Best Farmers Poems

Listen, my children, and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
On the eighteenth of April, in 'Seventy-five;
Hardly a man is now alive
...

The green village, the colored city, the ever familiar locality
Each path, tree, house, turn, each native I have left behind
But creepers, hedges have entangled with my leg and hand
The green crops fields, green hills, fruit trees, call me back,
...

Christmas is come and every hearth
Makes room to give him welcome now
E'en want will dry its tears in mirth
And crown him wi' a holly bough
...

This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,
Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic,
Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.
...

By the rude bridge that arched the flood,
Their flag to April's breeze unfurled,
Here once the embattled farmers stood
And fired the shot heard round the world.
...

WHY! who makes much of a miracle?
As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
...

Taped to the wall of my cell are 47 pictures: 47 black
faces: my father, mother, grandmothers (1 dead) , grand-
fathers (both dead) , brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts,
cousins (1st and 2nd) , nieces, and nephews.They stare
...

AS I sat alone, by blue Ontario's shore,
As I mused of these mighty days, and of peace return'd, and the dead
that return no more,
...

from Memories of President Lincoln

1
...

Three jolly Farmers
Once bet a pound
Each dance the others would
Off the ground.
...

Portate bien,
behave yourself you always said to me.
I behaved myself
when others were warm in winter
...

As most Nigerians remain ruefully lukewarm 
about President Buhari's second term bid;  
an ever-increasing multitude of potential 
voters across ethnic divides, seem to be
...

The young Lady to whom this was addressed was my Sister. It was
composed at school, and during my two first College vacations.
There is not an image in it which I have not observed; and now, in
my seventy-third year, I recollect the time and place where most
...

And now to the Abyss I pass
Of that Unfathomable Grass...

1.
...

AMERICA always!
Always our own feuillage!
Always Florida's green peninsula! Always the priceless delta of
...

GEORGIC I

What makes the cornfield smile; beneath what star
...

Being a Fragment
of the Natural History of New Eden,
in Homage
To Mr. Ed McClanahan, One of the Locals
...

The blue forest, chilled and blue, like the lips of the dead
if the lips were gone. The year has been cut in half
with dull scissors, the solstice still looking for its square
on the calendar. Perhaps the scissors were really
...

Oh! what's the matter? what's the matter?
What is't that ails young Harry Gill?
That evermore his teeth they chatter,
Chatter, chatter, chatter still!
...

Oh, lay my ashes on the wind
That blows across the sea.
And I shall meet a fisherman
Out of Capri,
...

Christmass is come and every hearth
Makes room to give him welcome now
Een want will dry its tears in mirth
And crown him wi a holly bough
...

Long and winding road
with patches and holes
The holes which sometimes
turned into small ponds,
...

School is an institution for educating children,
It brings integrity and feeling of brethren.
It refers to both building and pupils,
Pupils sickle lesson as farmers yield through sickles.
...

O MATER! O fils!
O brood continental!
O flowers of the prairies!
O space boundless! O hum of mighty products!
...

Inscribed to Robert Aiken, Esq.

Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys and destiny obscure;
...

It lieth low near merry England's heart
Like a long-buried sin; and Englishmen
Forget that in its death their sires had part.
And, like a sin, Time lays it bare again
...

I
I have loved England, dearly and deeply,
Since that first morning, shining and pure,
The white cliffs of Dover I saw rising steeply
...

Great Contribution (Chain Verse)
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Reminding to go to the field
...

Do you tell me to set my roots into air?
Tell me, where had the procession of trees ever
Raised the slogan of storm and seized the blue sky
With their palms, being isolated from the soil?
...

[the concept of this write stolen from one of
jakki vasudev's story]
...

When the rains pour down in joy,
From the smiling blue skies,
From the fluffy white clouds,
With rhythmic drum beats,
...

AFTER all, not to create only, or found only,
But to bring, perhaps from afar, what is already founded,
To give it our own identity, average, limitless, free;
...

To go home and wear shorts forever
in the enormous paddocks, in that warm climate,
adding a sweater when winter soaks the grass,
...

Down, you mongrel, Death!
Back into your kennel!
I have stolen breath
In a stalk of fennel!
...

THAT is no country for old men. The young
In one another's arms, birds in the trees
-- Those dying generations -- at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
...

Our muse it doth refuse to sing
Of cheese made early in the spring,
When cows give milk from spring fodder
You cannot make a good cheddar.
...

Is that the only way we can become like Indians, like Rhinoceri,
like Quartz Crystals, like organic farmers, like what we imagine
Adam & Eve to’ve been, caressing each other with trembling limbs
before the Snake of Revolutionary Sex wrapped itself round
...

Fellow men! why should the lords try to despise
And prohibit women from having the benefit of the parliamentary Franchise?
When they pay the same taxes as you and me,
I consider they ought to have the same liberty.
...

The squatter saw his pastures wide
Decrease, as one by one
The farmers moving to the west
...

(dedicated to Saint Cynosure, a poet friend at poemhunter)

Bread is dancing inside December
I think I know what I’m doing
...

A bird that I don't know,
Hunched on his light-pole like a scarecrow,
Looks sideways out into the wheat
The wind waves under the waves of heat.
...

Dust settles and hides
In his hair and forehead.
It travels to his face
When he perspires profusely.
...

Sixty four wagons in laager; the night mist cold and bland,
These Boers were merely farmers, going north in search of land.
Surrounded now by Zulus, their presence was foreboding,
Twenty thousand warriors; drumming, shouting, goading.
...

Red barns and red heiffers spot the green
grass circles around Omaha--the farmers
haul tanks of cream and wagon-loads of
cheese.
...

In this tradition of hypocrisy,
Rich sea of shams,
Virtue hides behind sanctimony,
Watch dogs are drooling at the prize,
...

Country towns, with your willows and squares,
And farmers bouncing on barrel mares
To public houses of yellow wood
With '1860' over their doors,
...

POET.

O A new song, a free song,
...

A Story of Christmas Eve.



...

1 Upon a simmer Sunday morn,
2 When Nature's face is fair,
3 I walked forth to view the corn
4 An' snuff the caller air.
...

El Niño and desertification…

Broken land has long since died,
clouds now for years have lied.
...

So now is come our joyful'st feast,
Let every man be jolly.
Each room with ivy leaves is drest,
And every post with holly.
...

Vincent loved to have models to do his paintings.
When Theo's monthly fund arrived,
Every morning, he went round in search of models.
He would invite different kinds of people to his house,
...

Inscribed to Robert Aiken, Esq.

Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys and destiny obscure;
...

for Hank and Nancy

Seven thousand acres of grass have faded yellow
from his cough. These limp days, his anger,
...

There is a land
where Dreams dance
in tremendous joy.
...

THIS is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks,
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight,
...

IN the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin of Minas,
Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand-Pré
...

It was pleasant up the country, City Bushman, where you went,
For you sought the greener patches and you travelled like a gent;
And you curse the trams and buses and the turmoil and the push,
...

The farmers now should all adorn
A few fields with sweet southern corn,
It is luscious, thick and tall,
The beauty of the fields in fall.
...

Farmers flocked to Blossburg's mines
    willing their abandoned plows
    to perpetual dust and rain.
...

529

I'm sorry for the Dead—Today—
It's such congenial times
...

Eerie howling, wolfhound calling.
Amber eyes alight.
Spirit of the deepest forest.
Stealthy pads the night.
...

It almost now seems all in vain
For to expect high price for grain,
Wheat is grown on Egyptian soil
On the banks of mighty Nile.
...

The shearers sat in the firelight, hearty and hale and strong,
After the hard day's shearing, passing the joke along:
The 'ringer' that shore a hundred, as they never were shorn before,
And the novice who, toiling bravely, had tommy-hawked half a score,
...

Poor laborers, they did sad bewail,
When the machine displaced the flail ;
Theres little work, now, with the hoes,
Since cultivators weed the rows.
...

I
Clay is the word and clay is the flesh
Where the potato-gatherers like mechanised scarecrows move
...

Crafty crows are great in skill,
How with pebbles water jug fill?

You know they sit in curved rows,
...

I was feeling sad and red,
I didn’t know, which way, nation was going.
There were quotas all around,
Communal, caste, gender, language, regional and physical,
...

The industrialist is having his aeroplane serviced.
The priest is wondering what he said in his sermon eight weeks ago
about tithes.
The generals are putting on civvies and looking like bank clerks.
...

Sorted and scented rice we love,
Farmers of India give varieties,
Many varieties are in verge of extinction,
But we are trying to retrieve,
...

A man with overwhelming generosity,
Ahead, standing tall, above all mediocrity,
Affectionate, kind, full of curiosity,
Altruistic, liberal, full of philanthropy,
...

Passing through the crop fields,
Train is running ahead to capital,
For gaining capital of life again,
Man and woman are working hard,
...

Oh! Mercifull God
I do see the services of
Jawans in the frontiers keeping vigil
Protecting the sovereignty of the holy soil
...

New day in life

Today I knock 71st year
Nothing strikes like fear
...

That air same Jones, which lived in Jones,
He had this pint about him:
He'd swear with a hundred sighs and groans,
That farmers MUST stop gittin' loans,
...

My parents have come home laughing
From the feast for Robert Burns, late, on foot;
They have leaned against graveyard walls,
Have bent double in the glittering frost,
...

Growing up in Lubbock,
Child of dust storms,
There were years when all of my memories
Were shaped by wind:
...

Rice, rice, rice, cook, cook, cook,
While hunger comes it does hook.
A person eats daily, poor or rich,
Rice you are food satisfy to each.
...

Man with a crab claw
baby with a snout
no more butterflies
G.M.engineered them out
...

Upon a simmer Sunday morn,
When Nature's face is fair,
I walked forth to view the corn
An' snuff the caller air.
...

Now summer is in flower and natures hum
Is never silent round her sultry bloom
Insects as small as dust are never done
...

Victory is ours!
Said one crow to the other,
As they soared in the sky above.
For below them they had spied
...

The world is full of unhappy places,
For only the rich can stuff their faces...
Africa, to be most specific,
has food supply no-so -terrific
...

Watch the bullock carts filled with crops,
The farmers bring after harvesting drops.
After long day wait time of harvest come,
Farmers in winter do chant leaf fixes gum.
...

Oh, Wellington! (or 'Villainton'--for Fame
Sounds the heroic syllables both ways;
France could not even conquer your great name,
But punn'd it down to this facetious phrase-
...

In all remote villages all are busy,
As this is time of cultivation,
For new crops all are in new hope,
Rain is in favour of them completely.
...

LIKE one who in her third widowhood doth profess
Herself a nun, tied to retiredness,
So affects my Muse, now, a chaste fallowness.
...

61 Farmers

Sons of soil who answer
The plea of human hunger
...

Little Boy Blue lost his way in a wood-
Sing apples and cherries, roses and honey:
He said, 'I would not go back if I could,
...

woman
not a woe-man;
yes; feminine gender though
not famine she is!
...

Into the brazen, burnished sky, the cry hurls itself. The zigzagging cry
...

December days in Bangladesh
Are the best of all!
Short and cool,
The gardens all around colourful,
...

``Grandmother dear, you do not know; you have lived the old-world life,
Under the twittering eaves of home, sheltered from storm and strife;
...

A door sunk in a hillside, with a bolt
thick as the boy’s arm, and behind that door
the walls of ice, melting a blue, faint light,
...

The farmers are in cheerful mood,
For harvest all it hath been good;
And all the grain was sown this spring
An abundant yield will bring.
...

Out of the woods by the creek cometh a calling for Peter,
And from the orchard a voice echoes and echoes it over;
Down in the pasture the sheep hear that strange crying for Peter,
Over the meadows that call is aye and forever repeated.
...

I mourn upon this battle-field,
But not for those who perished here.
Behold the river-bank
...

The farmers till the land from dawn,
They plough the vast fields till dusk,
They sweat in burning heat of summer,
They work, work, even in cold winter,
...

Who, who will be the next man to entrust his girl to a friend?
Love interferes with fidelities;
The gods have brought shame on their relatives;
...

Life freezes in tents
Winter rains, like farmers' hearts
Outside grey skies weep.
...