Long Farmers Poems
Long Farmers Poems. Below are the most popular long Farmers by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Farmers poems by poem length and keyword.
I have risen to the call one more time to let the world know what is on my mind; the river runs deep and it is now spilling water into the street. My heart is with you, and you must walk with courage in your shoe for the challenges are great and you must deliver before it is too late.
There is a paradigm shift, and all countries around the world need an iron arm to end the gridlock. The ropes are stiff, but the ballot is not for profit. I have risen to the call to parade through the street and meet with the people that are so sweet, and those that mock and jeer me must rise to the call too, for in due time they will be walking in my shoe.
I have risen to the call to shake the grapes on the vine; I have risen to the call to produce more wine and grow more fruits on the vine. Meet with the needy in the street and listen to their heartbeat; meet with the farmers on the land and you will understand what is going on.
You need more moisture in the sky for the earth is very dry and some people fall down in the street and die. The door is open once more, and there is wine, honey and spice on the floor, market what you can, and plant a business in ordinary people’s hand, focus on their needs and you will succeed.
Entertainment is what they want, food and money to meet their needs and, wisdom to control their greed. The sports are nice, but they have to make too much sacrifice and sometimes they end up losing their lives.
Meet with me on the outskirt of town and drive the negative energy out of the town. The people need something simple but profound to turn things around and a god agenda to make the universe wonder. Give me a quick and courageous problem solver with love and respect to make our life better.
I have risen to the call, and I am going to kick the ball high up to the bar and into the back of the net, and I am going to make the universe fret. The square is what you are on but the number three will help you cross over to the promise land, for the most popular number is three. If you miss the shots the Greek gods will put you back on track. Walk with me to the sidelines and look up and down the vine and your dreams will come true on time.
I have risen to the call
I walked on Cedar lane where estates used to be
Until taxes on each acre made their residents flee
The views of the Hudson are still grand
But it makes financial sense to subdivide the land.
Young couples skip the wedding vows though they feel love within,
Benefits reward the single life; the married seldom win.
There are homes with narrow fronts, the reason, if you ask
Was that the width of the home was criteria to tax.
In my county middle earners were the rule
But taxes rose, for pensions and for school
So they moved many miles to reduce their tax rate
or made the jump to go completely out of state.
It’s easy to condemn a crook who breaks the law for cash,
But did you pay your contractor “off the books” to save a stash?
And who are those guys he hired, English they speak not
He'll claim he didn't pick them up at a big box parking lot.
Taxes distort all sorts of behavior
But I have an idea that can be our savior.
Eliminate all taxation
Print money instead, save the nation!
I know this proposal could cause consternation
But think, no accountants, no weeks of preparation.
No IRS, less smuggling, less incentives to cheat:
More business formation and a better balance sheet.
If you keep cash under your mattress, its a dumb caper
In a few years it might be usable as wallpaper.
What we do doesn't work, look at the national debt.
Investing in the USA is not a long term bet.
Feds printing money might also lead to inflation
But the new April 15 could be a cause of celebration
Farmers could hand down the family farm
Without handing death taxes to the Fed's long arm.
"Death and taxes” may endure no matter what we do:
For governments find backdoor fees when old revenues fall through.
Still, I can dream, can I not?
Of an opportune rainbow, and an economy that's hot.
An unsophisticated feller attending an auction could find himself in a pickle!
The nuances, subtleties and gestures used in bidding could cost him a pretty nickel!
A city feller decided to attend a farm auction to see what it was all about.
Alas, he accumulated a heap of needless stuff before he could figure it out!
He was fascinated by the tractor, manure spreader, horses, hogs and cows,
And the chickens, goats, manure forks and hay to be auctioned in the mows!
The auctioneer began his alien spiel and the feller couldn't understand a word,
But farmers in overalls and John Deere caps knew exactly what they heard!
Bidding began on an old steel-wheeled 1925 Model D over-used John Deere.
The feller watched others offer their bids as he reached to scratch his ear.
The auctioneer yelled, "SOLD to the man scratchin' his ear over by the fence!"
He was the stunned owner of a tractor - it happened so fast he didn't have a chance!
Next up for bid were a fancy chamber pot, two horse collars and fifty feet of hose.
The feller in all innocence swatted at a pesky fly that had landed on his nose!
The auctioneer yelled, "SOLD to the guy who swatted his nose for fifty dollars!
Son, you got a steal! That's an antique thunder mug and so is them there collars!"
The auctioneer opened bidding for twenty bales of newly cut alfalfa hay.
The feller was distracted for a moment and waved at a pal across the way.
"SOLD" said the auctioneer, "Please write a check for this stuff to my able aide!"
The hapless guy was wondering how he'd explain to his spouse the purchases he'd made!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Time hands seconds past the minute,
winter melts the sands,
sprung barter the seeds to take root,
petals leave for lands.
Abandoned juice bathes the barren,
weather soaks wet dreams,
towering outstretched limbs fashion,
cries tear up the streams.
Quartered the core green overgrowth,
sweet fester the sour,
fertile soil sources root approach,
West turn sunset lour.
Stockers fatten wanting store shelves,
greens packaged refreshed,
farmers loaded like Christmas elves,
checks at counters cashed.
Shoppers and grocers swapping smiles,
carts staggering highs,
past harvested fields, endless miles,
as New Year's Eve, nigh's.
I woke up from a nightmare into another nightmare
As the lights swooned and the clouds became clear
I thought morning came
But it was the beginning of another nightmare
The sun shines, the wind blows, birds are singing, farmers are farming,
I thought morning came
But it was all another nightmare
Should I not have woken up?
Should I have stayed in the first nightmare?
Do nightmares become better?
Or it gets worse?
The brightness gives the assurance that a bright new day is here
But the nightmare continues
It squashes the hope I have.
But I need to sleep,
I need to continue sleeping
No matter how long the night is
No matter how many times I fall into other nightmares
I need to continue sleeping
Because
One day, I will wake up
I will wake up into a bright morning
I will wake up into a new day
I will wake up
And it would not be another nightmare
I would have really met the morning.
Truths, as though fairy tales, I have heard so miscellany,
That her flora and fauna reveal true theophany;
Rolling and spinning lowlands with hill-like granite blessings,
Moss misty magnificently mysterious dressings;
Romantic and luring - they say - her existential look,
Brooks, rooks, and snooks are seen in every woods and water nook...!
Temperate temperature tranquilizingly tempting,
Gardens, perennial and seasonal trends preempting;
Gold old civilization on earth stands head holding high,
Awesome islands, like handsome tree-grooms standing by the sky;
To both the sons of the soil and the strangers so friendly,
Life though flows slowly, smoothes, soothes, and breathes quietness gently...!
The aroma of flowers and herbs all through wide valleys,
History mingles, merges with mystery, and tallies;
Farmers' wharves... fishermen's wharves... all such well flourish I learn,
To explore the harbor and Victoria Pier I yearn;
Enchanting, they say, Victoria's immaculate air,
Just once! Only once in my lifetime! I long to be there...!
18 December 2022
RAF navigator Ron Day and I took of from Banff, Scotland,
I was in the RAAF, an Australian, and we flew in formation:
40 Mosquitos to attack German ships in Norway land,
In a harbour, Porsgrunn, but then came an acclamation.
“Bandits three o’clock! “, and so we did not strike a ship,
But broke away left and flew ’til I spotted sand on a beach,
But as i got closer realised it was Norwegian ice, no quip,
So the landing damaged us, plane and all, but we did reach.
After unjamming my leg, i paddled up to the surface,
With relief saw Ron afloat in his life jacket, life raft burst;
We felt mentally and physically numb and did brace,
We struggled, but heard a man from a boat shout in lust.
The farmers carried and cared for us, or cared for Ron,
But they told me “Germans come,” so we left by a pony,
I sat and shivered in the cart, then took a car to Oslo bon,
Our uniforms were yellow stained by the lake, very shabby.
We were then taken to hospital, but i ended up in prison,
And on Monday the 30th of April 1945 Hitler killed himself,
And we knew informally we were free, def by the elision,
When a guard gently touched my back, himself to shelf.
That was when the war in Europe was over for me, then,
But we had to await official victory when RAF men came,
However, before that, just to be sure, we left for the glen,
‘Cos the Luftwaffe general was contradicting the game.
We got back to London and i left for Australia on Orion,
And the celebrations would’ve lost control for alcohol,
‘Cos I’d found out that my brothers were alive and on:
We birthed, the collective mind reacted, but not us all.
I should eat healthy, I really should! But life is too short for that. Food, food, food,
it chases away the blues, it brings comfort to the soul. So here is a list of the foods
that I L.O.V.E. and that make me happy. You will note a theme of cheese and
dripping butter (and chocolate) . . .
a chocolate bar, anytime
bananas, green, not ripe
crackers and cheese, as a snack
drenched in blue cheese, salads and homemade croutons
even, tortilla chips and chunky salsa
French fries from a chip wagon (on my way home from the gym)
grandma's recipe for beef stew with loads of vegetables and a rich gravy
hamburgers and hotdogs off the barbeque with all the fixings
ice-cream, chocolate of course
just out of the oven, french bread
keep the donuts and coffee coming
loads of meatballs, made from mom's recipe (in a sweet tangy sauce)
macaroni made with three kinds of cheese
nothing better, than spaghetti with meat sauce and parmesan cheese
onion soup, french canadian style, dripping with cheese
pizza, deluxe (peanut butter on toast before bed)
quick take out of chicken wings with hot sauce
really, really old cheddar cheese
steaming cobs of corn, dripping with butter and salt
tomato, bacon, and lettuce sandwich
until I say stop, chocolate
vegetables fresh for a farmers market
what is wrong with me, this is all so unhealthy
x-tra, of everything, please
yogurt with strawberries on the bottom
zesty dill pickles, aged one year
______________________________
June 24, 2016
Poetry/List/The Joy Of Food
Copyright Protected, ID 16-804-040-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
We are old MacDonald’s great-grandchildren
who help him in his fields during weekends,
We gather chopped hays and feed his chicken,
then watch him works with his farmers and friends.
We love working in the fields together,
We ride ponies and horses…we’re cowgirls!
We greet his hardworking farmworkers who’re there
while they cut rice straws with their sharp sickles.
Our grandfather owns large hectares of land,
Ranging from the foot of the blue mountain
to the spot where we, three sisters stand;
Tour around freely! Ride in his land train!
Beyond grandpa’s rice fields are big orchards,
And behind are gardens with vegetables
where we’ll immensely enjoy afterwards;
Healthy foods will be on our long tables!
Our grandpa is so happy to have us,
He says, “ With triplets grandkids, life’s so nice!”
So, when we go back to school he gives cash,
buys new dress, pair of boots and hair bowties.
To be fair to kids, greetings still arrive
With customary call on a birthday
That keeps the edgy memories alive,
Photo albums dust laden idly lay,
Alive stays once-in-a-while rare visit
That leaner gets, time passing bit by bit.
A Spartan house, whence kids left bit by bit,
Now spacious looks with few and far visit,
A needless treat for a death-weary old.
Parents do know, kids have their life to live,
Know too, today's youth is on endless drive,
Not easy for them to fit the new mould.
Peace of grey years rest on fitting this mould,
No fledglings back to nestling homes return,
No birds nor beasts are known to care for old,
The old for no return-favour should yearn
Children that take parental grace given,
Know not, one day they’d see a setting sun--
They that are lost in joys of rising sun,
The old has to give space to grown up son,
Love for love's sake and hope for no return,
Grin and bear till comes the call from heaven.
Till then let old their solitude savour,
Love's no love, wanting a return favour.
It’s not favour, kids’ moral behaviour,
If they can’t hearken to heart, let them head.
Till then let the old, memories savour,
Greet greeting cards, chew on visits once made--
A proof enough, the kids care for them still,
Is not doubt better than a bitter pill?
The lonely hearts live on a hope-made pill
Like farmers staring blank at rainless clouds,
Frustrations tied down by mind-made rope still
And memories wrapt like dead-body shrouds,
For, a hope’s better than frustrating proof,
Good to dream than lie under leaking roof,
Yea, better lonely than a leaking roof,
Far better still than furniture to be
O in an unknown land across the sea.
______________________
Sestina | 02.06.2012 | father, heart, loneliness, mother, parents
Note: Written on Fathers' Day (17th June). This sestina avoids intricate patterns of repetition of first stanza’s six end-words in a specific rotating pattern: (1-2-3-4-5-6) of the first stanza to (6-1-5-2-4-3) in the second and so forth. Sestina does not normally rhyme. But this one does though randomly. And the last word/s of the preceding stanza is repeated in the next.