Best Peasant Poems
A modern day peasant, I am
Cause the $money$ all goes to the man
Pay a few bills
Buy a few frills
And don't forget old Uncle Sam
He lives there, where people love
Land as mother, worship agriculture
People of his nation, after independence
brought green, white, yellow, blue revolutions
to meet with the crisis of food
to wipe out hunger
to up root poverty.
He tills his mother earth
carries plough on his shoulder
sheds his sweats
turns himself into soil.
After a year of severe flood,
several children of his homeland
are at risk of death
due to lack of proper nutrition.
He returns from his polluted land
carrying a basket on his shoulder
full of golden harvest.
Flood stricken cornfields
Harvests destroyed, paddy fields washed
yet he carries food grains on his shoulder
The cattle Kraals are empty
The goats gaunt
No protein food for children
but he is carrying a basket
full of golden harvest.
In his motherland
where people worship food as god
Through away it and feel proud for it
where some people also search dustbins
madly hoping a handful of stale rice
to do away with their hunger.
The experts do research on cropping
Those with power keep their power.
Only he, the nominal farmer
trusts himself with earth’s treasure
is carrying a basket full of golden harvest
on his shoulder.
The sun does not dissuade him,
nor the water logging
that blows against him
as he ploughs barren land,
grows golden harvests
on the other hand,
drowns into the deep sea of loans
beaten by poverty.
He feeds the nation,
cannot feed his family.
He trusts his hand for his countrymen
what they used now,
but cannot do his family and himself.
Between life and death,
he is carrying a basket on his one shoulder
full of golden harvest
carries fear of suicide on his other shoulder.
If I were a peasant girl,
...would you over look it?
If I were a queen with elegance,
..would you love me more?
If I were a peasant girl,
...would you love me more?
If I were a queen in a peasants body,
...would you recognize my love?
In his weary hour
The legumes blossom on time;
Out of jocundity in honour
Of the beautiful turf
The drowsy peasant peak.
His weird blistered palm blimey,
His nasty regalia wretched,
He produces plenty and eats small
He produces good and eats bad
To the nobles he worked,
The dark noxious pest
Ravage and wrest
The peasant-shaddock
This tonic the dressy peasant
A nocturnal haunter.
This extempore task
Demoralizes his sinew
His swansong
Rhythmically envelops
In serenity and drone.
Each rising smoke
Nervous him to move.
This previous eyes
That know no peace
By the smiling scorching sun.
At the dark hour
He puts on his clogs
And marched to the farm shack
There he finds the beetles
On the yam.
The great anxiety of the peasant
Is the bragging fire of winter
He fasted to lull it
He became gaunt
The sturdy peasant.
The time unknown: the blazing fire
Burnt the bedecked bower
The ranch house and the lettuce
Barefooted staggered him
To the farm with his straw hat
And met the yelling ashes
The cracking twigs of cocoa plant
The peasant live no day
Longer than that and slept
Step forward step forward you peasant you.
Time to chop off your head and lay you to bed, six feet under is where you will be
all because you dropped my Danish on me!
~~~~~~~~ Pink Polyester Pants ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I really like to ride my bike, outside your porch, hopin' for a glimpse,
of you sitting, singing dress a clinging in neatly pleated floral chintz.
And that time after school-ly when that bully pinched you on the buttocks,...
Though I decked em, I must respect em for admirin' your tattered denim cut-offs.
And, oh, did you look sweet and sassy when you wore that peasant blouse,...
though maybe not so replete and classy when you trick or treat'd at my house.
Though you are one year older, I sure feel bolder a'climbin' o yer backyard fence.
But I really flipped when I saw you slipped inside those pink polyester pants!
His belly full of absinthe
His nervous system writhed
as he looked up to the heavens
cachinnation in his eyes
The juice from plums of damson
trickled down as purple blood
as he fell, the kulak jester
face first flat into the mud
Aromatic orange berries
filled the night right up with spice
whilst the hyalite 'round his finger
sparked itself up to delight
The nadir answered back his laugh
with rain and sleet and hail
as we leave the jester lonely
sleeping in his vinic jail~
Many years ago,
Before yours or my time,
When the only way to
Travel to and fro
Was not with automobiles,
Or cars or trains,
Or even planes.
But with a horse or a donkey.
This happened in the villages
In Greece, donkeys were a
Cheap mode of transport,
But stubbornly would sit
On their paunches and snarl
Showing yellow teeth,
There was no way,
The donkey would budge
Another step, on that day
The aristocracy from
Athens With horses,
And their breeches and braces,
Made fun of the peasants
And donkeys, what monkeys!
But one Athenian
Stopped by the old
Man with his donkey
The poor donkey was saddled,
With so much,
His walking was wonky!
Hey my friend,
Said the city man,
To the old peasant
Would you sell me
A pheasant,
And your donkey
Would he carry the same
load for me?
Of course he would but
There is one thing you should know
He don’t look so good!
Said the honest old man!
But the buyer ignored this
And put a bridle
On the poor animal, and
Tied him with rope to his saddle!
A week passed, and there
Suddenly appeared the Athenian
Who had bought the donkey.
Hey mister he said,
Did you know your donkey was blind,
Yes, but told you,
It was you who misunderstood
“He don’t look so good!’
Come! said the peasant-boy
To my golden temple
With spires of ice
Where glories entice
Even the noblest of men!
Come! said the peasant-boy
To my marble halls
With pillars of heights
And glittering lights
Kings and their courts would adore!
Come! said the peasant-boy
To the berth of dreams
Where musik ascends
To heavenly ends
A joyous Amen and Amen!
And I, with the peasant boy,
Stood, face-to-face
Whilst to my eyes,
Though monarch denies
—The Earth to my eyes he revealed
Better a Peasant in Heaven
Than, a Resident of Hell
Lest there be any Question
When the Lord tolls your Bell.
Urban peasant is poor.
He rears only a cat, a dog,
in bedrooms and lounge,
the things he cannot eat!
Feel practically a peasant
When his magnificence is present.
bought bottled mineral water
to irrigate his crops in the desert
but he and family drank all of it
before use
I am a Cretin of just a Peasant Sight
Worthless to the Lovers who Kiss under the Moon each Night
The Sights and Sounds of my voice are plainly Dull
So please do not breathe in this dying Martin's last Breath
Suicidal?NO OH NO!! Just a little bit tired of my own mistakes and neuroses
The countless Jibes and unfriendly vides I receive from those who surround Me
It means that no Mistletoe can accept the Kisses or friendly greeting by a kiss on the Chin
Let's just say this:
DO NOT LOVE THIS PEASANT CRETIN'S SAD SACK GRIN!!
Winter snow had fallen
and the land now sparkled white
but still the little peasant girl
trudged homeward through the night
her clothes were thin and ragged
and her face was rosy red
she had served her Lord and master
now she journeyed home to bed
she did not see the danger
on the lonely road she trod
nor did the horses hoof alarm her
but they killed the girl stone-dead.