Best Farmhands Poems
E Pluribus Unum ~ Out Of Many, One
[Author's note: E Pluribus Unum is a traditional motto of the United
States, but the scope of this poem is intended to be of a more global scale.]
We are farmhands, postal workers, we are rich industrialists
We are pilots, sailors, warriors, mathematicians, scientists
We are doctors, nurses, dentists; taking care of those in need
We are teachers, flight attendants, moms and dads with mouths to feed
We post blogs, develop websites, we are software engineers
We are athletes, video gamers, we're retired volunteers
We are dancers, painters, sculptors, we are actors on the stage
We are clerks, construction workers, pay for night school with our wage
We are high school educated, college maybe, or hard knocks
We are barbers and beauticians, drive a truck or work on docks
We are clergy, civic leaders, wardens at the county jail
Roll in wheelchairs, use sign language, wear prosthetics, read by Braille
We are bankers, tax accountants, proud grandparents, husbands, wives,
We are activists who strive to give our children better lives
We are widows, orphans, childless; we feel sorrow to the core
We are social workers, advocates of justice for the poor
We make music or just listen, sing out loud or softly hum
We are common, we are special, we are those who overcome
We are poets and songwriters, we write letters to our kin
Sharing stories of our life, of where we're going, where we've been
We are those with beating hearts, with flexing muscles, red blood cells
Kidney donors, missionaries, we help dig fresh water wells
We praise God in mosque or church, in synagogue or kingdom hall,
In a temple, or in nature, maybe have no God at all
We are from around the planet, we have skin of every tone
We have short hair, long hair, no hair, kinky hair; we're not alone
We esteem diversity; you value me, I value you
Always with respect for those who hold a different point of view
This, my dream: to be united when it all is said and done
Though we may not be there yet, we share this journey -
We are one.
Written 1 Feb 2022
The sun rests in its golden orb, shining bright dazzling the eyes
Meadows green with dew drops fresh, the cattle lazing away cries
The farmhands nap beneath the trees, the breeze caress and dies
As the curfew knells folks head home and pray
Thanking the Lord for the rewarding day
Face brimming with sheer bliss and mirth
Content they praise and sing from birth
What true happiness can be witnessed herein
For the Lord blesseth those who seek of him.
Those greedy and selfish , pine more riches
Idle days wasted, in slumber and glitches
While holding contempt for those plebeians
And are never content, contrasting agrarians
No time for Lord, who observe cadence
No more thanks for the blessings immense
Heaven doth beckon those who believe
And the rest he reckon, to try and grieve
For....
This is the day that God gave to play and he purvey
This is the day that God gave to toil and stop foil
This is the world that God gave, for men to live and pray
This is the world that God gave to care, share and stay.
What a wonderful world!!!
© Nadiya (28 Jan '15)
*Won 3rd place on 30 Jan 2015 in the contest 'This is the day that Lord gave' by Verlena S. Walker
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
The day my life went so crazy
Was when I laid eyes on Daisy
She was an old sow
Who mooed like a cow
And drove all farmhands crazy
We tried to put her in a field
But sadly that pig wouldn’t yield
She’d sit down in her sty
And she wouldn’t comply
Her stubbornness would be revealed
I said Daisy you will come a cropper
The farmer will get you with a chopper
Daisy sat and chewed grass
And got mud on her a s s
Soon Daisy became quite a whopper
Old farmer Bill sharpened his knife
And showed the honed blade to his wife
He said it is time now
I must kill a fat sow
His poor wife just ran for her life!
The farmer went out to the shed
When Daisy saw him how just fled
She hid behind a bull
To escape a quick cull
I’m relieved there was no bloodshed!
N/A in The Day My Life Went Whacko Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Caren Krutsinger
03/28/30
The sun rests in its golden orb, shining bright dazzling the eyes
Meadows green with dew drops fresh, the cattle lazing away cries
The farmhands nap beneath the trees, the breeze caress and dies
(Yields of green fields basked in HIS glory are being challenged)
As the curfew knells folks head home and pray
Thanking the Lord for the rewarding day
Face brimming with sheer bliss and mirth
Content they praise and sing from birth
What true happiness can be witnessed herein
For the Lord blesseth those who seek of him.
(Twilight reveals long dreary paths, destination ambiguous)
Those greedy and selfish , pine more riches
Idle days wasted, in slumber and glitches
While holding contempt for those plebeians
And are never content, contrasting agrarians
No time for Lord, who observe cadence
No more thanks for the blessings immense
Heaven doth beckon those who believe
And the rest he reckon, to try and grieve
(Only the righteous reap bounty at the terminus)
For....
This is the day that God gave to play and he purvey
This is the day that God gave to toil and stop foil
This is the world that God gave, for men to live and pray
This is the world that God gave to care, share and stay.
What a wonderful world!!!
©Nadiya (17 Feb '15)
For the contest '' by Craig Cornish
poems: 'What the Lord Gave'(primary) posted 28 Jan 2015
'Glorious Field-Visual 2'(secondary) posted 29 Jan 2015
Little town do not frown, this is no country circus, there are no smiling clowns,
please wear that pretty party gown
One road in and one road out to get us all about, a spin around the roundabout,
you wandering gadabout
In the fields are sweat stained bodies toiling, tempers boiling, tilling drought ridden
fields of hardened, unforgiving soil
The sheep and cows patrol the never ending pastures, while eating off the local plate
for them there's no escape
Machinery working overtime, thrashing, cutting, relentlessly taking full grown life,
never stopping till the farmhands bedtime
Lonely streets sits waiting for any sign of life, a mother and baby, perhaps the vicars wife,
this sense of isolation rife
There's silence running all around as if this place has come to rest, upon this sandy ground
leading to the west
Though far into the distance a desperate howl is heard, it chills me to the bone, i'm ashen
faced and all a feared
The hotel sits just off the street, a bleak and sad reminder, a bitter taste of yesteryears,
when the darts team played a blinder
Yet in amongst this emptiness there is a rose filled garden, with scents, bouquets and
vibrant blooms that tantalise my weary senses, oh sweet oasis, so please i beg your pardon
For decent, honest people are living here today, to earn the pay so they will stay, their
children with a place to play
But having left the garden it's the lonely sound of tumbleweed, blowing down the empty
streets and through my head, I must take heed
Before the spiteful dust returns to seed, making plants that cry and bleed
There is an ancient oak, outside some hallowed ground:
The hanging tree, once struck by lightning bolts, seems dead -
Its trunk is hollowed out, yet leaves can still be found,
Just like a corpse with hair that’s growing on its head.
I have a tale to tell - it’s from my long gone youth,
And that decrepit tree was looking strong and stout.
It sounds a silly tale - I swear it is the truth -
Though in my younger days, at times, I had my doubt.
Once, in my courting days, I walked home in a storm,
And heard the village clock, that chimed the midnight hour.
As lightning forked, I longed to be home, dry and warm.
I wasn’t drunk nor had my faculties turned sour,
But in a flash, I saw a figure in that tree -
Distorted, hideous, a hanged man’s purple face -
And yet more lightning showed it crystal clear to me.
As thunder boomed, I ran as if to win a race.
Another flash of light and I was not alone:
The hanging man stood there, thick rope around his neck.
I shivered, swore and shook, afraid, chilled to the bone,
And recognised the man: the killer Nathan Beck -
I’d seen him hanged to death, a year ago that day.
He said, ‘I swore revenge, I knew I could come back.
‘I’ll get my vengeance now, and you will have to pay.’
He put the noose around my neck, the rope still slack.
The noose was getting tight, he dragged me to the tree,
Attempts to fight no good, as though I were a child -
I cursed and kicked and punched, while struggling to get free.
I fought hard for my life, the thunder ever wild.
My life flashed by my eyes, a man about to die:
I thought of family and of my sweetheart June.
And sturdy young man that I was, began to cry.
(I nearly fainted like a maiden in a swoon).
In blinding flashing light, I found the Devil near.
He smiled and looking proud, he beckoned Beck to him,
And Nathan Beck was gone - I won’t forget that leer.
I must have passed out then, my memories are dim.
I came round in a daze, beneath the burnt out tree,
The noose was gone. It was a cloudless dawn that day.
I saw two farmhands grin. They shook their heads at me.
‘Too much to drink last night,’ I heard one laugh and say.
I thought to write about my High School Social Studies
book report. An uncomplicated short story about the
lives of two characters who like to take life the short and
easy way. I decided to write it as a narrative, showcasing
the simple characters as carefree drifters. Near the end,
the lives that they made easy, sadly turned complicated.
It's about George Milton and Lennie Small. The roaming
workers shared their dreams of being eventual farm
owners during the Depression Period. George was the
smaller and a bit learned of the two. Lennie was taller
and that made him oafish because of his limited wit.
Auburn, California, started their course across the state’s
harsh landscape from one ranch job to another. They
closed in on a job just outside the town of Soledad.
Stopping for a swim off the Salinas River, Lennie
gathered up delicate flowers. He is overwhelmed with
anything soft, fragile, and pretty. In his zealous nature,
he hugged it lovingly but much too tightly as they quickly
withered and died. George noted that oddity before, but
he thought it as being trifle to be of no concern. As they
prepared themselves before they arrived at the ranch, to
a slight degree, the witty George would be a money-saver
type, and Lennie's character with his notable oddity, is
simple-minded. Yet on their first day, Lennie strangled
Candy accidentally. She was the owner's son's pretty
wife. The rhetoric grew unstable for Lennie wherein
laid the guilt. George was forced to face some sort of
retribution with farmhands yakety-yak of a lynch mob
that would lead to a hanging. Left with that sad chapter,
George grabbed ahold of Lennie. At a secluded part
where no noise would be heard. George quickly closed
that chapter when he took out a pistol he found at the
farm and he shot Lennie as George fathomed money
to be his closing grace.
Sweet organic scents waft softly
through the vast and endless valley
where myriads of trees grow in tight rows
marked by long lines of rich, robust soils
that brighten with the rising sun.
I am happily lost in the incessant sounds
of bees buzzing, working in chaotic order
within delicate white orchard blossoms.
Their hum is mesmerizing and hypnotic
my fingers caress the ripe, orange talismans.
Dust and sweat mingle with hard work in this land
as farmhands goad the earth to produce its lot.
Strong arms dig the dirt in endless cycles
tractors leave their distinctive marks
sprinklers water the thirsty ground for miles.
I can see the valley’s shimmering lifeline
the wide aqueduct of the San Joaquin river
it flows like a liquid heart with precious water
thoroughly quenching the longing roots
that grow underground in quiet tranquility.
Those who work the land know it’s hidden secrets
I am just an admiring stranger, passing through
though I feel I have a small sense of it...a glimpse
…a place of laboring hands upon the earth
and a yielding of the elements within its midst.
There is a synergy of land and sky
a curve of the earth that intersects the horizon
a mystical union, a hint of heaven
a clarion moment in time.
5/15/2021
The silver king{1} banded with the dark queen{2},
United under the all-powerful one{3}.
Off to war, of armies of four{4},
together with the warrior son{5}.
Battle was fierce, many were slain;
The wounded wound-up in the history books{6}.
The militant{7} family crusaded on,
Striking fear and bringing heavy-hearted looks.
Victory was assured, no doubt to be had.
Until the mighty three{8},
Heads of armies be...
Rose to crush the combative family!
The military may trump the house of royals{9},
the farmhands{10}, and those of trades{11}.
But aces rule high, and the army spread thin{12},
So goes the game of Spades.
1 King of Spades: second highest ranking card in the game of Spades
2 Queen of Spades
3 Ace of Spades: highest trump card
4 The four suits in a deck of cards: Spades=military, Hearts=royals, Diamonds=merchants and traders, Clubs=farmhands and peasants
5 Jack of Spades
6 After each trick in spades, the resulting four cards are collectively known as a book.
7 suit of Spades
8 The aces of Clubs, Diamonds, and Hearts
9suit of Hearts
10 suit of Clubs
11 suit of Diamonds
12 All of the trump cards (the spades) are spread out amongst the four players through the randomness of the shuffle.
Yellow
beams glistening
on close growing clover-
when the lark departs is summer
over?
Tedious toil from dawn to dark,a farmhands days then so harsh and stark.The
clockhands ticks round slowly by one by one,Pa's work ending with the setting
sun.Daybreak and sunset he milked the cows,in between with the horse and
plough.Across the fields a church bell peals recording his monotonous
ordeal.Each day to the beerhouse his footsteps led,then back to our cottage for
supper and bed.Us young'uns spent days gleaning the field,a years's bread
such toil could yield.Hedgerow sloes in the market sold, eked out the wage in our
household.Sister helped Ma with her local lace , round an open
fireplace.Ended her schooling afore her teens to enlist in the domestic service
scene.
Across in the meadow the animals stall
As away in the distance the farmer does call
To the old sheep dog "Shep"
"Away, come around"
The sheep respond cautiously
All milling no sound
The evening shadows lengthens
Tangibly a stillness descends
As nature's heartbeat changes
Chickens in alarm
A scurry of farmhands
There's a fox on the farm
Evading capture, in triumph he gains
Deft in his movements
His prize he contains
The farmer's gun up to his eye
Assuming the stance
Heaves a heavy sigh
Seeing his prey disappearing
Nowhere to be seen
As darkness creeps over
where the fox has been.
I’m from Kansas. My name is Dorothy Gale.
I could weave for you a fantastic tale
about farmhands, a twister, and a floating abode;
flying monkeys, little people, and a yellow brick road;
a wizard and witches and old, yet new, friends;
ruby slippers, little Toto, and how the magic all ends
when the needy at last see they’ve had all along
what they thought they were lacking and then became strong.
I could tell how the clicking of heels took me home,
for there’s no place like home. I have no need to roam.
But instead of creating a long narrative,
I’ll just say from my heart how much I love to live
on a farm here in Kansas with people who care.
The great lesson I’ve learned, I am happy to share:
a trip over the rainbow was not what I needed.
A hard bump on the head led to wisdom I heeded.
When I came to--surrounded by those I love best,
I at last realized I am gloriously blessed.
*Image of Season Openers by MailT.
JUST AUGUST
a romp through August
supine rests outstretched on sands
three-year-old farmhands
blowing bubbles after rain
a finger-read splendid book
2022 August 06
*3rd Place*
JUST AUGUST
~~Andrea Dietrich: Judged 2022 August 21
Tedious toil from dawn to dark,
a farmhands days then so harsh and stark.
The clockhands ticks round slowly by one by one,
Pa's work ending with the setting sun.
Daybreak and sunset he milked the cows,
in between with the horse and plough.
Across the fields a church bell peals
recording his monotonous ordeal.
Each day to the beerhouse his footsteps led,
then back to our cottage for supper and bed.
Us young'uns spent days gleaning the field,
a years's bread such toil could yield.
Hedgerow sloes in the market sold,
eked out the wage in our household.
Sister helped Ma with her local lace ,
round an open fireplace.
Ended her schooling afore her teens
to enlist in the domestic service
scene.