Not forgetting the natives
who there once held sway
the factories and farms
of the blue and grey
made the country
what it is today
but his untold minions
and one man’s say
may destroy the Land of the Free
known as the U.S.A.
I was worried they’d paint the house brown
Or red or green or blue.
I couldn’t even imagine
They’d turn it into something new
Now they’re ripping up the floorboards
Like your absence tore my heart.
It’s as though every nail they place
Tears us further apart.
300 miles plus an extra six feet,
3.5 hours turned into four.
But we never make the drive
Because there’s no home for us anymore.
The earth didn’t stop spinning
When your heart ceased to beat
But for me, my world was shattered
So I’ll never drive down that street.
I don’t want to see what’s changed,
Or the house that’s been reformed.
All i want is to go back
To the way it was before.
collect and do soup
I love farming and cooking
do you love farming?
Schools ring out with the sighs of freedom lost,
empty hearts break as a summer love moves along.
Bright wildflowers fade under the burden of frost,
birds fill the air with the tunes of migrating songs.
Night grows longer as it steals away the hours,
of warmth and sunlight from another struggling day.
The sun becomes weaker as darkness devours,
and frozen tears cover a world that’s old and gray.
Pastures now grieve from the silence of missing hooves,
as stock was sacrificed for winter’s survival.
Anticipated food fills empty mason jars,
with gardens plucked clean before first snow’s arrival.
Out past the trees roofed in kaleidoscope colors,
harvested fields are transformed to carpets of gold.
Children are tucked in under heavy warm covers,
because stars come early when a north wind blows cold.
His eyes untrusting brown
Brows furrowed in permanent frown
Skin weathered
From the ground he tendered
And the whiskey goes down.
His unruly dark hair
Living a life he can’t bare
Heart hardened
Like the soil he pounded
And the whiskey goes down.
His tanned arms
Strength running the farms
Frustration heated
From the fire he beat
And the whiskey goes down.
Papa I cry
And from that name he does shy
He does not look
His shoulders merely shook
As the bottle hides beneath the tree
He doesn’t seem to see
This is normal for me
And the whiskey goes down.
i'm chasing a blue horizon
in fleeting moments of a fresh dawn
searching for acceptance
hiding somewhere in the corn fields
the clouds are looking promising
swimming between silver grain silos
in a sea of farms my indifferent thoughts catch
only on the wooden telephone poles
gravel road beneath my feet tempting
if i run fast enough
i could disappear in the blue horizon
The Business of Autumn
David J Walker
1. The season of dry clouds and Canada Geese
Arrived over the weekend
2. The weatherman says the freeze was
too light last night to have been noticed
3. A frost is in the forecast but rescheduled
for some other tomorrow
4. The full moon demands homage
deserving its observations
5. before the sun sets
on another harvest
6. The farms have formed seas of
ripe corn and white cotton
7. bordering a thousand small towns
in every direction
8. allergens release in the winds the
invisible seeds of misery
9. The last days and nights of the whine of
cotton gins bailing good fortune
10. The business of autumn comes to an end
On the fairway of a county fair
11. The next rain will be cold and will
Hold its verdict … Ice or snow…
until after Thanksgiving
A Frost Bite Forecast
David J Walker
It was the first night of frost
Biting the fallow farms
Stretching its icy arms across
The plowed grounds
Touching agrestic towns left
Dressed in white
Winter, sounding its alarms
That its’ bitter bite is coming
Ice and snow soon to follow
Soft golden brown, so plain to see,
A solitary honeybee
Busy buzzing from bloom to bloom
No more bees though plenty of room.
Fireflies seem fewer anymore
Where thousands glowed in days of yore.
Passenger pigeons once filled skies
But ladies’ plumes brought their demise.
Stars still twinkle but seem less bright;
Driven dimmer by city light.
More children are alone at night
As deadbeat fathers take to flight.
Farms pass to graders and backhoes.
Concrete canyons grow row on row.
Thus is paid the price of progress:
We may have more by having less.
if your from the country side
the land is wide
plenty of logs
mabe bargaring dog
ON THIS
CHICKEN
FARM WITH HOGS
its roads
its can be goal
mabe get a way
there open air day
and hog runing dogs
some paly roll logs
you have a larg barn
its the
COUNTRY AND A
FARM
I'm not gay but you. ARE beautiful
& yellows walk by
on two pink sticks_____hunched black
cowboy hats shoot
#Shooting Stars#
AND booked worms abused by Mr. Jones
of Manor Farm are bet'er than
book
_____
MANAGERS
in brick and mortar.
:: 07-14-2018 ::
Frack off!
Radon in my water, killing me
Arsenic in by veins, making me cough
Cuardilla, ruining my tea
Killing the cows
In Fylde I protest
No fracking here!
Go away
I want to dedicate this to all those farms affected by the fracking crisis!
I hope your water will be drinkable soon xxxx
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