the hay-filled barn to see, With loving cat held closely in her arm, Her dear strong man, if he is taking care To work the field without her fear of harm… His angel in disguise…dear wife is she. Sandra M. Haight ~1st Place~ Contest: Angels Sponsor: Nayda Ivette Negron Judged: 01/01/2016 --------------------------------------- ~1st Place~ Contest: An Angel in Disguise – Painting #7 Sponsor: Isaiah Zerbst Judged: 03/20/2015 Rhyme Scheme: a-b-c-a-c-b


Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2015