Long Farmhands Poems
Long Farmhands Poems. Below are the most popular long Farmhands by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Farmhands poems by poem length and keyword.
Tedious toil from dawn to dark,
a farmhands days then so harsh and stark.
The clockhands ticks round slowly by one by one,
Pa's work ending with the setting sun.
Daybreak and sunset he milked the cows,
in between with the horse and plough.
Across the fields a church bell peals
recording his monotonous ordeal.
Each day to the beerhouse his footsteps led,
then back to our cottage for supper and bed.
Us young'uns spent days gleaning the field,
a years's bread such toil could yield.
Hedgerow sloes in the market sold,
eked out the wage in our household.
Sister helped Ma with her local lace ,
round an open fireplace.
Ended her schooling afore her teens
to enlist in the domestic service
scene.
I remember how she would watch me coming in late from playing in the fields in a new pair of slacks,
whiteness between my ribs shooting at this lovely girl.
And commanding her to yield. Along came a burnt cry
that brought the farmhands running
a raven, she told them.
They looked down at my pale face, my stained slacks.
The blemish that riddled the sedge
Yes, the raven was hidden in the hedge grated against
the souled turf and they took hold of my white hands,
beautiful polished buttoned black boots laid on the ground
as the earth pressed against me until my heart frothed over
a broken rib cage. Everything that felt warm poured out of me
and turned to ice, tree roots came crawling towards me
new and very white on my fingertips as the sap started to
harden into sinew, leaving the skin broken lying on the garden.
There's a painted picture of three little girls.
Neither of them had EXPENSIVE little curls.
I noticed a lot compared to my childhood world.
In that picture, I have memories in a thousand words.
Sometimes, I wish the memory would fly away like birds.
From a very young age, like them, I was put to work.
Deep inside, I felt the wounds of emotional hurt.
I don't know if their country has child labor laws.
But my country had such laws that did not apply to all.
I'm sure such reality left a BRUISE each year by the end of Fall.
It seems they are working in fields of barley or wheat.
I worked from 6 to 6 in fields of cotton, corn, and heat.
It's hard to tell if their parents were owners of the land.
It's easy for me to tell that my parents were farmhands.
Perhaps they were landowners because there was hope in the girls' eyes.
My eyes revealed a CONVINCING desire to depart to survive and thrive.
But God lifted my eyes far above the fields of labor and limitation.
God's grace and love enabled me to rise above my negative situation.
I thought to write about my High School Social Studies
book report. An uncomplicated short story about the
lives of two characters who like to take life the short and
easy way. I decided to write it as a narrative, showcasing
the simple characters as carefree drifters. Near the end,
the lives that they made easy, sadly turned complicated.
It's about George Milton and Lennie Small. The roaming
workers shared their dreams of being eventual farm
owners during the Depression Period. George was the
smaller and a bit learned of the two. Lennie was taller
and that made him oafish because of his limited wit.
Auburn, California, started their course across the state’s
harsh landscape from one ranch job to another. They
closed in on a job just outside the town of Soledad.
Stopping for a swim off the Salinas River, Lennie
gathered up delicate flowers. He is overwhelmed with
anything soft, fragile, and pretty. In his zealous nature,
he hugged it lovingly but much too tightly as they quickly
withered and died. George noted that oddity before, but
he thought it as being trifle to be of no concern. As they
prepared themselves before they arrived at the ranch, to
a slight degree, the witty George would be a money-saver
type, and Lennie's character with his notable oddity, is
simple-minded. Yet on their first day, Lennie strangled
Candy accidentally. She was the owner's son's pretty
wife. The rhetoric grew unstable for Lennie wherein
laid the guilt. George was forced to face some sort of
retribution with farmhands yakety-yak of a lynch mob
that would lead to a hanging. Left with that sad chapter,
George grabbed ahold of Lennie. At a secluded part
where no noise would be heard. George quickly closed
that chapter when he took out a pistol he found at the
farm and he shot Lennie as George fathomed money
to be his closing grace.
I’m from Kansas. My name is Dorothy Gale.
I could weave for you a fantastic tale
about farmhands, a twister, and a floating abode;
flying monkeys, little people, and a yellow brick road;
a wizard and witches and old, yet new, friends;
ruby slippers, little Toto, and how the magic all ends
when the needy at last see they’ve had all along
what they thought they were lacking and then became strong.
I could tell how the clicking of heels took me home,
for there’s no place like home. I have no need to roam.
But instead of creating a long narrative,
I’ll just say from my heart how much I love to live
on a farm here in Kansas with people who care.
The great lesson I’ve learned, I am happy to share:
a trip over the rainbow was not what I needed.
A hard bump on the head led to wisdom I heeded.
When I came to--surrounded by those I love best,
I at last realized I am gloriously blessed.
The day my life went so crazy
Was when I laid eyes on Daisy
She was an old sow
Who mooed like a cow
And drove all farmhands crazy
We tried to put her in a field
But sadly that pig wouldn’t yield
She’d sit down in her sty
And she wouldn’t comply
Her stubbornness would be revealed
I said Daisy you will come a cropper
The farmer will get you with a chopper
Daisy sat and chewed grass
And got mud on her a s s
Soon Daisy became quite a whopper
Old farmer Bill sharpened his knife
And showed the honed blade to his wife
He said it is time now
I must kill a fat sow
His poor wife just ran for her life!
The farmer went out to the shed
When Daisy saw him how just fled
She hid behind a bull
To escape a quick cull
I’m relieved there was no bloodshed!
N/A in The Day My Life Went Whacko Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Caren Krutsinger
03/28/30
There is an ancient oak, outside some hallowed ground:
The hanging tree, once struck by lightning bolts, seems dead -
Its trunk is hollowed out, yet leaves can still be found,
Just like a corpse with hair that’s growing on its head.
I have a tale to tell - it’s from my long gone youth,
And that decrepit tree was looking strong and stout.
It sounds a silly tale - I swear it is the truth -
Though in my younger days, at times, I had my doubt.
Once, in my courting days, I walked home in a storm,
And heard the village clock, that chimed the midnight hour.
As lightning forked, I longed to be home, dry and warm.
I wasn’t drunk nor had my faculties turned sour,
But in a flash, I saw a figure in that tree -
Distorted, hideous, a hanged man’s purple face -
And yet more lightning showed it crystal clear to me.
As thunder boomed, I ran as if to win a race.
Another flash of light and I was not alone:
The hanging man stood there, thick rope around his neck.
I shivered, swore and shook, afraid, chilled to the bone,
And recognised the man: the killer Nathan Beck -
I’d seen him hanged to death, a year ago that day.
He said, ‘I swore revenge, I knew I could come back.
‘I’ll get my vengeance now, and you will have to pay.’
He put the noose around my neck, the rope still slack.
The noose was getting tight, he dragged me to the tree,
Attempts to fight no good, as though I were a child -
I cursed and kicked and punched, while struggling to get free.
I fought hard for my life, the thunder ever wild.
My life flashed by my eyes, a man about to die:
I thought of family and of my sweetheart June.
And sturdy young man that I was, began to cry.
(I nearly fainted like a maiden in a swoon).
In blinding flashing light, I found the Devil near.
He smiled and looking proud, he beckoned Beck to him,
And Nathan Beck was gone - I won’t forget that leer.
I must have passed out then, my memories are dim.
I came round in a daze, beneath the burnt out tree,
The noose was gone. It was a cloudless dawn that day.
I saw two farmhands grin. They shook their heads at me.
‘Too much to drink last night,’ I heard one laugh and say.
E Pluribus Unum ~ Out Of Many, One
[Author's note: E Pluribus Unum is a traditional motto of the United
States, but the scope of this poem is intended to be of a more global scale.]
We are farmhands, postal workers, we are rich industrialists
We are pilots, sailors, warriors, mathematicians, scientists
We are doctors, nurses, dentists; taking care of those in need
We are teachers, flight attendants, moms and dads with mouths to feed
We post blogs, develop websites, we are software engineers
We are athletes, video gamers, we're retired volunteers
We are dancers, painters, sculptors, we are actors on the stage
We are clerks, construction workers, pay for night school with our wage
We are high school educated, college maybe, or hard knocks
We are barbers and beauticians, drive a truck or work on docks
We are clergy, civic leaders, wardens at the county jail
Roll in wheelchairs, use sign language, wear prosthetics, read by Braille
We are bankers, tax accountants, proud grandparents, husbands, wives,
We are activists who strive to give our children better lives
We are widows, orphans, childless; we feel sorrow to the core
We are social workers, advocates of justice for the poor
We make music or just listen, sing out loud or softly hum
We are common, we are special, we are those who overcome
We are poets and songwriters, we write letters to our kin
Sharing stories of our life, of where we're going, where we've been
We are those with beating hearts, with flexing muscles, red blood cells
Kidney donors, missionaries, we help dig fresh water wells
We praise God in mosque or church, in synagogue or kingdom hall,
In a temple, or in nature, maybe have no God at all
We are from around the planet, we have skin of every tone
We have short hair, long hair, no hair, kinky hair; we're not alone
We esteem diversity; you value me, I value you
Always with respect for those who hold a different point of view
This, my dream: to be united when it all is said and done
Though we may not be there yet, we share this journey -
We are one.
Written 1 Feb 2022
In big sky country,
Joe Schmo wanders off
into the prairie at daybreak
with his rifle to hunt for
game birds. His dog fetching for
ones he shoots out of the sky.
In big sky country,
a homestead family is busy
at the ranch gathering hay
for their livestock;
the kids excitedly
play cowboys and indians.
In big sky country,
wild stallions sometimes can
be seen grazing the tufts of grass.
Farmhands often drive cattle
in the grandeur and majesty
of the western Badlands
In big sky country,
a rooster loudly welcomes
a new dawn; wolves often seize
the night howling at the moon acapella.
The refreshing breeze sway
the tarrying wildflowers at noontide
In big sky country,
lose yourself in wondrous oblivion!
You'll never see a more gorgeous
sunset. There's an embarrasment
of riches to discover there.
I'm in a Montana state of mind.
Date written: 04/07/2020
Yellow
beams glistening
on close growing clover-
when the lark departs is summer
over?
Tedious toil from dawn to dark,a farmhands days then so harsh and stark.The
clockhands ticks round slowly by one by one,Pa's work ending with the setting
sun.Daybreak and sunset he milked the cows,in between with the horse and
plough.Across the fields a church bell peals recording his monotonous
ordeal.Each day to the beerhouse his footsteps led,then back to our cottage for
supper and bed.Us young'uns spent days gleaning the field,a years's bread
such toil could yield.Hedgerow sloes in the market sold, eked out the wage in our
household.Sister helped Ma with her local lace , round an open
fireplace.Ended her schooling afore her teens to enlist in the domestic service
scene.