Best Farmlands Poems
I love your heathered highlands,
steep cliffs and rugged islands,
hedges and gardens under
rainclouds of grey.
Old steeples rise above
those small rural towns I love;
your hillsides of sunny yellow,
rolled bales of hay.
Pipers will play their part
stirring each Scottish heart
binding together a nation
drenched with pride.
"Scotland the Brave" is ringing,
dancers are highland flinging -
proud Scottish hearts are singing,
joy wells inside.
O, highland games of yore
with racers and tug-of-war,
the cabers are tossed asunder
by mighty men.
I love your farmlands rustic,
mountains and lochs majestic,
as kilts of many tartans
hike through the glen.
Pipers will play their part
stirring each Scottish heart
binding together a nation
drenched with pride.
"Scotland the Brave" is ringing,
dancers are highland flinging -
proud Scottish hearts are singing,
joy wells inside.
Castles with ancient hist'ry,
Celt runes of ancient myst'ry,
we sing an "Auld Lang Syne"
and toast Robbie Burns.
Clans clad in plaid will whistle
fondly of Lion and Thistle,
dressing with tartan kilts
their wee bonnie bairns.
Hands high, your dancers dance -
crossed swords, I'm in a trance,
pipes heard for miles
with that old familiar blare.
St. Andrews' cross - the flag is
don't ask what's in the haggis!
Just eat your shortbread
and be glad you were there.
//These reflect some of my favorite memories from the 6 months I lived in Scotland, in 1990. I miss her dearly and hope I may be able to return some day. These words may be sung to "Scotland the Brave", a beloved anthem of Scottish national pride. You can hear it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KzK2PWVQYX0
The tempo of this recording is much faster than I prefer, but I include it here in case you have never had a chance to hear this wonderful patriotic song. //
Written 24 Mar 2021
Our supposed modern scientific genius
May in fact just be our last fatal weakness.
This technological house of cards we've made
Left humanity walking along the edge of a razor blade.
How much could you buy or sell using debit or credit
If someone or something wiped out the internet.
A computer virus, terrorists, hackers, or an E.M.P.--
Will wipe out our hard-earned wealth eventually.
Killing beneficial insects is almost like fratricide.
Think really hard again about ever using insecticide.
How many fields of vegetable plants and fruit trees
Will ever bear fruit if there are no more bees.
Rather than organically producing more living topsoil,
We're killing what remains with chemicals derived from oil.
As chemical contaminants follows their downward motions,
Choral reefs and plankton are dying in the oceans.
As a species, we've all become germ-o-phobic neurotics,
Religiously trying to kill all microbes with antibiotics.
But pharmaceutical medicine will never defeat every bug,
So one of these days there's certain to be a super plague.
So will we all starve because we cannot buy or sell,
Or because the oceans and farmlands have all gone to Hell?
Will we be extinguished by some invincible virus?
What ever it be, the fault will probably lie in us!
I wish I could offer some brilliant inspired solution,
But remember that extinction is also a part of evolution.
You may write me off as some kind of nutty alarmist,
But people that know me consider me to be an optimist.
Let the final countdown begin
Proxy war in Afghanistan
Saudi Arabia vs. Iran
India vs Pakistan
Sunni vs Shia
The 38th divide of Korea
China taking over the sea
As the US debt is skyrocketing
Militaries expand
Droughts and famine in farmlands
Christian exodus from the middle east
Refugees from the lack of peace
Annexations by Russia
No one screams in hysteria
Pocket nukes are ok to use
Mankind has a short fuse
One, two, three, four, five
What to do to stay alive
To simplify, put your head between your legs
And kiss your *** goodbye
God, please hold our hand
The world is sinking in quicksand
Angry, greedy statesmen
Sounding the drum of the horsemen
Artificial intelligence
Climate change and mass surveillance
With two minutes left to midnight
Listen for the sound
Drop the beat, hit the ground
Dynamite as bright as daylight
Signaling for help with a flashlight
Playing the rave, igniting the night
The blasting wave, in the grave, later love
Smitten with the fireworks above
The nuclear deterrent is gone
Nothing but an oxymoron
The plight of mankind fight
Cockroaches become the spotlight
As they write what happened at midnight
February 7, 2018 - Updated 5/14/2019
For Emile Pinet
Contest The doomsday clock 2 minutes to midnight
Hudson Valley, New York
Oh, Hudson Valley, place that I call home,
you hug the river from which came your name.
On fertile banks, the settlers came to roam
and stayed to prosper and your land proclaim.
Your winding Hudson River grew their dreams
with farmlands, orchards and new industries,
and lovely homes that languish in your scenes
atop green rolling hills with graceful trees.
And from my window, you present to me
the vision of your peaceful valleys and
the sparkling river waters that flow free
from north to south thru Hudson Valley land.
When weary from the stresses of each day...
I relish in the peace your views portray.
Sandra M. Haight
~2nd Place~
Contest: Sonnet About Where You Live
Sponsor: Silent One
Judged: 01/07/2017
Note: The Hudson River begins at Lake Tear of the Clouds in the Adirondack Mountains of upstate New York. It flows to the tip of Manhattan in the southern part of the state.
My home is in Newburgh, a town along the Mid-Hudson Valley, sixty miles north of New York City.
Turning over in a ruffled bed,
stark red numbers sear 4 a.m. into bloodshot corneas.
Nothing but darkness creeps through threadbare curtains, frozen in place.
A desolate silence becomes deafening, as birdsong no longer crescendos—
what would have been the breaking of dawn.
It's been six years now since our brightest star was thrown out of orbit,
exposing the frozen side of the sun.
No longer does our planet experience the warmth of its radiation,
nor the glow of its solar flares.
Within a fraction of a second, humanity was plunged into an everlasting night.
Temperatures plummeted; mass hysteria was at its peak.
Crops perished within hours to days,
as the new icy tundra eclipsed once-thriving farmlands.
The birth of a perpetual Ice Age was at hand.
Power grids crystallized and snapped.
Cities crumbled; small towns were blotted out,
disappearing off the map, never to be seen again.
Death's gelid hand spared but a few souls—
holed up in a scientific research bunker in the Arctic.
We are but the unlucky few who get to “live” in this glacial purgatory,
wandering aimlessly forevermore.
To The North Pole Of Course (Part Two)
The farmlands, bridges and countrysides woosh by in a rush
then vanish before my eyes at a hundred and twenty six miles per hour.
My mind is traveling at the speed of Donner and Blitzen. It goes through a magical hourglass only to nestle inside a cinnamon scented wagon that is infused with the clanking of fine china cups. A peppery scent of hot chocolate perfumes the air and lands on my palate, sweetly.
While I am being ushered forth into Christmas, I sift through time, backpedaling swifter than Santa's mistletoe kiss.
I hear his rippling laughter and melt like butter.
My extra sensory perception picks up the echoes through the halls of my memory
and I say to myself, " I think I'm going home, to the North Pole of course."
A Soldiers Last Taps
Steve L. Siegel
July, 2015
~:~
Yesterday as I walked among long rows of crosses
To where a soldier was being put to rest
I heard twin sounds of bugles playing taps
We all stood with heads bent low in prayer
~:~
It brought back thoughts of my fallen buddies
I had known such a long time ago
They came from across this fertile land of ours
From the cities and the farmlands.
~:~
I feel a little guilty at times my sacrifice was small
I lost only but a little of my time
But some of these men lost their all
They kept the faith, and fought the fight.
~;~
Through the delta to jungles of I-Drang up to Kay San
We fought the fight and gave our lives for freedom sake
Earning our last reward to God and Country
For that’s job of your Soldiers and Veterans...
~+~
P.S. On this picture I took it Near Port Angles WA.
It had been raining most the day and just before sunset
This is what I got. I had this picture in my file for a long time
Just never seened like it fit in until now.
NO PICRURE HERE IT WON"T LET ME PUT IT ON
The attitude that means great scare
And birth sufferings we couldn't bear
Thank God he's sick, we pray he lacks care
Centuries of "didn't care" land us in misery we now wear
We didn't care if the well was not well
"Grant us a token to dine" the town's well is too expensive to make well
We didn't care if farmlands became bushy for we Stood at the mercy of crude that make us fat while slumbering
We didn't care to explore our bounty till crude lost face among peers
We didn't care if our products were messy
white groceries were on spots for cheap barter
We didn't care to snuggle our culture before westernization put us in oceanic soup
Our heritage is unmaintained because we didn't care
We didn't care to say NO till the we are made to have no choice
Public enjoyment in belly of few men because we didn't care
We didn't care from the start now our care means nothing, our tears finds no hope
We are where we are because WE DIDN'T CARE
The rolling farmlands
That feeds our tribal children alike
And fertile vineyards abound
A tawny of sapphire seas
A prodigious floral kingdom
Amber coloured rivers
That plunge into an ocean
Of mercurial moods
Roaring with stealth silence
Tranquil beaches and lagoons
Rocky shores and enchanting seasides
The imposing cliffs and highlands
Flanked by towering mountains
Highvelds dry as sand
Rough as a rasp
Around the vast arena of the bushveld
Lies a stealthy leopard
A slouching serpent through the tawny grasses
An impala lolling in a shade
The pungent breeze of a dangling buck in a lion's mouth
The swiftness fling of a cheetah's wrath
My humble abode
My South Africa
Land of scenic splendours....
It takes out one positive thought
To survive and thrive to overpower
The entire army of negative thought-- R. Schuller.
Give me a place to stand and I will move the earth
But, stand away from my diagram it may confuse you
A man can't make a place for himself in the sun
If he keeps taking refuse under the family tree.
It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but ourselves,
In the presence of trouble, some people grow wings
Others buy crutches but here I buy dreams.
If only I am not foolish but as wise as humans
I would have rule the world at ease,
If only I could eat eat human' food
I would have have human brain and tread the lane of
Success.
The cud in my mouth I would have chew not
But reason with reasons not to underestimate my will.
The world is a great place with people of integrity
But my kind are neglected because of lack of wisdom
If only I could fly like the birds of the earth
I would have watch over the beauty of the world,
Then sing a melodious song to redeem the world of sin.
If only I could be a peacock not a goat,
I would have been the most beautiful animal on earth
But now I am a senseless goat who's does not know
His rights in the human society.
If only I could run as fast as the ostrich,
Life could have been easier for me.
If only humans don't kill us at festivals,
Life to my kind could have been meaningful,
If only we don't eat grasses but rice and beans
We would compete with humans in Government.
If only we could dance like humans,
Our kingdom could have been the most joyful.
If only we have hands and legs like humans
We would own farmlands and go to the market
To sell our wares in large quantities and make money.
If only we have gods and goddess,
We could have prayed for a greater kingdom of the goats but things don't turn up in this world until someone turn them up.
Drover, ride your white horse...ride it with grit
on the sun-scorched prairies
of the Mississippi Valley:
where no tree is found in a shady spot,
but plenty of wild daisies
and pink roses distract you constantly!
Winter came with snow and haze,
and the buffalos couldn't graze;
now, in the open prairie, they do
and aren't startled by your gallops or
fear being chased and hunted by two
or three lasso-throwing cowboys for
their gorgeous hides to make a fortune...
hear them whistling a Kenny Roger's tune!
Drover, ride your white horse...ride it with grit
through the rich farmlands burning,
until you'll get hungry, thirsty and tired;
sit down by the Mississipi River and unwind,
observe the clearest water flowing
as Mark Twin did while he was writing!
Drover, ride the white horse, ride it with grit...
while thinking how far is your home,
how lonely is your wife holding Jerome!
Copyright ( c ) 2018 by Andrew Crisci
ARCHAEOLOGY FIELD-TRIP JANUARY 29 TH 3011 - PART I
In this windy coastal location the interesting thing is that
1000 years ago this unlikely spot was a huge city.
Where we see the forests and swamps now -
Was a large city which we’ve called simply Bayville.
Nature has reclaimed it, as it has all ancient civilizations.
Last month we looked at the Aztec and Mayan cities.
This month we have come further north
And we are examining the Euro-latin civilization
Which came to an abrupt end
About 1000 years ago, for unknown reasons;
Although evidence suggests that there was
A climatic change which gradually
Turned fertile farmlands hereabouts into deserts,
And there was a series of devastating earthquakes
Which hit the city each year for several years.
(NOTE: Part II of this poem follows immediately in the list of poems)
Generations of warmongers spew their lies
outward into the waiting abyss of greed
as the adult throng of drones
buzz the factories and the farmlands,
carpenter ants wasting the bounty of mother earth.
And we ..children of the flower children screamed
“Hell NO we won’t go!”
We burnt draft cards and bra’s
freed from the tit by the acid dreams of Leary
we rose, ran, flew, with flags on our arses.
On campus’s we marched
bandana’ed brethren, fuzz busters
picket carrying freedom fighters, a blaze
with a hatred for everything and every one
establishment…
and the establishment killed.
Killed its own children
at Kent State and got away with it.
As napalm dropped over naked children
in Vietnam, the Dawning of the Age of Aquarius
rang from the rafters of Broadway.
Naked as the day we were born
coated in the honest to God mud of
a farmer’s field in Woodstock, we danced.
And we still marvel that Nero fiddled
while Rome burned.
Where are our children now?
Still fighting ..still drones, still bombing
Still ‘liberating’ the oil fields around the world.
Still raping mother earth.
And the beat drones on…………..
*Image of Abstract, Yellow, Fireflies provided by Pixabay.
Aliferous Light
Fireflies glint yon verdures lush blades
in their trancelike swells midst farmlands
stilled beasts ... surreal stars charades
shadowy realm lone moon commands.
Zephyrs thrust e'er more, rousing whole
fireflies glint yon verdures lush blades
deign wrenched ... ethereal control
neath nascent twilight's hazy shades.
Winged beacons currents dusk evades
dreamlike bugs e'er so oft lithe frames,
fireflies glint yon verdures lush blades
where breeds unreal orphic claims.
Languor beetle's their temporal flights
... imaginary thoughts cascades
prompts a fond adieu, dimming lights,
fireflies glint yon verdures lush blades.
2021 May 30
*3rd Place*
Writing Prompt - Dreamlike
~~Constance La France: Judged 2021 June 02
Greasy hair under his baseball cap,
day-old stubble on his double chin,
he picks away on his Gibson guitar,
eyes half shut easing the guilt
of leaving his family behind.
Miles of road ahead of him,
rain hits the windows of the tour bus,
he's seen them all----the farmlands,
mountains, deserts, woodlands
and skyscraper cities.
Booze and smoke cloud his brain,
he can't remember when he had a
home-cooked meal last,
he's played in all the honky-tonk dives
from here to there where he still
smiles at the pretty women who
give him the eye cause they love his
music and masculinity,
he's the guitar player.