Long Farming Poems
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Greenland
The Vikings often fished for cod along the coast
We know as Greenland since they had noticed
Where the ice had thawed, green grass grew
Olav, the hairy, thought it would be a good idea
To bring cattle and women to herd cows
to the island and on the longboat where the Vikings
That had turned to fishing instead of pillaging
The coast of France thought this was a grand idea; furthermore, it was tiresome sitting in a boat without toilet facilities and not having a wench to lighten the onerous life.
Bringing cattle to Greenland was a likable idea
From Hammerfest in Norway, a steady stream of
Viking families with cattle, women, and children
They began farming in the cove where the grass was
the greenest, life was busy
There was no interest in settling when the cows were fat
the women were pregnant, so they sailed back to Hammerfest and waited for the summer season; however, when the weather got cold again, the ice didn’t thaw
the place abandoned
What the Vikings didn’t know about Greenland was that Greenland had been tropical with palm trees and beautiful beaches, where only the rich at the time could afford to go
on a holiday, we know the sort dealing in precious stones
Now that ice is thawing again in Greenland and
Donald Trump has declared an interest in this neglected island the Greenlanders can look forward to a bright future.
Though I posted the following poem
(B)efore (C)ovid, a sense
of glee donned my being
the notion arose to trumpet anew
said literary handily crafted endeavor.
Not far from here – Perkiomen Valley -
Schwenksville, Pennsylvania
regular folks going about their business
unwittingly participated in history,
a couple scant few years
after the American Revolution.
Two hundred forty three
(12.3 score) years ago
countless stripling soldiers
strapping farming homeboys
healthy agrarian lads
raised among generations
unseasoned lads in summer re:
offspring original settlers heirs
family acreage encompassed
wide uninterrupted forested swaths
across sprawling vistas
sparsely populated enclaves,
now heavily industrialized
lovely bones occupying
unmarked never known graves
buried amidst avast
cleft rapacious urbanization
long forgotten innocent youths
hailing within then bucolic
Montgomery, Delaware and Chester county
forsook their young precious lives
voluntarily promising sons
risking life and limb
more often former versus latter
sacrificing stripling flesh
encompassing urbanized tracts
quite familiar to yours truly
suddenly made aware
unbeknownst till yesterday
informative literary handiwork
titled "A Glimpse of Freedom"
engagingly written by Douglas Shupinski
details innocently naive country bumpkins
sacrificing potential sweat of brow,
albeit grueling labor
fostering holistic existence
transforming boyz to men
hardened green soldiers
into battle weary fighters
regarding, kickstarting, envisioning
inchoate cause named freedom
emancipating fledgling America
against British throne
awareness percolates,
perturbs, permeates psyche
synchronizing, manifesting, galvanizing
how past historical events
within close proximity,
where I mostly resided
since birth, now experience
absorption, communion, edification...
with dead souls
nearly deathly quiet
only most perceptive can detect!
I think at first perhaps she pitied me
With my fumbling teenaged kissing
But to her as a separated mother
I provided some love she was missing.
She risked her very reputation.
I, perhaps, risked the beating of my life
For though he no longer wanted her
Demanded she be chaste obedient wife
I would slip through the dark village streets
Carefully check the area around her door
Then give our special knock and soon
I‘d be in her arms and bed once more.
I was saved by the rain one time
For I took the bus instead of walking
And saw his two mates in a doorway
Watching the houses, standing talking.
I sat and watched them for hours
From across the road in a small bar
Until he came to collect them,
All driving off in his old car.
And she was frightened when I arrived,
Knew he’d been watching, silently wept.
I remember a very tender loving,
Dressed very quietly as she still slept
To leave very early the next morning
Trying to beat dawn and sunrise;
For this was a farming village and there
Could be many early waking eyes.
She taught me to be a lover and I loved her
But I was still just a green and callow teen.
One day my knock was unanswered
As though our love had never been.
In such a small village
There was no chance we wouldn’t meet
So I learned to nod and return her smile
And we passed as friends on the street.
A sad Southern tale
It was a disturbing wonder
When, In the midst of a bountiful harvest
There arose a call
To weed, trim, plunder and even murder
Every east, west and northern brethren
Who drifted to feast across the southern border?
Now you know how to hack and spear your brethren
Those who stood yelling, stoop wailing
Just to see you, toe Freedom Street
Alas, after being spared from your iron shackles
Your years was spent ploughing yesterdays wrath
While farming today’s seeds of scorn
Your bountiful harvest
was resentment and hasty judgement
Never realising that you were still in bondage
brought so much bewilderment
from these awakening events
Revealing your hidden fetters
And soulless chains
unraveling the veil
Shading up your blind wills
And your fallen hopes
Now you hear that call
Deadening you unto reality
Those voices that in time past
had thundered your paths
along freedom way
now resonate with livid hatred
prompting you unto violence
even to your own kind
Oh, hail the champions of the couch potato throne,
Whose true inspiration is laziness alone!
From the depths of sloth, great inventions arise,
A tribute to those who prefer their dreams to the skies.
The remote control, a marvel of our time,
No more adjusting; we’ve reached our prime!
With just a flick of the wrist, oh what a delight,
To change the channel without leaving our site.
Cleaning is tedious or so one did claim,
So they invented the vacuum, and we’re forever in their fame!
No more scrubbing and toiling on hands and knees,
Just let that machine do the work, if you please!
Ah, walking, who wants to do that, I say?
It’s tiresome and boring, let’s drive instead, hooray!
With vehicles zooming, we speed past the grind,
Why take a stroll when you can leave all that behind?
And farming, oh farming, what a back-breaking chore,
One bright soul thought, “Let’s mechanize more!”
With tractors and harvesters, the fields are now neat,
All hail the lazy who made our meals sweet!
So here’s to our sweet lazy folk, we salute you,
Your capacity for finding ways to do nothing is true!
With fantastic bliss, you redefine hard work,
Living is hard enough; let’s not go berserk!
Work smart, not harder, is the motto we cheer,
Why sweat and toil when the solution is clear?
With AI to assist, the future is bright,
Let’s embrace our laziness; it’s our shining light!
Laziness, dear friends, is no longer a jest,
It’s a celebration of comfort, and we’re truly blessed.
The bulk of our science, our knowledge, our creed,
Born of the need to make life easy indeed.
So let’s raise a toast to all those who conspire,
To find the easiest way, lifting our hearts ever higher.
Impressive achievements from the effort of none,
In the heroics of laziness, we’ve already won!
The lines have been drawn
The battle commenced
Each voter a pawn
Each party seems tensed.
They’ve argued the topics
All blurred the same lines
We muse on our prophets
Determine our swines.
Does one vote for their country?
Or just seek our own gain
Chasing lollies quite bluntly
Causing decades of drain.
You know no sweeties from strangers
Could ever end well
But in spite of the dangers
You’re tempted to kiss and not tell.
You’ve tried to do study
Policies, farming, and crime
Snatched beliefs from some buddies
Hell research on Facebook saves time.
Days to polling have dwindled
There’s claims of rich serving up poo
Yet when the economy’s swindled
Shucks, we’d work for a tranny named Sue.
Oh how the experts do surface
Daily their ranks seem to swell
Poems and posing’s are posted
It’s social media hell.
There’s calls for compassion
Never an end to the queue
Yet when they dole out the rations
It’s from my plate to you.
So we each vote for our promise
Mine? Well it really means well
To be frank and quite honest
I hope the reds go to hell.
Nature Fascists
Those who believe in the sanctity of nature, the survival of
the fittest, and so on, tend to be on the political spectrum
right-wing living off inherited money and believing
it is right for an eagle to kill a rabbit
and they are
right, and of people on horseback pursuing a fox until it
can do no more running and is killed by man`s best friend,
the dog that lacks empathy unless it is a learned behavior
It is a right to tame
nature, but not eradicate it because we
do we well not to harm our future, but farming is needed
despite what they learned, think cattle have to graze to give
milk and meat. The mule has gone, and the tractor has taken
its place, but without sheep and cows grazing in peace and
not knowing its purpose, the countryside would be a place of
fear and wildflowers enjoyed by botanists and goats.
It is the fascist agenda that is scaring the right to
exterminate
what nature lovers think is not worthy of their ideal.
Christmas 2520
There are no artificial trees
Piles and piles of electronics have been built into ski resorts
No one has school or work; the earth children are home, farming
Creating crops so the family will have food during the winter
The men are home with the children, for they are better suited to it
They are less likely to get angry and upset over the small stuff.
Children help their fathers bake Christmas cookies and frost them.
Their mothers are in the fruit cellar collecting jars of canned produce.
Grandmothers and grandfathers are in the living room.
But there are no television sets. All electronics video and internet gone.
A fabricated story the children think, not realizing it was real.
Hearing the stories, but in disbelief as there is no technology.
Cyber terrorism occurred in 2411, which changed everything.
Everyone farms now, teaching their children exactly what they need
To survive a world which entails almost no communication or access.
There are cousins, but the cars have not been working for years,
unless you have a really old model that was not electronic based.
You must rely on walking, running, or using a bicycle or a motorcycle.
It is a different world, but the family as a unit is closer.
No one is sitting around with a screen on their lap.
There is communication, laughter, smiling, and a cohesive unit.
Merry Christmas! We say to each other, in touch with God,
Glad that Jesus died for our sins, but not fully understanding sins.
As most do not have paper Bibles. Those antiques were thrown out
In the 2300’s when we earthlings thought everything should be online.
She loved our First Nation Cafe
from the primal blessed moment
just before she first could not yet think
of this cooperatively-owned communal place.
As other than some sacred space
She has liturgically revisited
and faithfully communed each starlight night
within secular developing
Right hand prominent wombs.
It felt right and left good
that everyone she saw blending local grown organic juices
fueled by fresh air-turbine bikes
pedaled by consumers
drinking juice from outside
community cooperative garden beds
fertile through compost from FairShare coffee grounds
brewed right there
All cooperatively honeyed
pollinated
owned and self-managed
by those who blend nurturing waters
fueling healthy blood
heart and mind and embodied
by those who heart pump the bikes
and therapeutically mind step the hydro-milling anthemed steppers
and build green capturing solar panels outside
and sing
and dance
and improvise farming and gardening and incubation networks
tell bold new creation love stories
share organically resilient skill sets
cook and preserve local nutrition harvests
design and play WinWin on-line and off-line
deep learning green-STEM Games.
This First Nation Cafe re-creation place
feels like cooperative organic network space
for liberally loving ecoconsumers
and ego-conserving health producers
to ecoschool
and ecovillage
eco/theo-logical after school
and on through each vespered late night regeneration
candle lit inside
star lit campfire outside
nights of lovely ultra-violent FullMoon
through NewMoon full-shadowed integrity
of water-bears
and their synergetic spear-carriers.
He lived this First Nation Cafe
from primal blessed first cooperative moment
just before she first could not yet charge intuition
for this cooperatively-owned communal place
of mutual Wonder.
I'm trying not to get overly excited
I'm on just this side of freak
I've finally gotten the call I've been waiting for
The one that for years has eluded me
There aren't to many farmers out there
That take as much pride in what they grow
That's why Chef Boyardee selected me
To join their team on SpaghettiO's
I've been raising spaghetti for years
Spaghetti straight and long and lean
So I really see no problem
In SpaghettiO transitioning
From the natural growth of spaghetti
To the famed shape of the SpaghettiO
I just need to learn the secret
Of how to roll the perfect hole
As day one arrives in all it's glory
I head out into the fields
Stopping during the day only long enough
For a delicious Italian canned meal
Where I enjoy only the finest ingredients
Straight from the heart of this multicolored can
From the sweet little O's to the...What color is this sauce?! "Orange?!" "Red?!"
And isn't the taste a bit overly bland...
Oh well...
When the day of harvest arrives
I bring in the Italians cause everyone knows
For generations they have perfected
The delicate picking of SpaghettiO's
Who ever thought the growing of spaghetti
Would bring this farmer so much fame
I just received a call from a little known farming cult
Who'd like me to try my hand at the growing of Spam
After my successful go at SpaghettiO's
I'm pretty sure I'm just the man who can