The nudging to kill farm livestock off
Is resulting in vetanarians in the U K
Leaving their vital posts.'
No more to add, this government is
Beyond sad.'
The cock crowed at dawn,
My retriever jumped out,
The horses knew it was time,
Ducks ran towards the pond,
Pigs and sheep kept their ways,
My cat doesn't understand the fuss,
He sticks to his bed,
Content in quite rebellion against the sun, just like me!
The moon slides silent on the dew-swept field,
My hand upon the curved and cunning blade,
Its weight both foreign and familiar here—
The long crescent, gentle as a cradle’s arc,
Yet sharp as memory’s unforgiving edge.
I move through wheat as if I part my hair,
Each golden stalk a strand beneath my palm.
The swish and sigh, a rhythm in my hips,
A knowledge passed from wrist to wrist, unseen,
A legacy in muscle, bone, and skin.
They say the scythe is instrument of end,
A harbinger of silence, fall, and dusk—
Yet in my fingers, it becomes a song,
A spindle, spinning daylight into bread,
A lullaby for seeds that sleep below.
The field is wide, horizon swept with hope;
The blade and I, together, carve our path.
I am both steward, sentinel, and stone,
A presence in the morning’s quiet hush,
Reaping, not as death, but as a mother would—
Gatherer of what’s grown and what will be.
.
i came for thuh
roan
certainly too
it's
saddle (shhh
i meant saddled)
i'd'uh never agree'd tuh
take on that thar horse
if'n that purty skirt
'tweren't 'tatch'd
to it
Shafts of lazy light
Autumn shades cascading down
Combines comb the fields
When the Halloween costumed populace
is tasked to stand for the laws of the land—
captured in black and white.
Some are just more equal than others.
"Flowers fade and decay through wintry hours–waiting for rebirth." Quote by - Constance La France
...........................
Once buried a seed as a child,
As I had seen my father do.
I wished it would decay and feed maggots,
Like meat I once buried.
But nature taught me outside class—
That seeds smile deeper beneath soil.
I soon forgot the tiny grave I'd made,
Till the first sprout appeared.
It looked just like my father's crop—
Green and glistening in the sun.
So I began to tend it as he did,
And watched it grow as mine.
Each day, its smile became wider,
One leaf to two, then to many.
Its stem pushed upward toward the heavens—
A loud joy filled my soul.
It grew like those in my dad's farm,
Stayed a secret just between us.
Its silks grew long and its green leaves spread wide—
My seed became many.
Through long days' toil and endless nights...
A farmer's dream blooms with morning light
dad said buy thick coat
son bought gun so now dad says ~
wear gun and milk cows
Sukkoth, the Fall Harvest Holiday
once again comes Israel’s way
Although all hope for a bountiful crop
that’s not where the festival stops
What we take in is not what Sukkoth is about
rather, what matters ~ is what we give out
__________________________________________
The Festival of Sukkoth begins at sun-
down this evening and lasts 7 days,
followed by Shemini Atzereth and
then Simchat Torah. In Israel all
schools are closed for the entire
holiday. Many adults also take off
for this festival, known as 'The
Season of Our Joy.'
I was the offspring of two farm kids who fell in love.
They both were up at four a.m. to do their chores.
Five o’clock would have seemed like a gift in their childhoods.
So, they gave me that gift of “sleeping in” until five.
I did not have eggs to gather, a cow to milk or feed to spread.
But I did have a slew of chores, and this was not a request.
There were three of us kids, we still get up at five.
I text my sister at 5:05 and she asks, “What took you so long?”
Five a.m. is our regular wake up time.
We could get more things finished before school than a teacher.
hoeing, weeding, raking….
in the dark? We had a streetlight, didn’t we?
One time I said to my sister “why do we have to be busy every second?”
She laughed.
We were farm kid’s kids, she reminded me.
I texted her at 5:01 today and she texted back “been up since four”.
History mark of carny' rabid; rouge and
Barmy.' Got some beef.' With innocent
Birds a hate fuelled puppet beyond good
Words.'
Born in a barn raised on a farm
makin' hay come what may
won't do what I'm told
can't be bought or sold
with a mind of my own
don't need politicians
prophets or priests
deciding my decisions
drink from the bottle
drive full throttle
don't get me wrong
know where I belong
ain't got no social graces
know where my place is
do what nature taught me
down in the lower forty
where rattling the bars of their cage
'til the cattle come home
chickens from afar were induced
and returned to roost
while at day's end
the scarecrow he an' me
we be best of friends
we climbed a barbed wire farm fence
falling into brambles that scratched us up
suddenly we were in a meadow
with tiny wild strawberries, daisies, violets, iris and queen anne’s lace
we’ll take it, we told the realtor
a Shangri-la which we still love
grumpy vegetables came marching over the hill to do their best.
They had heard of a weird new rule they wanted to contest.
Radishes and carrots were to stay in one bin, away from the potatoes.
But where did that leave the lettuce, turnips, parsley and tomatoes?
They came in with faces full of angry gloomy thunder clouds.
Ready to wrestle with anyone, their expressions dour as shrouds.
The farmer saw them coming and said what now? To his wife.
She rolled her eyes, said “I’ve got this,” and took out a paring knife.
Specific Types of Farm Poems
Definition | What is Farm in Poetry?
Poems Related to Farm
meadow, lawn, estate, orchard, ranch, acreage, plantation, field, nursery, grassland, pasture, garden, claim, soil, patch, holding, enclosure, grange, homestead, farmstead, arboretum, freehold, vineyard, acres, demense