Farm Poems | Examples of Farm Poetry

Sir Billy Pig’s missing his oats Miss Piggy Wig’s had hers, she gloats But she’s looking so rough Her bum’s full of crap stuff Its output is brown and it floats! I’m advised by a pal of mine To “Never cast pearls before swine” Or put lipstick on a pig When it’s mouthing off big Miss Piggy Wig’s an old bovine! ...

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Empyrean drops, Monument of July, The pluvial chapter of life... O July of enfeebled yolk, Dispenser of splendour of sempervirence, God has watered your tongue. Therefore, pour, July, pour The essence of life, The grit of living Unto the bosom of the Seventh month and other Months of parturition. Let us conceive in July, To bear in good season, Sons of courage... Wearing festal garments And adorning our heads with sepia...

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Now I want to be a banana plant, swinging in the wind, free from the knots of debt. The shards of dreams won’t wound me again. Ever. I’ll never be hunted by the loan sharks with serrated teeth. The weevil thought cannot perforate the corm of my peace. Away from the waves of suicide, I’ll live–listening to the Asian koel. I can...

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It's criminal what women'll do to keep a man down on the farm shed false tears strategy I fear pull the wool turn on the charm smiling all the while trap him wrap him twist him round her little finger and insist it seems should he linger longer than appropriate she deems for him to appreciate 'til he's tongue-tied up in knots with all those forget-me-nots keeping her...

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Tilling the fields ‘neath a hot blazing sun Removing the weeds when the rain's pouring down Baling the hay in the heat and humidity Breathe the dust of the chicken coop, abject...

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Packing up house I do not like Much, rather fly a kite, Or go on a hike! We lived in our first home Almost forever, But in the last six years, The third and most traumatic Emotion in life, Was packing up and moving. It’s all about enduring! This home was where Our children grew up, Graduations, celebrations, Happy moments and sad Where our parents died, Where our hearts sadly...

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at one with nature the sun sets on the weary ~ reward for hard work...

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I'ma gonna wake up, at the brink of dawn Drink some coffee, throw my blue jeans on The little red rooster is my alarm Cock-a-doodle doodling on my farm I'ma gonna water, all of my crops Especially, my barley and hops Then I'll roll up, a bunch of bales of hay Where the goats...

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bill the billionaire and the commies are devouring our farmland...

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As this life now quickly drifts away, I'm unable to look around and say, ...

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(“Honeybee on Apple Blossom”, 2020, original pen and ink) Homing Bees Up before dawn To bring home the bees, Last evening’s swarm So full and feisty, And nestled in Their new hive They seem contented Distracted and without concern That in the end They have only Travelled a few feet From their old home. (7/3/25)...

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The vibrant popinjay has gone.' The harlequin no more really Spins in song.' The magic's now all in a can.' Younger female backers Parry times looming advance plan..' The age'd icon takes his glances Across the acres, of yearning souls in hopefull trances..Parody banners they lie.' beneath sultry skies.' Echo the effigy of the past, See it...

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We Wear The Mask by Paul Laurence Dunbar After poem by Olabosoye Wemimo Olaoluwa Love of our land's labour should make us proud; The efforts, time, and energy put through... Well enough to place our pride clear as vowed. But we wear the mask of pain we don't plowed, When slavery is to labourers in blue... Love of our land's labour...

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Loitering around at the expense of my parents back, I too wish to be at the resemblance of hardworking thumbs, those same fingers that sewed the futile grounds back home, my mother’s yuca farm, my father's dying crops, dance taking their final waltz with the tumble- weeds in direction where my ancestors sleep while their bones continue...

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crows caustic cawing polluting morning silence corn field quiet...

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