Long Farmhand Poems

..But when he looked at her, sad as she was,
he knew he just couldn’t leave it because
she fired in him something way down deep,
entered his dreams when he lay down to sleep,
stirred in him something...

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Dreamin' with my eyes on these Montana skies
Blue as the plaid in my plum good shirt
I got the mitten by a beauty queen smitten
By a flannel mouthed tenderfoot from the Wyoming dirt

I’m just a waddie...

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“You’re burlap and satin; you’re leather and lace,”
	the bride-to-be’s mother said. “He’s a disgrace!
	Break up with him. It’s not too late to save face.
	He’s our neighbor’s farmhand. He should know his place.”

	Her dad said, “He’s...

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My deep roots, 
 
Oh, so precious my blood and roots,
  yesterdays shadows creep and cling;
odd, I have the same attributes . . . 
  The past lays icy hands to bring,
 ...

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Sister Faith took me in,
teaching me all
different practical things,
everything from canning foods
and churning butter,
milking the cows and
squeezing the udders,
sewing and darning all
of the clans clothes,
washing them all by
using a washboard,
hanging them on the
clothesline outside,
going for...

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Oh, so precious our blood and roots,
  yesterdays shadows creep and cling;
odd, I have those attributes . . . 
  The past lays icy hands to bring,
      ...

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THE CANDLE IN THE WIND
 This is the story
Of a light
Back when there were few
Men on Earth
Light and electricity industry
And Wo/Men
Took great care of their candles.
 
Using in their defense
To face the mysteries of the...

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Life Weary, So Hungry I Could Eat A Dry Bone


Trekking through fire breathing desert, yes all alone
Mouth full of sand, shattered heart so heavy too
Life weary, so hungry I could eat a dry bone 
Looking...

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Outcast 
Man with the cloven foot walks through the night, harsh and frustrated, 
he was the result when a farmhand had intercourse with a cow... and 
when cow a cold February day gave birth on...

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A law firm partner living on Madison Avenue
bought a farm in the country.  What a strange thing to do!
Oliver Wendell Douglas and Hungarian-born wife,
would head for Hooterville to start a new life.
Oliver and Lisa...

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Oh, so precious our blood and roots,
  yesterdays shadows creep and cling;
odd, I have those attributes . . . 
  The past lays icy hands to bring,
      ...

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Broremann, the farmer worker. 

Every morning at five thirty sharp, my brother Broremann 
had to milk five cows by hand bring bucket full of goodness
to the scullery where maid sifted it and in a churn...

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Autodidact
The small forest or the woods by the white road made of
crushed sea-shells was a place of enchantment squirrels
had no fear of solitary dreamers stumbling over oak roots.
I used to walk here when cows were...

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Farmland 
David J Walker

I am
	The dreamland
Of the farm

The zauberhaft/magic-craft 
Found in the brown dirt 

Beneath the feats 
of farmers 

I am 
	The farmhand  of

The sacred farmland 
Often found 
	Ground into dust and

	Blown by the...

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Summer is now over and fall is very near.
Our first harvest is what we celebrate here.
We've gathered berries, corn, and grain.
And soon we'll have other vegetables to gain!

We give thanks to Mother Earth for giving...

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*Image of The Farmhouse by UNS.

Hint of Autumn

Sunstar wakes, Aurora reacts,
As light skews her southernmost sky,
A roost rouses, a rooster crows,
Henhouse's wood handle lifts up.

A replete farm inclined to rouse,
Sunstar wakes, Aurora reacts,
Four-year-old farmhand gets...

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Fruitful faeries flying freshly frightenly faraway
Flashing flea-bitten furry fireflies fantasy fey,
Faux flash-dancing flowery figs flowing flippantly free,
Ferocious fierce foursome fruit-flies flying fantasy’s flea.
	
Fast-fingered flicker formidably frugally fit flexible.
Frosting frilly flounder’s fluorescent fetish fully fixable.
Fanciful freckled...

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spring blooms lost in deep snowdrifts
black ice roads mark highest peaks
shared coats and tea in old flasks
child builds snowman in a lee

night closing in on mountain
cold is seeping into bones
spare layers of clothes shared out
prejudices...

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He stands against the old barn door
relaxed not a confrontational bone,
thin      as a pitchfork's tine.

Farmhand, hunter, true-shooter,
the lens flatters him.
A ring of white T-shirt gives a reverse
halo to his lantern-jaw.
Loose...

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