Long Bought the farm Poems
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As I walked out in the streets of Manteca,
as I walked out in Manteca one day,
I spied a young cowboy asleep on the sidewalk,
when prodded from slumber these words he did say:
"You are wearing a Stetson, spurs, chaps, and a six-gun:
I assume then you must be a cowboy like me;
come sit down beside me and hear my sad story,
then try to guess which shell is hiding the pea.
'Twas once in the saddle I used to ride gaily,
albeit I had not a horse to my name,
but down in the basement my dad had a saw-horse,
so I rode a steed that could never go lame.
O bury me holding a King and five Aces
with a pint of good whiskey to keep my corpse warm,
and a pair of my custom made dice in my watch fob,
for I'm a young cowboy and I've bought the farm."
III.
Scott bought the farm and some dairy cows,
and set about building himself up.
He soon made a name for quality milk,
local wholesalers could not get enough!
One summer day he took to the plow,
preparing and old field to grow hay.
The plow hit something, twisting it hard,
just badly enough to ruin his day.
He grumbled loud, went back to look,
and saw there, to his great surprise,
a hole in the ground, empty and long.
A new cavern there before his eyes!
Now caves were quite common where he lived,
several were open to tourists for show.
The thought of building up just such a place
made the dollar signs in his head grow.
The next day he returned with lanterns and lines,
carefully descending into the dim.
When he touched bottom and lighted it up,
what he saw laying close by shocked him.
Two skeletons lay just five feet away,
it was a miracle he hadn’t crushed one.
Both looked human and one of the dead
lay with the moldering remains of a gun.
The other was huge, at least eight feet,
and the bones too thick, impossibly large.
The skull was giant, the teeth oversized,
Scott found the sight of it quite bizarre.
In the middle of the great ribs did lay
two balls, the kind from old muskets.
And near the spine was the rusty head
of an aged and battered hatchet.
Turning to the other, Scott Bairns saw
they were the bones of a normal man.
The ribs were broken, every one,
so were both of the man’s hands.
And on the stock of the old gun,
Scott found an old, tin name plate.
He bent down low to read it clearly,
‘Amos Bairns’ in the metal was scraped!
Scott flinched back, remembering tales
told in childhood long, long ago,
Campfire stories of bigfoots run wild,
to his mind they all started to flow.
And now when he stared at either of them,
both the large and the small skeletons,
he realized the truth behind all the myths,
he was staring down onto his kin!
Scott hurried out, and filled in the hole,
then gave the field over to brambles and berries.
He never plowed there, or spoke of it at all,
for some truths are better left buried...
My nephew is making me play a different version of hide and seek.
This version involves a gun, if he finds me, things will become bleak.
In this version, if a player is found, he is killed.
I'm scared out of my wits, I'm sure not thrilled.
He said if I didn't play the game, he'd kill me on the spot.
He's trying to find where I'm hid but I hope he can not.
He is a twisted and totally evil child.
His parents have never disciplined him and he's running wild.
My nephew just found and shot me, I have a bullet in my chest.
My life is flashing before my eyes and soon I'll be laid to rest.
My wife and kids will be devastated when they learn that I bought the farm.
This evil little child should be killed or locked up before he can do more harm.
My brothers can you hear me, my sisters can you see?
I want to be a part of your world, if only you'll let me be.
I promise not to hurt, I promise not to harm.
I promise to give you all I have, before I've bought the farm.
I give you my words, they are written here for you to read.
I'll always treat you with equality, even if it makes me bleed.
Our blood is all the same, in our veins or on the ground.
I promise to be there for you, when your friends are not around.
I'll never see your color...I pray you don't see mine.
I will always see just your beauty and words, until the end of time.
Let's all join as one, across our many lands.
From the mountains and the tall green grass, and to those who live on sand.
I watched the farmer do daily chores, year after year.
On hot days, those of snow, each morning he was here
before lavender light of dawn, he checked on his crops
tended to all the animals and fed the pigs their slops
Farmer Ben didn't talk a lot about what needed repairs
I'm just an old shovel, but I heard his humble prayers
We're old friends, so I sensed his worry and frustration
each time he clutched my handle, I felt Ben's desperation
There were times when only digging relieved his stress
and I helped him work off the concern he couldn't repress
We shoveled snow and broke up clods of the Earth's crust
Always taking care to clean me so I wouldn't start to rust
I'm gettin' kinda old. Been here thirty years, maybe more
Since Ben bought the farm, and me at the hardware store
I feel honored to hang on the highest hook on the wall
but didn't ever mind he used me to clean dung from a stall
Sometimes a gentle hand holds me in a garden of flowers
His missus keeps me busy in Spring, planting for hours
If a rock bed I hit while she went about with our spading,
she'd clear them with her hands, and the roots pervading
Don't know how much longer I'll be in working condition
but I'm not ready to be retired or put out of commission
When Ben needs me, from the wall he'll take me down
I'll always be ready and willing to help him break ground
Today started out bright and shiny
Then suddenly turned cloudy and sad
Doesn't take much to turn it around
To change a good day to bad
Something that seems so insignificant
Can change the mood of the day
Like rain that falls that wasn't predicted
Or snow in the middle of May
They call us guys moody people
They wonder why we're up and down
It's quite uncontrollable most of the time
We'd much rather smile than frown
So if you see me with a frown on my face
Remember it's nothing you said
It's just this up and down mood I get in
Much rather be upbeat instead
Lately I've been much more up than down
Happy it's not the other way round
Don't want to put an end to it any time soon
Decided I'd still like to hang around
Have no fear, love life way too much
To do myself some bodily harm
Would be totally contrary to who this guy is
You'll never say, “he bought the farm!”
Today started out bright and shiny
Then suddenly turned cloudy and sad
Doesn't take much to turn it around
To change a good day to bad
Something that seems so insignificant
Can change the mood of the day
Like rain that falls that wasn't predicted
Or snow in the middle of May
They call us guys moody people
They wonder why we're up and down
It's quite uncontrollable most of the time
We'd much rather smile than frown
So if you see me with a frown on my face
Remember it's nothing you said
It's just this up and down mood I get in
Much rather be upbeat instead
Lately I've been much more up than down
Happy it's not the other way round
Don't want to put an end to it any time soon
Decided I'd still like to hang around
Have no fear, love life way too much
To do myself some bodily harm
Would be totally contrary to who this guy is
You'll never say, “he bought the farm!”
© Jack Ellison 2014
I knew a man who always traveled,
he worked hard and was ever on the go.
He said that he would like to own property,
a Squire or Country Gentleman, as you may know.
I could not believe it,
as one day he came with cash in hand.
He said he wanted to get away to quiet,
but all he wanted was the land.
I thought it strange that he do this,
as he never liked staying in one place.
He said he still wanted to travel,
but would use this for his base.
I wondered why the big One-Eighty,
for he turned completely around.
He said it was just a change of direction,
one he had never before found.
I hoped that it would settle him,
because he was strange enough.
He said that if I did not want his money,
that he just leave and take all of his stuff.
I wanted him to know my feelings,
about how his life would change.
He said that I was not to worry,
he was not going to join a Monastic Grange.
I sold him the property he wanted,
and put the money in several banks.
He did not have very much to say,
but just gave me a word or two of thanks.
I wandered by there the other day,
not trying to raise any alarm.
The place was run down, unkempt, and shoddy,
apparently...he "bought the farm".
Even during the least happy times in our lives
It is never so unhappy that we should ever lose hope
Whoever said, “Tomorrow is another day”
Had the secret to a happy life
Another is, “Don't sweat the small stuff”
So simple yet so obvious, it make a whole lot of sense
I don't have any secrets or special potions that I take
But after living for almost 9 decades, there are certain things
That make a whole lot of sense and a lot that don't
It's knowing which is which and choosing
The ones that your inner voice tells you
To follow, it makes a hell of lot of sense!
They say with age comes wisdom which is true to a degree
But at any age, it's your inner voice
That should always help you make the right choices
Make for the corner, Fresno-Whittier
(there’s neighborhoods a whole lot prettier):
it’s probably ten-ninety-six,
but don’t draw weapons – that’s a Nix.
The man before you’s not a “perp”,
so don’t come on like Wyatt Earp.
Latina (claims she’s J-Lo’s cousin)
talking nineteen to the dozen
says she almost bought the farm,
but totally (we think) unharmed.
Find the pale-blue shotgun shack:
he’s out front, and she’s out back.
Ten-zero, boys. Proceed with caution.
Blame’s not something we apportion.
They love each other – had a fight,
same as any couple might.
Bear in mind one simple thing:
no-one wants a Rodney King.
So, L.A.’s Finest, when you swoop,
he’s sitting on the streetside stoop,
and spouting incoherent crap,
samurai sword across his lap.
Don’t pay no mind to what he’s blurting –
the guy’s okay. He’s simply hurting.
Don’t see a spic from Zapopan,
look at him closely. See the man.
Don’t think, “one of the wetback horde”:
think what it took to make that sword.
Someone tempered, shaped, embossed it.
And Juan’s a man. He simply lost it.
He came up here in eighty-eight,
and settled in the Orange State.
Wielded wrenches, welded axes,
raised his kids and paid his taxes,
and now he’s slowly catching on:
there’s nothing else. His youth is gone.
He mops the floors at Taco Bell,
and Carmencita gives him hell.
He’d wail a horn, like Bobby Prewitt,
but doesn’t have the art to do it.
So let’s forget the “better than”.
Go easy, fellas. See the man.