His work is known around the Earth
This ploughman lad of lowly birth
He wooed and won the lassies braw
His Jean the fairest of them aw
He honoured such as mice and men
And friendship flowed beneath his pen
Of parity and justice wrote
A line that I take leave to quote
“That man to man the world o’er
shall brothers be...” can’t ask for more.
Diverse his works, out of his time
The man who gave us “Auld Lang Syne"
Categories:
ploughman, humanity, poems,
Form: Couplet
An ox is a persistent ploughman
he sets his shoulder to the task
Not knowing what he's up against
for no question can he ask
Big machines can do his job
in almost no time, even less ~
Are we all 21st century oxen
at the mercy of progress
Categories:
ploughman, animal, change, technology, work,
Form: Rhyme
Each year, an evening bright as any star,
in song and verse retells the tale once more,
with homage paid to one man’s repertoire.
Humbling and uplifting, his thoughts restore
our universal oneness, humankind
across the globe, each with each entwined.
Our frailties, joys and sorrows understood,
with love and pathos are his lines imbued.
Hands joined in celebrating brotherhood
and in our hearts enduring gratitude
for what this plain and humble man has shown,
revealing what our souls have always known.
And so, each year, we contemplate anew
this gifted ploughman and his words so wise,
partake of haggis and a dram or two,
yet mindful of the wider world outside.
To gain the peace for which the whole world yearns
feed deep upon the words of Robert Burns.
Categories:
ploughman, anniversary, humanity, poetry,
Form: Rhyme
-Subash Khanal
I have such a wish to write
‘Torment camp’
all over the walls of my college
Each professor
stands behind the podium
and shares the sleeping tablet
It’s such an adversity
I come to college
and learn to hate professions of the common man
“Do you want to be a ploughman, without learning?”
– Says the first professor
“Your ignorance leads you to be a cowherd.”
– Says the second professor
“Is it your goal to be a soldier?”
– Says the third professor
“Politics – It’s the same game as prostitution”
– Says the fourth professor
“It’s not obligation to come to college to be a player”
– Says the fifth professor
“And again, the job of teaching is no good”
-says the sixth professor
And so on
My beloved lecturer,
Let me plough the land
Make me learn to be a cowherd
Teach me to serve the nation by being a soldier
Instruct me in the ways of politics
Let’s share the techniques to teach and awaken society
Let me be free to choose my options
We can’t become knowledgeable
being apart from life.
Categories:
ploughman, absence,
Form: Free verse
R-emember the poet of Scotland,
O-n the twenty-fifth of January;
B-ehold his written works,
E-ach lyric is filled with glory.
R-emember the poet of Scotland who wrote in Scots language;
T-he Ploughman poet did prove his deep and vast knowledge.
B-ard of Ayrshire also wrote in English,
U-sing words easy to understand;
R-ead the poems of Rabbie Burns,
N-ational poet of
S-cotland.
Categories:
ploughman, birthday,
Form: Acrostic
Each year, an evening bright as any star,
with song and verse retells the tale once more,
with homage paid to one man's repertoire.
Humbling and uplifting, his thoughts restore
our universal oneness, humankind
across the globe, each with each entwined.
Our frailties, joys and sorrows understood,
with love and pathos are his lines imbued,
hands joined in celebrating brotherhood
and in our hearts enduring gratitude
for what this plain and humble man has shown,
revealing what our souls have always known.
And so, each year, we celebrate anew
this gifted ploughman and his words so wise,
partake of haggis and a dram or two,
yet mindful of the wider world outside.
To gain the peace for which the whole world yearns
feed deep upon the words of Robert Burns.
Categories:
ploughman, anniversary, community, humanity, international,
Form: Rhyme
Categories:
ploughman, anti bullying,
Form: Alliteration
Ploughing
The farmer has ploughed the land around the almond trees
the earth is rust red I took up a handful it was lumpy, full
of dead plants and still warm from the sun.
A breeze was blowing shaking dust of trees and upending
parasols in gardens of those who do not till this land, but
want to be a part of the rustic idyll, tend rose bushes with
gloved hands to avoid callouses on hands used to type on
a word processor, where they try and fail to share the peace
they have found among small farmers travail.
I have the camera with me, but use it not how does
one shoot a picture of the wind or branches of a tree
moving rhythmically as the second dancer at a Bolshoi
performance attended by the prime minister.
Think I will leave the wind to a painter friend of mine.
Categories:
ploughman, courage,
Form: Sonnet
“The day is long the day is hot
Heat radiates the air will this ever stop
Sweat blurs my vision my mouth is dry
I look for salvation but not a cloud in the sky
I plough from sunrise to sunset but rarely will I rest
Ploughing the dusty fields so life can grow
So at summers end may I reap what I sow
Now through the dust a figure appears
Coming toward me till quite clear
A girl stands before me bare feet in tilled earth
She looks up at me and smiles and then I see
Ladle and bucket grasps in her hands salvation for me
Dismounting my iron horse I'm now on bended knee
Lifting the ladle I take long sips cold cool water passes my lips
At last the drought of my body is finally eclipsed
Water in hands I soothe the cracks in my face and burning neck
Then with humble gratitude I give the ladle back
Smiling she turns without a word and heads back whence she came
Disappearing to my astonishment in the unforeseen rain”
Jon J.
Categories:
ploughman, earth day, farm, thanks,
Form: Rhyme
Gazing regretfully on years gone by
They stumble across searching for a place to call home
Their lanky necks sending out murky tune.
Mutilated men in ominous attire!
Lonely hearts littering the street
Gray tears falling from the eyes of young ones
Death has found delight in your land
Writing poetry with the blood of your children
Oh Darfur!
Now the mud is prince
Your flowers grow lice
Your fingers wriggle among carcass
like maggots in pomegranates
See your children flapping like Bats of no dwelling
Though peace is thy neighbour
Unending rage of war owns your heart
You old ploughman!
Trading the souls of your children for a piece of worthless candy
Categories:
ploughman, war, children,
Form: Blank verse