Long Farming Poems
Long Farming Poems. Below are the most popular long Farming by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Farming poems by poem length and keyword.
A waning aura no longer flamed enough to flicker a surrender. Decomposes, decompresses like mummification wrap.
An anti-resolvent-fume-
of-infest-chokes-out-integral-yield.
Thick as molasses, blackstrap.
Blight is apathy, and apathy is blight.
A Void, a claim farming the abyss.
Marketing it's lie, on sale.
Though it has a monopoly.
PolyEntropy.
In the garden of life; an empty field of dreams,
lays unintended on its side,
untended save for the shadows
that yield a mock harvest.
Decay on display of manifest.
The sky, descended as a Judas Ascendant,
it's belly gorged with malfeasance.
Exotic particles curse the ground
like wormwood in ritual burn, cache of ashen incense.
Libra sells you back your rye, mildewed and palmer wormed, to bore in at the destitute
at double price, double dealing
with the wages of Sin and Death.
Doubled down.
Doubled over.
So the pendulum swings
with the rusty blade of misuse.
The rose of passion unbloomed.
Ploughshares turned into warmachined torture device. Moreover.
"...and the feeling is dead, and that's the Ultimate Sin."
~Ozzy Osbourne
[They attack the Family... and the Poets are silent.]
"...and that's the Ultimate Sin"
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.
Plants, probing growth
Trees, tall and widespread
Shrubs, simply surprising
Herbs, healing wounds
Land, multiple in variety
Hill, high with rare plants
Mountain, with its ranges
Valley, vary near rivers
Water varies variously
In River and Ocean
In Stream and Sea
In Lake and Well
The Sun and the Moon
East, West, North, South
Night or Noon, Dusk or Dawn
Each and every is boon
The Elements of Nature
Are always friendly creature
They are namely five
For making all survive
Usual changing of Seasons
Regulates the life cycle
Helping and ensuring
Farmers for farming plan
All these are marvellous natural
Nature preach to be dutiful
And helps for our survival
It's really wonderous beautiful
Tillage
by Michael R. Burch
(a coronavirus poem about stasis and potential for recovery by reconnecting)
What stirs within me
is no great welling
straining to flood forth,
but an emptiness
waiting to be filled.
I am not an orchard
ready to be harvested,
but a field
rough and barren
waiting to be tilled.
Keywords/Tags: stasis, potential, hopelessness, hope, recovery, recovery from disaster, reconciliation, tillage, raw, barren, field, tabula rasa, blank slate, blank verse, isolation, seclusion, distress, distance, distancing, palimpsest, plow, plowing, sow, sowing, seed, planting, farm, farming, social behavior, society, America, planet
In a mist of miss-enngeneous-ness a mootness just appeared.? It was a manufactured moot type though.' In that year of twenty twenty..At a time when those with billions and much choice decided others could not have any.? Or voice.. When
A 2019 flu in laurels of death, into twenty
Twenty was for- war-word-ded.' Draped in much thespian hype.' Also we got lectured
To by experts.? Who when pressed had not a clue.? About the thing they feared.' Or about a hax-in-ation that did not yet exist..Thats when they decieved whole nations.' For it was concocted in two thousand
Seven.!!! For the dark winter war gaming
Proposed to be launched in two thousand
Eleven.'
Anyway we were being primed to absorb some real poo.' Yet a few intrepid souls stood to do, the decent thing by me and you.! Dr Mike Yeadon..Did you just think who.? Well he is just a random poor millionaire was co ceo of a firm named pfizer if to check you'll care.? This man beleived in honour and choose to step down and not endorse the ' pricks plan '
Headed soon to your world, street, or Sampan' At Great Barrington also steady hands gripped the wheel, serious academics medical proffessionals who did not want any dirt of this deal.' On the
Right side of history many doctors would
Stand at the end one hundred thousand refused ( dear friends ) to bend to fauchi and his epstein group while the rest of the world ran into the chicken coop.' Now if you feel miffed.? Perhaos angry? You have lost familiy and friends perhaps
life changing damage ( there is a villian dear friends ) its farther away and to the east its name is Russia and i'm told its a beast.!
With rich fields of minerals and farming land ' un-geo-enhanced.!!! I'll bet monsanto though has plans..? For how can you truly starve the world.? When there remains a whole country with such vast reserves.!!!
One flag one country
in the beginning there was hope it was agreed upon
That a turkey was a big chicken and it wouldn’t offend anyone
as the two fowls had no say and didn’t they had a name.
A round the conference table there was a spontaneous applause
So little had gone right for them the chairman suggested
In the spur of the moment to find a common name for
Palestinians and Jews referring to the group Lapwejs, there
Was a long silence, but the idea was sound only the name
Lapwejs didn’t have a melodious tone; a comity was formed to
Study the idea if they succeed the people of that part
Of the world would end discrimination s everyone was equal
Of course they had to come up with a new flag on that
Look like Greek copy, but had several warm friendly colors.
No one would be call anti-Lapwejs or something similar.
The hero
What taste best goat or sheep meat
A furious argument broke out between the cook
And his galley boy this was when the ship was in a storm
And Captain Carlson was on the bridge trying to save
The ship (remember 1950) the ship sank but Carlson
refused to leave the ship until everyone was safe.
The cook refused to let go of his pots and pans and
Was thrown into the sea screaming goat meat is best.
Captain Carlson was a hero, ticket tape parade.
The cook bought land in Patagonia farming goats.
The violinist
The cook on the ship (Liberty type) had broken
In half and the cook felt so neglected he bought
Land and farmed goats, he was doing well and
needed a man to look after his flock.
A Nordic person came looking for a job he
Wanted to get away from the civilized world
Since the Antarctica is too cold he came here.
A funny thing with new it can travel fast and
Move slowly but it always gets around.
It appeared the hired hand had been a violinist
Of the highest caliber, but at a concert when
Stretching to get to the highest note he lost his
Trousers and reviled to the world he wore
Ladies under garment, the audience erupted
in laughter. End of concert.
The cook now a goat farmer got the news in
The nearest town he never told the musician
When his ship sank he had not been a hero
And knew he could not go to New York again
A beautiful thing, in these small farming towns,
Is the place where we dump all our trash,
The remote little area, void of people,
Where we can rummage around for a stash,
You see, the place is divided to a few different parts,
The rubbish, the steel and the wood,
There’s areas for trees, and for building debris,
Dumped, because it’s no good,
But to this little eye, there’s treasure in there,
My treasure is the shiny brass pot,
Or the old wooden chair, with a story to tell,
Tin drums, and other whatnot.
I love the short visit once a month, or so,
Where I can leave my rubbish behind,
And search around looking for thrown out wealth,
For the abundance of old stuff to find.
I OPENED A DOOR
AND FOUND MYSELF
STANDING ON WHAT SEEMED
LIKE A MILLION ACRES
OF FARM LAND.
THE TEMPERATURE
FELT VERY HOT.
I WOULD SAY
IN THE HIGH EIGHTIES.
AND HUMID, VERY HUMID.
LIKE MID WEST HUMIDITY
IN LATE JULY
OR EARLY AUGUST.
I WAS WAITING
FOR THE CLOUDS TO UNLEASH
THAT MID SUMMER
THUNDER STORM
AND TO MAGICALLY
BRING THE FIELDS TO LIFE.
WHAT REALLY
SEEMED OUT OF PLACE
WAS THIS BEAUTIFUL STRETCH
OF LAND WAS COMPLETELY
BARE OF ALL VEGETATION.
AS FAR AS THE EYE COULD SEE.
IN EVERY DIRECTION.
NO CROPS.
NO GREEN FIELDS.
NO FARMING MACHINERY.
NO WATERING SYSTEM.
NO INDICATION
OF LIFE OF ANY KIND.
I HAD TO ASK MYSELF
THE QUESTION
WHAT'S REALLY GOING ON?
WAS I IN THE FUTURE
OR THE PAST.
THIS COULDN'T POSSIBLY
BE PRESENT DAY.
OR WAS IT?
PRESENT DAY IN THE FUTURE?
I THOUGHT TO MYSELF
WAS THIS LAND NOT NEEDED?
WAS THERE AN ABUNDANCE
OF FOOD SUPPLY?
WAS THIS LAND
DELIBERATELY
UN FARMED
TO CREATE A FOOD SHORTAGE?
WHY WAS I HERE?
WHAT AM I SUPPOSE TO SEE
IF THERE IS NOTHING TO SEE?
AT THE SAME TIME
I SEE LOSS OF LIFE,
EVEN IF, IT'S ONLY CROPS.
IN A WAY I SEE
THE STARVATION
OF FARM LAND.
PREVENTING MOTHER NATURE
FROM PRODUCING
OR REPRODUCING LIFE.
LIFE IS GREAT,
FANTASTIC,
INCREDIBLE
AND AT TIMES
UNBELIEVABLE.
THIS SCENIC VISION IS
UN BELIEVABLE.
SIMPLY.... UNBELIEVABLE.
Michael E.Harris
02172021
Ode to my Grand Best friend
My grand best friend, you inspire me this night.
I love the way you look, wallow and run,
Invading my mind day and night, the light,
Always dreaming about the great mock sun.
Let me compare you to a pretender?
You are more ideal, little and charming;
Good frost nips the robins of December,
And wintertime has the mean mixed farming;
So envisaging and enticing your ways;
I love your spirit, attitude and charm;
Thinking of your attitude fills my days;
My love for you is the strong just as your arms;
Now I must away with a gracious heart,
Remember my short words whilst we're apart;
12/22/19
written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
Restless river ceaseless flows.
Boatman floats boat and rows,
ruffling water on stroke of oar.
Brittle ripples thrash on shore,
raising little splashing sound.
Breeze blows, leaves murmur around.
Restless river runs and rushes,
makes way through bushes,
cities, towns, or farming land
on river bank or solitary strand.
Restless river turns back never,
but flows and flows for forever.
Restless river runs, rushes
ruffling raising little brittle ripples