John Deere and the Lady and the Swan
Passed in front of view
And I saw neither John
Nor the Deer nor the Lady
Nor the Swan
And I knew something
Wasn’t quite true.
As I looked, I heard
The spaces seemed to say
We’re undefeatable
Non repeatable
Eternal
Day
Even when there’s no material
When all human life
Seems lifeless and evil
Even when the mortal
Principle violates the rule
Even when the self
Becomes non-self and cruel
Still deer flow
Swans glow
And Johns marry ladies
On viewing Anthony Caro's sculpture “John Deere and the Lady and the Swan”
Constructionist sculpture using pieces of John Deere farm tractor pieces
The farmer jumped off the tractor and ran toward the house
He left it on, which gave a chance to his bull named Mouse
Mouse jumped on that John Deere and began harvesting corn.
He did it all day, ignoring all kinds of ridicule and scorn.
Farmer Jones watched out the window saying things like “I’ll be”.
His wife was as astonished, and genuinely amazed as he.
They decided to let Mouse do all the tractoring from here on out.
From time to time giving him direction with a gentle shout.
The peanut or beer,
Dear John, John Deere,
Shade or a tree,
Puddles or a sea?
A table or dust,
Frosting or pie crust,
The in’s or out’s,
Squashed thumbs or shouts?
Did time or matter,
Or the pitter patter?
What did come first,
Or does it matter?
Because, here’s my thought;
Since nothing had thought,
Before there was thought,
Then first matter’s naught.
For the 4x4x4 contest
Way back in September of nineteen-forty-nine
Farmer Jake fell off his tractor in a field of columbine
He remained calm, quiet, and sanguine
Impressing a newcomer named Clementine
She was wonderful, with sharp touches of refine
Farmer said to himself “I shall make her mine”
He was ninety-four, while she was not twenty-nine
This did not discourage him or his plan so fine
Jake invited Clementine on the avenue to dine
They had fancy foods, and tasty white French wine
She asked him about his green and yellow John Deere combine
For she was determined to learn how to convert hay into twine
He toasted her with an intricate hand-painted Germany stein
His optimistic fantasy he had to quickly resign
After he learned of her determined future outline
She was moving to France to farm near the Rhine
Farmer Fred on the day he was wed
Believed every word he said
He knew his light of love Nancy
Was so much more than a passing fancy
Nancy had brains, beauty, and drive
With her by his side, Fred felt so alive
Now after forty years of wedded bliss
Fred thought he'd give Nancy a kiss
So Fred gives her his famous wink of the eye
And beckoned Nancy to come over nigh
Now Nancy had a different idea
Sideling over she gives Fred a swift kick in the rear
Smiles and says "Get yourself out of here
And go fix that old John Deere"
So much for romance thought Fred out loud
Hush! you old fool, the back forty needs to be plowed
The Reflection
Just inside the John Deere sales and service store
A short man with an orange stocking cap stood
He was just standing there looking at a display
The strange thing was he did not move with closer observation
It seemed he had no lower body, whoa!!
The more I looked my brain is analyzing the situation
Then I saw more clearly, definitely it wasn't a man
It was the zero-turn lawn mower on the outside of the building
The reflection on the window, sending out the wrong signals
Big day
To play
Entails
New trails
Our goal
Nice stroll
Track hoe
Let’s go!
Big rock?
Knock, knock
John Deere
Is here
Weighs tons?
Gone, fun!
These trees?
A breeze!
Eats dirt
Dessert
Start top
Don’t stop
No frown
Just down
Reach vale?
Exhale!
Walk land
It’s grand!
God ask?
Watch task
Safe day
We pray
None hurt
More dirt
No fails
Smooth sails
----------
for the A New Hiku Footle Tanka Poetry Contest
sponsored by Brian Strand
written on 11/7/22
Seems Florida men never learn
His getaway? A zero-turn
His Deere, not so fast
His lead didn’t last
Now grass is not his main concern
https://nypost.com/2022/07/11/florida-man-tries-to-escape-deputies-on-john-deere-lawnmower/
Migration of Tractors
David J Walker
I remember the migration
of tractors
From farm to farm and
field to filed
Other traffic must yield
to the slow-moving behemoth
in John Deere Green
the farm boy driving it was
no more than 13 on a
Saturday when the other boys
Were doing the same thing
With large clanking implements
In tow
And the 13 year old drivers
Knew the way to go
Where their fathers
Were waiting in
Beat up old pickup trucks
I remember the migration
Of farm boys to larger
Towns
Vowing never
To return
Ancient, rugged hills worn down by time
I miss the lush green hills of my home
Leaning away from the peaceful valley,
Mountains forged from eons long forgotten
During those prehistoric periods before
Earliest settlers found the Appalachians,
Already old, tired, and wrinkled, awaiting
The laughter of young children discovering,
Holding the secrets of ancestors denied
Their birthright by Jacobs and Jacob-ites
Where old waters flow down into new,
New River old, maybe older, than the Nile.
I miss the lush green hills of my home
Leaning away from the peaceful valley
Where John Deere still breaks the ground
In the springtime after a long, hard winter,
And where flowers bloom into October
Especially if Mother Nature allows them.
And she does, for that is her mountain way,
Creating an everlasting yearning for reunion
Back home in those West Virginia hills.
POEM OF THE DAY, December 2, 2021
Poetry Soup
written November 30, 2021
#49 on the Best New Poems List on Poetry Soup
December 8, 2021
The yard’s a mess and grass has grown.
It’s time for me to mow.
Not hard to figure on one’s own,
Don’t even have to show.
Some don’t agree about my plea.
I’m even given strife.
If you think, who that might be,
That person is my wife.
My tractor is my mistress,
I’m having an affair.
Who’s only living interest,
Is cutting earth’s green hair.
She gets so mad, I have to hide,
And mow when she’s not here.
Alone outside it’s that I ride,
Just me and my John Deere.
Peering out, she watches me,
And peaks between the blinds.
Oh the burning jealousy,
That seeps inside her mind.
I plead with her, said she could try,
And give the thing a spin.
I said I’d even keep an eye,
And damn try not to grin.
And then one day, I went outside,
My mind went oh so nervous.
For it was gone, and then she cried,
She’d hired a lawn service!
There once was a mathematician named Deere
Who said, "I figure with asymptotes it’s clear.
Although I’ve been near
I can say without fear
You just can’t get there from here!"
The yard’s a mess and grass has grown.
It’s time for me to mow.
Not hard to figure on one’s own,
Don’t even have to show.
Some don’t agree about my plea.
I’m even given strife.
If you think, who that might be,
That person is my wife.
My tractor is my mistress,
I’m having an affair.
Who’s only living interest,
Is cutting earth’s green hair.
She gets so mad, I have to hide,
And mow when she’s not here.
Alone outside it’s that I ride,
Just me and my John Deere.
Peering out, she watches me,
And peaks between the blinds.
Oh the burning jealousy,
That seeps inside her mind.
I plead with her, said she could try,
And give the thing a spin.
I said I’d even keep an eye,
And damn try not to grin.
And then one day, I went outside,
My mind went oh so nervous.
For it was gone, and then she cried,
She’d hired a lawn service!
sleeping Aurora
mowing smooth a lawn cutting
a John Deere motions
~
teeming green grasses
well kept this lawns cut
after being mowed
5/28/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr 2020
Lawn Mower Facts
Briggs and Stratton is number one,
Grandpa use to say…
They will last until the cows come home.
Then he dreamed a bit…
The Deere, Oh John, he plows forever,
If you can afford one, that is.
Fixing things that did not run,
with magic hands, old and withered with time.
Still able to join nothing into something,
Spark and start the blades,
whirling and the grass goes down.
Piles of old tires behind the shed.
Decks without engines, gas tanks empty.
This was the land of possibilities.
Grandpa was always moving, forward.
Frames of things, welders to melt steel,
so hot you could feel.
Then…
Mini bikes, with stolen power, leaving the grass too long.
Pushing all the right buttons, changing all the right gears.
Faster and faster.
Grandpa was right. (as always)
Briggs, are wonderful for cutting the green,
but way better
for Kicking
the
dust
up…
instead of laying the grass down!
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