Best Farming Poems
Going on down to the demos today
the last farmer has been put away.
They shot him down
just outside of town.
Police found him in his own cornfield,
where he resisted and refused to yield.
Since his were crimes against the state,
then death obviously was to be his fate.
Going on down to the demos today
the last farmer has been put away.
He refused to buy corn from the corporation,
produced his own seeds for his liberation.
He refused to buy genetic sprays
to eliminate the bugs and the butterflys.
By his wanton self pollination
he threatened the food supply of our nation.
We're going on down to the demos today
to give thanks to those who put terrorists away.
collie scoures mountain
for missing sheep in blizzard-
farmer's wife makes tea
Peck, peck, peck
I’m soft and fluffy
I am a little chick
Some think I’m scruffy
Oink, oink, oink
I’m kind and gentle
I am a friendly piglet
Some think I’m mental
Bawl, bawl, bawl
I’m innocent and cute
I am a sweet cow
Some think I’m a brute
We live on the farm
Filled with love and charm
You won’t come to any harm
Or feel any kind of alarm
If you take hold of our arm
Spend some time on our farm
Nursery Rhyme
Sponsored by Eve Roper
March 13, 2021
The Providentiality of Farming in Giantvillism (Continued)
Jake: Make sure the crop is irrigated Giant.
Giant: That means make sure we provide water to each acre?
Jake: Yes.
Maddy: Would you stay for another two days to help us develop a plan?
Jake: Yes, my plan was to stay at least 8 days to ensure you know all the ends and outs of farming.
Giant: Well, let’s get something to eat and we can begin our discussion, once our dinner is consumed.
*******
Dinner was ingested and discussion therein took place.
An irrigation system would be placed in the southwest of the Village by way of small canals.
The first canal would be built in three days if all goes well.
All the Village would be involved in constructing these dams of blocks mortared and also loosely piled rocks.
Haphazard flooding would happen, but controlled water was more often.
There would be fifty-seven (57) small canals or storage dams completed.
Jake would stay to make sure that the Village people was well-schooled by knowing the blueprint and design.
He would begin his journey home on day nine (9).
_____________________________________________________________|
Written October 14, 2016!
Beef is conceived in a package
Onions are grown in a bag
Sardines swim best in oil
Pebbles thrive in the soil
Today's teens don't know geography
But they sure do know about farming
Lines above from youth essays on agriculture
Aren't they delightfully alarming?
…New In Farming
-------------------------------
My Dad is showing me these days
Our walnuts in the forest,
The willows by the brook,
And the boundary marks of all our pastures, and paddies.
Teaching me to arc around the apples
As deep as a full-spade
To keep away the roots eating rats.
Water the trees in summers’ heat,
Apply white latex to prevent the stems from sunburn.
Spray the trees with well-timed pesti’des,
Fungi’des and insecti’des,
Because the sensitive trees are to too many diseases very prone.
Remember! Nitrogen encourages good growth,
Phosphorus, root growth,
Potassium, fruit and flower.
Since I am the second senior in the three-men-family,
Newly married, newly laid-off, New in farming;
And he, an asthma patient,
Is not feeling well, nowadays, often.
(Last day at Harwan, Dhara, I saw an aged man stumbled,
Falling faceward on his knees, and then down.
And was helped by two youngmen walking in the street,
As a child trying to stand on his feet.)
thick rain, trickling hope
thirsty seeds in parched soil, seek
eager, growing faith
The Farming couple
The farmer and his wife
is harvesting almond
a net around the tree and
a long stick
she picks up the nuts and puts
them in a bag.
She is not wearing gloves and
her hands are that of
an old salt.
they go home for lunch
home- made bread and cheese
she does the washing up
while he snooze a little
in the autumnal sun.
Time And Zero Farming
-Subas Khanal
People who are taking pictures of age
Suddenly followed by fear of death
It was not just a short story of a thriller movie
In the raw wind blowing towards the settlement
There was smell of terror
There was no such thing before
People were living excitedly under the guise of hypnosis
And were making respectively
The mountain of ego that cannot be climbed
The horizon of ambition that cannot be reached by flying
All of a sudden
The speed of time stopped
But there
Just like before
In the silence, the lizards are screaming
The owl have their own regularity
The diary of scorpion palms has not changed
Mosquitoes are moving at the same speed
The snakes are still alive
Instead, in this period
Were there people?
The most poisonous
And time is taking revenge.
Slippery insects are stuck in power
To their saliva
Translator of them to remember a little bit of nectar
Telling the opposite story
The time is slipping away like a worm
Those who walked to the next horizon
Stopped in the middle
But the roads are still paved
Who wants to bring people away
The sky is open everywhere
Who wants to say to the man - go beyond the perimeter
The wind is blowing
The river is flowing
Who are teaching people the definition of speed
But
Man
Remembering their old days
With crunchy face
Is sitting in the corner of destiny
And doing - zero farming
By sticking the identity of the 'people' caste
Me - a man is reading another chapter of helplessness.
But
I still haven't given up dreaming.
The furrows glistened silvery
With the crows astride their brow
Looking for the wiggling worms
Turned up by six share plough
Seagulls also joined the feast
Calling out loudly as they flew
Following quickly behind the plough
As it turned over pastures new
The farmer sat oblivious
To the cacophony of sound
Created by the flocks of birds
As they settled on the ground
His mind was on the job in hand
Keeping his furrows straight
And struggling to stay awake
From his evenings working late
His wife would come at six with tea
And scone bread spread with jam
And sometimes if he was lucky
It could be some breaded ham
Then off again into the cab
With a wave to say goodbye
The field it must be finished soon
As they were going to plant some Rye
How quickly change the seasons
From the Spring unto the Fall
Suddenly the winters here
And gone is the Cuckoo call
Christmas round the corner
Time for a well earned rest
Having all the family over
Will put his patience to the test
Then Spring is soon upon us
Time to sow the seeds once more
And hope for a better harvest
Thank God the winters o’er
Shoot the cannons don’t you feel!
See the blood, makes the grass grow
Battle field kings no time to heal
Tear limps and lives from our foes
Sickles in the hands of trolls
Farmlands of ploughs and blades
Monster’s coming so we run
Memories of heroes and parades
Fade as some lose a son
A father, husband, death has one
Their troll is loud and vicious
Seeking vengeance from death’s toll
Scattered in black holes with malicious
Waiting under the knoll
The plough no man controls
The land gave the fruit, then was pressed
Where men crawled and cried
Some lived but lost soul’s breath
Some teared for their wives
With thoughts of future lives
I made it home, sit and wonder
What was it all for
Why emotions stayed in slumber
Why I miss war
Chained to this yore
So my dreams come at night
The farmer and his tools
Taking cover, with some sprite
Yet the farmer and his ghouls
Pull the plough with his bulls
As I run from the troll and his sickle
I think it’s time to share for those pet lovers who care ,
about a friend we had when just a lad.
He was just a wee pup and with us grew up,
working around the barn on our farm.
We named him Penny which we thought good as any.
We experienced much joy growing up with "Penny boy".
For his friendship indeed we were much in need,
At seemingly lands end he was our best friend,
other than our buddy Ernie round the bend,
He learned to herd bovines and listened to our whines,
always did as we asked no matter the tasks,
Woodchuck holes dotted the scenery and busted up our machinery,
So ole Pen dog decided they’d be no longer invited.
If a chuck decided to the contrary, Penny turned his home to mortuary.
He’d give him an offer he couldn’t refuse; if he did …he’d lose!
The land was soon cleared of those varmints much feared.
About our friend, that’s just one tiny chapter
Who lives in our hearts and in the hereafter.
He was there for a good game of tug,
or for a hurting child to hug,
His yellow hair a ready sponge for tears,
His panting laugh a joy for many years.
He was a helper, hunter, protector, comrade and friend.
“GO GET ‘EM PENNY” ! ...
We’ll meet you round the bend…
Written for Francine Roberts' "Pick a Pet" contest. 7/04/11
I cannot shed
My winters coat
At 22 degrees below
I'm still farming.....
Nearly starved last year
I know it's quite alarming.....
But mothers says
There ain't enough
To get us through
The winters tough
With the horses I plow away....
Into the night from start of day....
We finally got
Our winters store
With that the horse
We plow no more
That's Winter farming....
I know it's kinda close and quite alarming...
I'm trying not to get overly excited
I'm on just this side of freak
I've finally gotten the call I've been waiting for
The one that for years has eluded me
There aren't to many farmers out there
That take as much pride in what they grow
That's why Chef Boyardee selected me
To join their team on SpaghettiO's
I've been raising spaghetti for years
Spaghetti straight and long and lean
So I really see no problem
In SpaghettiO transitioning
From the natural growth of spaghetti
To the famed shape of the SpaghettiO
I just need to learn the secret
Of how to roll the perfect hole
As day one arrives in all it's glory
I head out into the fields
Stopping during the day only long enough
For a delicious Italian canned meal
Where I enjoy only the finest ingredients
Straight from the heart of this multicolored can
From the sweet little O's to the...What color is this sauce?! "Orange?!" "Red?!"
And isn't the taste a bit overly bland...
Oh well...
When the day of harvest arrives
I bring in the Italians cause everyone knows
For generations they have perfected
The delicate picking of SpaghettiO's
Who ever thought the growing of spaghetti
Would bring this farmer so much fame
I just received a call from a little known farming cult
Who'd like me to try my hand at the growing of Spam
After my successful go at SpaghettiO's
I'm pretty sure I'm just the man who can
To sow a poem
Pick your choice of seed or thread
Cotton cloth or fertile soil bed
Don't forget to hem
The last line with style, a good end
Is like a port of arrival when
The voyage through water, and wind
Setlle into words without the din.
To sow a poem
String the needle with thoughts, let
Words pass the eye like a stem
Finding a fresh crack, a chord or fret
I drain the ditch around the heart
One emotion at a time, I chip apart
What scale the eyes until I see
The image formed, the growing tree.
To sow a poem
String the needle with seeds of words
Cut hard your gem
Let the sparkle fly like singing birds
From the nest of the heart
The image must stand and play its part
Every poem is a laden tree
Every lover like a prolific bee.