Short Farmhouse Poems

grandparent's farmhouse
years of fun hiding in rooms
i really miss them...

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Gray-dark cloud rotates;
	an elephant’s trunk dips down,
	unroofs the farmhouse....

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The old rocking chair slowly rocks with the breeze on the porch of the empty farmhouse, waiting for new stories to be told.


Heidi Sands...

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deluge
old man winter pours buckets....
inside farmhouse wet

ingenuity in use
rain water poured in bath tub   ...

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Languorous heatwave
Provence blooms in high summer
Wisteria surge
Chorus of sounds surround me
Small lizard climbs farmhouse wall....

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Nature's Fine Scenes

grasshoppers jump
broken down fence
little farmhouse

Robert J. Lindley 
Than-Bauk

Note : 
My first try at using this poetry form....

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winding down
distant farmhouse kitchen light
harsh winter night



Published in The Trillium Haiku Group Anthology 2022 "-to hang my hat"

AP: Honorable Mention 2021

Posted on June 2, 2021...

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No building long survives Time’s hurricane,
It scatters shingles, rends each roof
And bares the rafters to the rain,
The skeleton of walls stands proof
That nothing fashioned by mere Man endures aloof....

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This old farmhouse kitchen
could tell its thrifty tales
of hard times, making do,
making bread from nothing –

snatching life out of air…
Snatching life out of air,

she turns wheat and water
to ferment by the stove,
and molds it with her hands
into tart, golden loaves....

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one more day
just one more day

to kill your memory
and wash away the sin

I’ll use a bolt gun and straight 
blade for the slaughter 

a gambrel hook and clothes 
line for the hanging

your pink nose and cow
eyes will crumble in the wind

and I’ll dance on the mustard
ceilings of our farmhouse...

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Red  velvet  with  gold corded embroidery
Old  farmhouse faint smoke  frost glittered
Spices  wine  honey  candles  milk  apples
Orders  farm produce meat game and  fish
Great fire in kitchen preparing for the evening
Writing poetry ...  baby  cries for breastfeeding
Singing together  begin to dance in fine dress
Young man   singing   melancholy  love-song...

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In search of long lost orchards
where apple blossoms bloom;
an ole white ashen farmhouse
and corncrib-playhouse rooms.

Searching for the scent of pine
where lingering laughter lies,
for the summer days gone by
and seashells on the tide.

Hungering for spruce gum chaw
we dug from crooks of trees
for the tart and bittersweet
memories of childhood deeds....

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In her grandmother's old farmhouse
Amid her poetry ,collections grew
Showcasing imaginatively till
Every room overfilled
Discovered what could remain or to let go 
Decisions of compromise ,loss maybe so
Life's lessons she learned,loved and knew
Well nested between white washed walls,
and loving souls taught, lay's an  everlasting harvest
Rooted memories hold.......

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I can see a 
pale green 
farmhouse 
against the 
nearly neon 
vegetation 
of the cornfields. 
Soybean sprouts 
are shooting 
up here and 
there. 
  
In this place, 
there is no 
existentialism 
or angst 
questing 
against our 
sanity. 
  
There is no 
god or God. 
  
Just the cornstalks, 
the soybean sprouts, 
and the pale green 
farmhouse 
in the distance....

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day’s light quickly fades
rumbles from mighty jaws near
bitter winds utter their last gasp

my arms are in a flurry
bare branches lash against the farmhouse
struggling to avoid the chimney’s embers

“Snap,” the sound rings out
pain I bear as I split in two
crash-landing on the horse barn

sunrise comes again
displaying carnage below
nearly lifeless, my tears fall like rain...

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a frosted farmhouse--
smoke blends silently
into the dark clouds 

first winter storm--
tire tracks fill quickly
along the old dirt road

snow blows sideways--
north winds
rattle a window

a flashlight glitters--
cattle are herded
into the barn

laden with snow
the trees succumb and bend--
a farmer prays over supper

embers burn low--
the fields have white blankets
for a frigid night...

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I stepped into a place of magic.
Implements, antique construction,
still used everyday.
Shiny interlopers keep away!
The trusty and pre-fabricated still hold sway.
Products of a bygone era,
polished and honed to precision,
manual labor, the road to perfection.



(Note: on visiting a farmhouse in Finland
          where many of the old-fashioned farm 
          implements are still used to this day.)...

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I stepped into a place of magic.
Implements, antique construction,
still used everyday.
Shiny interlopers keep away!
The trusty and pre-fabricated still hold sway.
Products of a bygone era,
polished and honed to precision,
manual labour, the road to perfection.



(Note: on visiting a farmhouse in Finland
          where many of the old-fashioned farm 
          implements are still used to this day.)...

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Sturdy cowboys 
evolved as heroes,
Well built, stout featured,
Wooden attire
Arched hats, spiky shoes,
Tough looks as is life !

Farmhouse mornings,
Saddle the stallion,
Solid hoofs sound,
Get into the saddle
For a day's ride,
Horse around or about !

Leading the herd
Get on high horse,
Appear out of woods
Clouds of dust follow,
Awaken devils
Legendary heroes !








Written on 2/5/14
Sponsor- Shadow Hamilton 
Contest name- Howdy Pard...

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snow clouds fill the sky
scattered crows like black comets
silloutted against them
their angry discourse
echoing over the field below

corn husk rustles underfoot
where a forlorn stalk remains
the token of summer glory
a  season well spent

naked branches black and brittle
like gnarled fingers
reach up to mark the sky

smoke rises from the chimney
of a weathered farmhouse
windows aglow with lamplight
the place I call home...

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Whether things will go normal
Or will happen the occult
But always happens universal
Dirt and dust will simply out
After day long wind and rain
From fields and farmhouse hay
Then, the night will fall when
Disappears gloomy, weary day,

Myriads stars are in milky way
Some looking at me will hark
My past, my present, anyway
And thus, I will stand in the dark

Some stars will fall on the ground
And flowers will bloom all around....

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Holland

In Holland this sweet clog walking land
have too many cows realising methane gas into the air.
There are many gas explosions in Holland
no one has yet to connect the gas with the cattle.
But it is difficult for them the have fewer cows.
Once I met Prince Hans of Netherlands, I drove his stuff up
to his farmhouse and he never paid me, and that is way
they are successful living in the middle of Europe and
somehow voiding paying tax....

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Candles on my bathtub, soothe my 
Bubbles. Pop, pop! Candles on my
Desk soothe into my poetry rhyme.
Candle on a dining table. Romantic
Dinners, silver forks, fine china.
Sunsets look like candles bright.
O'er mountain, take in the sight.
Candles lit the farmhouse homes.
Torches light, when there's none.
Candles, candles, burning bright.
Light my day, and calm my nights.
Greens, reds, pinks, many whites.
I have them all - Burning brighter....

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Freddy Farkle, fumbling forecaster for Forestville,
friggin' fudged Friday forecast....fair?!
first florid felicitous, falling flurries followed,
froze flowers, foiled!
faraway farmhouse, furrowing farmland,
frigid fanny, furious, frustrated,
frumpy, frazzled!
furry forest friends furnished flannel frock,
finding Freddy's fails funny, frivolity,
fortunately frequent fallible forecasts
found Freddy flying faraway,
fallaciously forecasting for fermented folks!...

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Listen to poem:

Trapped in the Grapes of Wrath
David J Walker

The earth tones owned
By the caleche road lined 

With drying careless weeds  
Leading to the highway 
and the unknown future written 
In the sky, I

No, we  
may escape the dying 
Farmhouse framed in a past
Not coming back 

	Father

As it shrinks further from you
Farther away from your point of view 

And your new family
Not trapped with the Joad’s 
In the Grapes of Wrath 

The caleche road was only 
A path...

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