Short Tractors Poems

Some love fast cars and planes,
Buses,tractors or trains-
In the saddle,the place to be,
One horse-power,sits well with me....

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Seen and Scenes

two old red tractors
orchard, trees and red apples
desert cacti blooms

Robert J. Lindley, 5-03-2018
Haiku...

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Some love fast cars and planes,
Buses,tractors or trains-
In the saddle,the place to be,
One horse-power,sits well with me.

| Year Posted 2010...

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Joe Mokes was a driver of tractors
He was violent and despised distractors.
Drives too fast, some said.
Goes too slow, others pled.
All now suffer with various fractures....

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Morning

Silky dew on Irish grassy lands
Forty shades of green surreal seen 
Up and down the hills go with a magical flow
Silent still hills small sun glows 
Morning begins to waken 
Crows sound like there choking
Cows shaking morning dew shouting mow
Tractors awake work to be done under the winter sun...

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hospitals. tractors. cars. agitation.
family and friends.
Enemies at the cross roads put aside for a loved one.
waiting, seems like forever.
wishing, hoping, for the better.
jail, intoxication, blood.
a car crash, a drunken fool.
not his fault, not all of it.
Stuck in the hospital, waiting for quiet release....

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Strawberry faces freckle
in morning sun
Noses tickle
with the cold wet kisses
of orange mist
The aubergine
of plums drips
from chins
under a feather sky
Garnet grapes cobblestone
old roads
where tractors snore
as celery waves
break
on an almond shore


1st Place
Summer Standard Contest
Sponsor:  Brian Strand
6/15/17...

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She makes an early showing, 
her warm breath blowing;
an Eastern sunrise glowing, 
flowers up and growing.

Melted icebergs flowing, 
men on tractors sowing;
loose dirt clods throwing, 
barnyard roosters crowing.

Suddenly, it's snowing; 
frosty winds now mowing.
Wily smile, all-knowing; 
fleetingly, she's going.

Spring . . . such a tease...

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Daddy's shoulders were burned by the sun
as he plowed wheat fields one by one
All his hopes seeded in the soil
His labor fed us with all his toil
Noon would come - he would find a tree
Take his hunchback pail...a moment free
The tractors roar was fierce and strong
He rode it all the daylight long.
He now plows heaven's fields on John Deere
I hear that motor loud and clear...

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Vanishing flowers

On the bush near the terrace, the one sparrows 
pick small leaves for their nests the red roses are falling off
they dance with dust on the road are run over
by tractors that have no soul.
A puppy tries to catch them when it does it spits 
those out, the flowers are no food for it.
In a few days, the flowers will fly away don`t
know where, but they will be back next spring....

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I enjoy turning the cow's milk sour
as they graze on me hour by hour
Simply because the farmers you see
Run their tractors straight over me! 

I have sunset flowers of Yellow 
And most of the time I'm mellow
I light up the fields for those passer by
And hear them exclaim, "Oh My Oh My

But out of respect I'll simply say
Enjoy my color and have a nice day! 

-----------------------------------------------
Bitterweed means toxic...

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I come from the West Country 
it’s the best place to be
they say there is incest 
but I don’t love my own sis

We be drinking up in cider bars 
we do it for a wider ahrse 
it’ll make you smile true
we got tractors we don’t need cars

Because we be drinking up thy cider
jolly old times that make you a smiler 
nothing’s better than cider
when cider’s inside yer 

We be drinking up thy cider
We be drinking up thy cider 
Cider
Cider
Cider
West 
Coun 
Tree...

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Stalks crackled
where cars threaded the slow-burn.
Straw, insect legs and fumes
got into the lungs of trucks,
made them talk backwards
like the devil on Sundays.

Long dead farmers leave their tractors,
run across the highway
into abandoned barns.
Eventually the fire ate itself.
Hay wisps 
floated away into forgetfulness.

No one burns the stubble now,
but the smoke can be seen
moving still under the corn 
where the devil sullenly forks over 
long-blackened reeks....

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Stalks crackle,
cars thread the slow-burn.
Straw, insect legs and fumes
get into the lungs of trucks,
make them talk backwards
like the devil on Sundays.

Bygone and by-passed farmers
leave their tractors,
run across the highway
into abandoned barns.

Eventually the fire eats itself -
hay wisps
float away into forgetfulness.

No one burns corn stubble now,
but the smoke can be seen
moving beneath the sunbaked sod
where ghosts still sullenly
fork-over long-blackened reeks....

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they harvested by darkness
tractors carving through the night
up and down the plantation
guided by the infra red light
and the pilots in their cabins
hidden way down deep inside
watched through the video screens
to control their night long ride

the operation ceased at day break
in case of enemy attack
and the machines converted
pulled cutters in and back
for  the armour to be deployed
and in just a few moments there
they’d made an attack weapon
from  their mobile ploughshare...

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