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Best Farmers Poems | Poetry

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

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New Farmers Poems

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

Family Jazz Farmers by Dillenbeck, Gerald
Apple Farmers on Trump's Administration by Dillenbeck, Gerald
The HerdsMen and The Farmers by Naye, Joseph Jeremiah
An Ode To Farmers by Janko, Betty
Viroqua Farmers' Market, June 2015 by Jung, Andrew
A Farmers Tyranny by Demetros , Madison
A farmers life by Brannon, Lisa
FARTING COWS - A TAXING TIME FOR FARMERS - FOR ANNE LISE by ALLISON, JAN
Farmers Wish by Hawes, Roger
The Farmers prayer by Smith, Paul

View all new Farmers Poems

The Best Farmers Poems

Details | Farmers Poem |

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.

Details | Farmers Poem |

WONDERFUL WORLD

Cool wind whispers on the breeze
Shimmering sunshine warms the autumn leaves
Dragonflies dance over a sparkling lake
Slithering silently is a sleepy snake
Beauty surrounds, just open your eyes
Embrace our world, its simply paradise

Blackbirds sing a sweet song
Tunefully twittering all day long
Farmers plough the patchwork fields
The seasons provide; nature yields
Our bountiful earth God reveals

Nature plays its hand
Rain rejuvenates our land
Oceans blue surround us
Flowing freely without fuss

Spring and summer
Autumn and winter
They always appear
Creating our year

Our beautiful
Simply wonderful

World

10~19~14
Contest :I do not know 
Sponsor: Andrea Dietrich
~awarded 3rd place~

Details | Farmers Poem |

Thank You For This Bounty, God

Thank you for this bounty, God
that you give to me
for grain that grows within the field
and fruit upon the tree
Thank you for the little seeds
that in the spring are sown
and with your gifts of sun and rain
have through the summer grown
Thank you for the farmers, Lord
and bless them for their toil
as now they gather in the fall
this bounty from your soil




This was inspired by Brian Strands' Harvest Hymn Contest, which I unfortunately missed 
but I wanted to share it with you today and dedicate it to Brian for the inspiration and 
support he gives to us here at the Soup.  RG

Details | Farmers Poem |

Green - I have seen you somewhere within

Green - I have seen you somewhere within my evergreen soul
Where the Omniscient plays his flute
To rejuvenate the tired ones - scattered by the humdrum of daily chores
His idiosyncratic tune soothes my heart

Green - I have seen you somewhere within the desolated dry lands
Where you assure us of a definite return
Spiralling with the next rain to come - with the seeds of new love
Sprouting with our endless hopes - in the hands of caressing farmers
Farmers of life too

Green - I have seen you somewhere within the falling leaves
Burnt by the desires of their own - dejected souls
Still they fall on the ground from where they got nourishment
Mix them with their mother to make her fertile
To maintain the perpetual flow of love
To the next progeny

An evergreen dream
Comes true
Green - I have seen you somewhere within ... 
My desperate hopes


01.03.16

Details | Farmers Poem |

I am strong

 I am strong

You may simply disregard me
with your arrogant throng
You may treat me with disrespect
I'm still here, I am strong

Why don't you like it when I succeed?
Why can't you be happy for me?
I walk on air, confidently
so, foot loose and fancy free

Just like hope and like faith
and the sureness of birdsong
I know where I belong...
I    am    strong

Did you want me to be shaking
so scared and all alone?
Feeling lost and so abandoned
with nowhere to call my home?

Does my happiness distress you?
Does it make you feel upset?
That I'm at peace lovin' myself
Livin' life without regret?

You may shred me with sarcasm
You can say I don't belong
You can hate me with your jealousy
But still, like iron, I'm strong

Does my confidence disturb you?
Can you not visualize?
That my words are captivating
and the crowds they mesmerize? 

From ancestral farmers sowing seed
I am strong
From hardy men of faith who believed
I am strong
I'm a true wordsmith, spinning words so true
weaving and knitting, as true poets do.

Never giving in to fear or to doubt
I am strong
I know what the love of God is about
I am strong
Building on the faith my forefathers had
I encourage the weak, make their hearts glad
I'm strong
I'm strong
I'm strong



John Derek Hamilton
August 17,2016

Details | Farmers Poem |

This Old Barn

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

Details | Farmers Poem |

I am Me, Set me Free

I am given to you by Creator Himself
My Limbs long to grow straight and tall
Bathed in sunlight from above, paying homage
Fulfilling my God given task
From the dawn of creation, in the Holy Books I’m told
A gift was given to all nations to hold
 The Tree of Life to feed and cure and clothe.
I am Me – Set me free

To live in a world- your world, to be appreciated
I am needed by you and the multitudes
Use me, Recycle me again and again 
Plant me in your soil, I will take root
I live to Heal you, to Cleanse you
To Rebuild you to Purify you
I am Me – Set me free

Do not believe the lies in your ears they whisper
Free me from my confined goal,
Where troops have placed me
Sullied my name,
Denied the Existence of my core
I am Me – Set me free

Yet I am you, and you are me
Vital it is for us living beings
Your DNA and my RNA- we talk -we communicate
I am not only here to just take away your pain
But here to let you - Live Your Life Again
I am Me – Set me free

Do not be stripped of your human privileges
The Greedy will always deny Man his God given rights
In the name of Democracy, Controversy, Hate, Idiocrasy,
They are chained in their Bureaucracies and Hypocrisies
And do not see the woods for the trees
I implore you do not be 
Of a ‘Sheeple’ people mentality
I am Me – Set me free

In a world encased with chemicals, plastics, synthetics
Created in the name of greed,
A world that is stifling, suffocating, stagnating
Poisoning you and your children
Let your Farmers Plant me, grow me as in days of old,
I am no weed

I have been here since time has begun
My leafy fingers and my palm point up to the sun
Absorbing and turning it’s energy into a life giving elixir
I purify the very air that you breathe
I am sustainability, I am Life
I am Me – Set me free

I can offer you the finest spun threads of my being
Does not the Japanese Emperor look good in his ceremonial clothes?
And did not ‘Mona Lisa’ smile - as she was stretched on my canvas?
Glowing from the oils of my seeds are Van Gogh’s ‘Stars’
And my finest for Raising Lazarus by Rembrandt
My spun cloth has stood the test of time

Carrying your very first Stars and Stripes still in existence
And did they not all feel proud when the Declaration was signed 
But like Judas they turned their backs without our acquiesce 
I am Me – Set me free

Haven’t my ropes tethered and towed ships from Days of yore
Until synthetics came along and put a stop to it all

My woven fibre sacks once carried your food?
But now with synthetics, I lie totally unused
I am self sufficient
I am your nutrition
I am Me – Set me free

Use my Oil and Mill my Seed
My healing powers are all you need
Leave the chemicals for the powers that be

My gifts are bountiful - I give with grace
Strength is in numbers - I rest my case
The way for us to become stronger
United we stand - we will conquer

I am the Tree of life
I AM ME – I AM THE HEMP TREE
A Gift from Nature - Healer of Humanity

Footnote:
A poet from Poetry Soup read my poem and the Footnote of ‘Christmas in July’ and was curious about the cure for Dementia with a certain Oil which would have prolonged my Mother-in-laws quality of life and indeed her life.
She emailed me to write a poem and spread the word about this species. Thank you sincerely. 

Our family company in Australia and have been pioneers of not only Organic Skin Products but of Hemp products. We encountered resistance but were successful in countering it and were able to bring it to the people. Including a special oil.

We have witnessed miraculous results with the marvelous, fine food tasting oil and products of this plant ranging from Epilepsy, MS, Parkinson’s, Dementia, Nerve related conditions, inflammation, auto immune and the list goes on. It has even been shown to make cancer cells literally commit suicide.  You can freely view research results on the internet. 

Hemp is not weed but a species which does not contain the all feared THC. It is a total nutrition in itself and is delicious food product that can be used for culinary delights as well as smoothies. 

A specific Oil that is extracted and has very special properties.

Details | Farmers Poem |

Breath of love

I wander in the nature’s green, trees in rows the birds preen
Like a gem glimmers the morning dew, with a precious diamond’s hue
And flowers bloom as I gaze anew, eggs hatch to welcome lives in queue
I can smell the wondrous earth, the distant flow of water in mirth
It’s a new dawn another day thereof, wherein I sense his breath of love.

As I prod on the old man smiles, he delivers milk by cycling miles
Passing the farmers sweet abode, the cry of new life reaches the road
A child wails by the neighbour’s door, with a sweet candy her eyes adore 
Roaming the street is a hound grown, pups trailing behind unknown
A jocund street undreamed of, wherein I sense his breath of love. 

My dearest rush out sighting me afar, without whom my life is a war
The tiny tots in their cradles lie, as we sing a lullaby
This is the world I am part of, wherein I sense his breath of love. 

© (4 Feb '15)


* Honourable mention in the contest 'Enter a poem #1' by Poet Destroyer

Details | Farmers Poem |

Rain

                                  Last time it rained was in April.
                                      It did not rain that much, 
                            but it was enough to dirty everywhere. 
                             You see, it was a south easterly wind
     and the clouds arrived laden with sand from the north African desert.
  That was nearly five months ago, and the farmers are already up in arms,
                   bemoaning lack of water as they till the arid soil.

                                         dust flies in the air
                                    the sun blazes overhead
                                      sweat drips profusely

                             Prayers have not gone unanswered!
                          Dark clouds creep from behind the hills
                   fast multiplying, ominously, obliterating the blue.
           The calm hot air is ruffled by a timid breeze which soon turns 
     to gusty wind. A sudden horizontal flash followed by drawling thunder 
            precedes a few big drops of rain which testily hit the ground.

                                          increase of tempo
                                     deafening cymbals clash
                                           erupting deluge 

                  Water gathers then flows steadily down the streets;
            thirsty fields drink greedily; trees bathe in delight, relishing
    heaven’s kiss of life on their moribund leaves, roots breathing in relief.
    Then, worn out, the wind slowly abates; so do the thunder and the rain. 
The clouds shyly disperse, permitting an unobstructed view of the sky above.
                 Satiated, the sundrenched land savours the afterglow. 

                                            sensual appeal
                                        petrichor emanation 
                                       veins pleasantly throb 


- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Contest: Rain Rain Come My Way
Sponsor: binibining P.iNk
8th June 2016

Details | Farmers Poem |

Rainy Days And Mondays

It's Monday
The day of the dead leaves and fresh flowers
The dry and wet hours
Like the other days
Of life and death
The desert and the lake
Thousands of the little ponds
The debris waiting for the mansion
Farmers stacking the hay
The trains that run every day

It's Monday
It's raining
As it rained last Friday too
The leaves whisper
With the caterpillars
The rivers playing football
The children of water
The toad is in laughter
The breezes leave rustles in the blades
The larks look on
The flood has robbed a family of life
The relatives weep
The rains stop a little and smile


The window down under my heart
Calls me
It was on a Monday too
Only yesterday as it were
Do you remember?
Your permanent shadow
Arrived on my canvas
The dream painting I am still doing
The rain got jealous
It came down on the shadows heavily
The time got flooded
As the water receded
A little plant raised its head
Got blended with my butter and bread
Moon-flower in the dream
The sunbeams woke me up

Whenever Monday is accompanied
By the rains
The pains of the window
Call me to you
With the windows holding the flowery hues
I look for the brushes
To pick the colour
For the shadows of the rustles
Slowly and softly
The gladioli
_____________________________
February 21, 2018
Rainy Days And Mondays - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Silent One

Details | Farmers Poem |

Farmers Wish

FARMERS WISH 


Woke up this morning with the sun in my eyes
Wishing for rain in the clear blue skies
We’re faced with a problem every single day 
Our stocks are all dying right were they lay

Tanks are all empty once again, bore’s all dead & dry
Banks want more money, but lord how I try
Year after year praying for rain
Hail Mary, my prayers are in vein

I can remember when I was a boy 
My dad and his dad too, had so much green
Had so much green green grass

We used to play and swim in the creek 
But all that I’m left with is barren ground
More dead sheep, stacked ten deep

I can’t give up not while I breath
Cause I’m a fair dinkum Aussie guy,
Who never ever gives up
Too much to live for before I say goodbye


So while there is food on the table and a beer in hand
I’ll keep on fighting for my home on the land
With my wife standing tall along my side
We’ll keep on fighting till the day we say goodbye

Details | Farmers Poem |

Drivin' Along A Country Road

When I need an uplift for my weary soul and to clear my muddled mind.
I slowly cruise along a country road to see what treasures I might find.
I leave behind the frenzied traffic on the four-lane interstate,
To enjoy bucolic vistas along a gravel road, my languid soul to sate.

I see old barns with Mail Pouch Tobacco ads now faint due to age,
And remnants of Burma Shave signs with their charmin' adage.
Stately homes with white picket fences grace the country road,
With roses of every hue surroundin' emerald lawns all neatly mowed.

I cross a rickety wooden bridge 'neath which country boys are fishin',
And for long ago summer days of feckless youth, it gits me to wishin;!
A lady waves to me as she hangs her laundry on the clothesline to dry.
A sign on the old country store reads, 'Wave If You Can't Stop By!'

Farmers on John Deere tractors wave as they tend their fields of grain.
They sure kick up lots of dust and I reckon they're prayin' for some rain.
I rolled down the windows to savor the wonderful scent of new-mown hay,
And slow to let an Amish family in their buggy move along the way.

Fat cattle graze on lush meadows, each with a meanderin' stream.
Horses gaze at me over fences as they look askance and dream.
I loathe interstates where folks think they're in the Indy 500-mile race.
I prefer old country roads where life is enjoyed at a much slower pace!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved

Details | Farmers Poem |

THEY DON'T BITE LIKE THEY USED TO

He sat there in his fav'rite chair, a blanket 'cross his lap 
And covering his snow white hair was his old fishing cap. 
I knew he could not talk to me since suffering the stroke, 
But still I sensed he could relate to ev'ry word I spoke. 
"I went and wet a line today ... down where you caught that cod. 
The biggest one you'd landed yet and though it was my rod 
I reckon he was yours all right ... but cod are far and few.  
They don't bite like they used to dad.  They don't bite like they used to." 
 
"The algae's building up again and stuffing up the creeks, 
Though at long last we had a fresh, the first in flam’in weeks. 
Pulled twenty stinking euros in, along with one old dew, 
But they had sores all over them, though still that's nothing new. 
The cotton farmers cry, "Absurd!  It can’t be from our spray." 
Perhaps the fish have just got aids from turning flam'in gay. 
Its getting pretty sad all right, but what can one bloke do.   
They don't bite like they used to dad.  They don't bite like they used to." 
 
"McDonalds seems to be the go and good old KFC 
And eating yellow-belly is a flam'in rarity.   
Your grandson won't go fishing as he says it's just for nerds 
And when I take the missus we just end up having words. 
I really miss our fishing trips, your company was swell 
And by the mist there in your eyes you miss them dad as well. 
I heard you sold your tinny mate, your outboard motor too.  
They don't bite like they used to dad.  They don't bite like they used to." 
 
They're introducing fingerlings and giving that a shot, 
But duckweed takes the oxygen which kills the flam'in lot. 
The droughts have had their toll as well and one thing that's for sure; 
I can't see in the future dad a remedy or cure. 
So mum's ducked down to Salty's mate and I would dare a punt 
She'll come back with a feed of fish before you say Rex Hunt. 
I guess we'll have to wash it down with some of your home brew. 
They don't bite like they used to dad.  They don't bite like they used to."

Details | Farmers Poem |

And still i drive - part one

Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall...
And sadly...i start to drive.
Through the unremarkable village with its tall 
Georgian Bay window panes, lightless,
devoid of visages; outwardly staring back at my 
Abject countenance with detached contempt and utter disdains.
Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall...
And i start to drive.
But arriving at the brew i am compelled to ease upon
The pressured brake,
For, at the slowly closing level-crossing with its red lantern gate, 
The tolling bell insists i stop...and patiently wait.

Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall...
As once again i prepare to drive.
At last, in rapid haste, the late commuter train 
Has rattled by -
Within:The snoozing jostled crowds and deceitful 
Drunken brokers that boozily sigh.
Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall... 
But stars do not lie.
Away now from Littlehamptons smothering, towered,
Blue-stepping climes,
Where, high upon high, wheeling fat-bellied gulls
With angry squawks viciously dispute their scavenged finds.

Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall...
But stars do not die.
Motoring downwards to ancient Aruns sheep-strewn 
Meadows and thin grass plains;
Past black flint-knapped walls girdling squat Tudor abodes;
Along the oak and Elm treelined roads 
And winding green verged lanes.
Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall...
And still i drive.
Past the dimly lit little ramshackle station where you welcomed
him in;
Here gently retiring Larkin did once alight 
To muse at a noble dukes tomb
And his boastful castle of grey, hewn-stone might!

Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall...
But stars do not cry. 
Travelling alongside these thorny lines of Hawthorn hedge,
Where the cunning Stoat and slinking Weasel reside,
That do so ably divide 
A long forgotten, once bustling,
Feudal countryside.
Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall...
But stars shall not deny.
Each side: Fields of Harvest mouse and blackened Vole
Beneath the hushed, brown feathered wing -
So rips the sharp beak! 
So deathly the talon!
Swooping upon the heath where brown Linnets sing.

Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall...
And still i drive.
Following the deep sided Rifes where the farmers boy 
In olden days did so joyfully run -
And wade the sharply tinkling shallow Bournes with excitable 
Barking hounds and readied hunting gun.
Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall...
But stars do not lie.
Standing upright, like troops aside their barrack beds,
the ranks of stiffly rattling thatching reeds encouraging 
Spearwort and sedge;
Where the chugging long-legged hens slide across slow glides:
Thus cleverly disguise and hide their speckly eggs.

Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall...
But stars do not die.
And still i drive. Across the hushed and vigilant lands of
Silvery streams
Where glistening otters, safely holted,
Whistle within their slumbering dreams.
Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall...
But stars do not cry.
And still i ride. Past the frozen woods of blasted trees
Sheltering the demure deer shying from night time chill;
And tumbling badgers rolling at ease
Upon dry-cracked carpets of rustling, black spotted, molding leaves.

Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall...
But stars shall not deny.
From ancient glade to ancient glade
Where a Gaulic conquerer made an Anglo-Saxon a slave;
And here this Norman dismounted and stood, 
Domesday within his grasp, his thumb between a parchment page.
Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall...
And still i drive.
Exhorting upon my labouring engine to gain the crest 
of yet another leaping hill;
Below: Globular luminosities, distant blobs, sleeping hamlets,
Dwindling narrow cornered streets, 
Misted frills so vacant and still.

Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall...
And still i drive.
Accompanied by the gleeful, ever gurgling sounds
That wind their way down the sloping downs
To unselfishly feed the constant demands of the neat, red-shingled, 
West Sussex towns.
Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall...
And still i drive.
Under this vastness of great yawning cosmic sublimes
Ebbing upon the waves of galactic oceans swelling above:
Straddled by eternal Orion with belted sword and terrible club!

Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall...
And still i drive.
For as i pass those goodly villages and towers, sneaking a peek,
I look out over the dark outlined shapes and spires:
Wonder i upon that furrowed brow, that crimson cheek -
Did you quietly cry, blaze and rage, or fall you into deep troubled sleep?
Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall...
And still i drive.
But sunrises horizons will surely arrive;
And i feel so weak as i readjust myself to the reclined seat.
For i have miles and miles to drive
Before that welcoming bed that i do most earnestly seek...
Lends to me - and sweeps away my exhausted feet!

Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall...
But stars do not lie.
My heavy heart embedded like an anchor deep within
Your reef of sighs;
As motoring over Portsbridge creek my engine flies:
Little painted craft pushing laboriously against the current 
Of a Solents double tide.
A brief glimpse of a lit up bridge, a safe harbour:
The beautiful river Hamble
Where the millionaires yachts reside
Secured and snugly moored
Against a picturesque quayside.
Stars fall under failing skies...stars fall...stars fall...
But stars do not die.
Standing tall and proud, refuting Hampshires Pompey winds,
Beached "Sails of the South" of wide fame renown;
When, rushing in: resounding waves of indifferent sounds -
Crashing over Portseas spray-lashed rocks to remorselessly pound!

Details | Farmers Poem |

A Hug for the Bug

Many insects creep upon this earth,
and hardly anyone refers to them as “nice”
or writes a poem reflecting on their worth!
Spiders sometimes make me jump as if they were small mice,
and how repulsed I feel to see cockroaches or lice!

How many cute soft cuddly insects can we find?
 Worms are soft, but cuddly? I don’t think so!
Which bug both cute and sweet comes to your mind?
Well, Butterflies are lovely; fireflies have a nice soft glow.
But the one that comes to MY mind I bet you know!

She is a lady beetle, and when she lands on me,
I do not flinch or swat at her or gasp out “Ugh!”
People like to count her spots. A lucky one is she.
Protecting crops, she is well liked by farmers. What a bug!
If she were but my size, I’d give her a big hug.


Written 4/16/13
for Francine Roberts' Whimsy in English Quintain Free Poetry Contest

Details | Farmers Poem |

October Harvest Etheree


Fruits
come in
abundance,
All yellow fields
burst with golden grains,
Birds sing their songs of grace;
Sunshine shows God’s full embrace.
Our farmers dance with joy and cheer,
Crates are full, all hearts in gratefulness,
Hail bountiful harvest this month of year!



©2015Leonora Galinta
     All Rights Reserved


Sept. 24, 2015      6.25 p.m.
 







-I'm also dedicating this poem to the birthday celebrants of the month especially to my loving poet sis-bff, PD, also to my dear friend, Debbie D and the rests. I'll also include mself. :)Best wishes with more prosperity and successess! 


Eight Place
Contest: For Love of October
Judged: 10/1/2015

Details | Farmers Poem |

The Farmers prayer

The Farmers prayer 

Tired days and prosperous nights
Stretching forward like an endless flight,
Towards the hour and through the night
In cascades of energy and bursts of light
My day is drained I long for night,
Give me rest from my toil
The power to rise and till my soil.

Details | Farmers Poem |

THE SWAINS

THE SWAINS

Under cumulus clouds, grew cauliflowers.
He planted them with love because I adorn them when they were harvested to the table of healthy man, my husband; sons; and brothers.
All were vegetable farmers of California.
We woman loved cooking for them.
They say there never was a better meal than this one every time we cooked.
That was each day of the yield.
Spirits were high as hell.
The profits were insurmountable.
They increased each year.
The sunshine brightly and this eased our fears.
We became wealthy and retired well.
Our children went off into the world.
Both sons became Attorneys of Law.
_____________________________|
Penned on October 30, 2014!

Details | Farmers Poem |

Another Glorious Autumn Is On The Way

When I look up at the pristine Colorado sky,
And see flocks of Canadian geese on the fly,
And watch squirrels hide their winter's fare in a secret cache,
Then I know that once again a glorious autumn is on the way!

When the harvest moon graces the sky with its lustrous glow,
And at dawn I see Pikes Peak gleamin' with a dustin' of snow,
And view the golden leaves of aspen trees upon the distant brae,
Then I know that once again a glorious autumn is on the way!

When the old ash tree on my lawn assumes its robe of amber,
Anon, strewin' the lawn with fallin' leaves t'wards late September,
And see golden punkins with a tad of frost at dawnin' of the day,
Then I know that once again a glorious autumn is on the way!

When the nights are cool and I need an extra blanket on the bed,
And note that the robins and all their friends to the south have fled,
And when I see anxious farmers harvestin' taters, corn and hay,
Then I know that once again a glorious autumn is on the way!

When apples are ripe for pickin' (after the worms have had their share),
And I've stored the lawn mower and at last can enjoy my rockin' chair,
And I sense that Old Sol is risin' later and settin' earlier every day,
Then I know that once again a glorious autumn is on the way!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved

Details | Farmers Poem |

alive the spring

Oh how sweet the taste of living, its soothing full; and joy..
This spring..' roll fields of clover, where ride the horse & boy
when wide blue sky is stretching, and forest boughs show green
there sweetly smile the maidens, as farmers feel like kings 
upon the shaded benches, people sit this day; the lark is rising steeply
where winds a dust clad; pilgrims way..'

Details | Farmers Poem |

Florida Nature

The sun emerge from its hide, smiling bright and it glide
Promising a fine stay, for those who toil by the day
Oaks surround the landscape, as ferns add in to the grandeur
A heron’s displaying majestic pose, the farmers toil with ardor
The placid stream that flow, bearing success into the future
A land that God has blessed, with serenity he suture

The grassland spreading far and wide, down the country line we trod
Wheels turning and a group so old, no place we haven’t rode
Of sunshine state I speak to thee, its heritage and splendor bold
As we turn a bend in road, of beauty that my eyes behold.

We arrive at the marketplace, with stalls lining the street
It’s the day of harvest, where a merry crowd will meet
The stalls full and brimming, with the fresh produce 
Homemade things in display, of those the villagers use.
Cheese, honey and pastas, that makes our mouth water
Pickles, meats and soaps, are also things they cater.

At night the moon peeps out, of promised passion sought
And a few but lingers, to feel the cool breeze float
From the cottages flow the sound of mellow laughter
of happy wives and kids, who are well looked after.

© Nadiya (13 Feb '15)

Inspired by the Robert Butler paintings, especially  “Farmers’ Harvest”.

Details | Farmers Poem |

Day Break

The sun slowly rises over the horizon
casting its rays turning night to day.
Chasing away the lingering darkness
revealing the hills and shadow cast valleys.

Details become more apparent showing
the pretty flowers and stately trees.
With lake's waters glistening brightly
reflecting the beaming sun rays.

Peace of day now shattered by
the raucous chorus of crows.
As dipping down they fly
mugging the other birds.

Soon scattering at gunfire
from the farmers crop scarer's.
Joyful tunes now abound
As song birds sing out their hearts

Welcoming dawn's warm rays
hustle and bustle as people awake
and tranquillity slips away
as dawn becomes full day.

Details | Farmers Poem |

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.

Details | Farmers Poem |

World Order

Financiers feel superior to farmers
and pundits have it over poets.
All to the good because if you think America's
doing just fine, don't skip to the poetry reviews.
Our enemies are barbarous, our allies duplicitous
but our smart bombs are smart - that's how they found you.

Dad said all wars are resource wars. Follow
the money. The world needs more order, nothing
less than Nazis, never may the anarchic man's thoughts
be my thoughts, each shove sends a ping,
shields urge on shields, helmets helmets, we can be
the reigning kings between the last empire and the next

or implement a vision of collective deliberation
and binding agreements. Can China's navy
be harnessed to ensure free passage through
the South China Sea? We'll see how
things work out in the next generation.
In the meantime should I read Henry Kissinger's meditations?

He who thinks poetry's effete
probably considers Darwin a geek and Einstein
a postal clerk. Containment means leaving space
for the passionate and zealous to face themselves
and giving them missiles that don't work.
Slowing everyone down until one thing's done well -

governance or sustenance or brotherhood.
When violence comes to the neighborhood
the hierarchy will hold or fold, it is then the peace work proves relevant.
Failing to achieve understanding, we're searching outer space
for an entity to unite us as humanity.
That person, or city, is consciousness.

By that what is meant. Sitting still and thinking deeply
on the relation of anger to coercion,
systems for correcting the decisions of earlier presidents.
We're required to report incidents of depression
to a doctor because you're a valued member of of our community,
or so insignificant no one notices or cares.

How necessary the interface of war and poetry!

Details | Farmers Poem |

In The Forest Den


Deep in the Canadian wilderness she gave birth to four pups,
     It was a large dug out hole at the base of a tangled tree;
Her mate for life was out hunting with the pack for deer or elk,
          Some wolves remained to protect and guard her.

She was a mottled grey and resembled a domestic dog,
     Perhaps a german shepherd or a sled dog but much bigger;
Her paws were huge and she had thick fur to protect her in the cold
          But she was so gentle with the pups snuggling them.

As dusk fell she heard her mate's mournful howls in the distance,
     She knew his howls, growls and barks from all others;
They were mated for life and this was their first litter of pups,
          The pups were blind and defenceless without her.

The pack had been more than thirty-eight wolves until recently,
     But farmers had trapped, shot and poisoned many in fear;
And trappers had killed others for their beautiful thick fur,
         So these pups were so important to the packs future.

And then he was there in the den with her and nuzzled her neck,
    He was taller than she and stronger a truly majestic creature;
Crouching with his ears straightened his facial expression was love,
         She moved over so he could join them and all was peace.

                                           In the forest den . . .


_____________________________
April 1, 2015


Verse

Submitted to the contest, 100 In A Row - 5
sponsor, PD

Seventh Place 

____________________________________
Written for the contest, Canis Lupus the Wolf, 
sponsor, Shadow Hamilton

First Place