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Farming Is Fun
farming is fun...
when the stomach
is full
and when there is plenty
of water to drink
and when the radio
is loaded
with new batteries
and when the weather is fine
and when the leaves
are grown enough to give shade
and...
when we are together...
farming is fun.
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
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Good Weather
This good weather ruined me,
I resigned in such a weather
From my government job.
I got used to tobacco in such a weather,
I fell in love in such a weather;
I forgot to take home bread and salt
In such a weather;
My disease of writing poems
Recurred in such a weather;
This good weather ruined me.
poem by Orhan Veli Kanik
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Good Weather,
Good Weather,
Good Weather is a Treasure,
In all Solitude,
Good Weather hast value than Monetary.
poem by Maxim Muyu
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Halloweed Be My Name
Gather round right now
And hear me whisper
The words of the prison
The words of laughter
The lords and the ladies
Were fixing their hair-dos
Cursing their lovers
Cursing the Bible
Hallow-ed by my name
Yelling at fathers
Screaming at mothers
Hallow-ed by my name
Come all you sinners
Come now in your glory
And my ears will listen
To your dirty stories
You're fighting to go up
You're sure on your way down
Cursing their lovers
Cursing the Bible
Hallow-ed by my name
Yelling at fathers
Screaming at mothers
Hallow-ed by my name
Sluts and the hookers
Have taken your money
The queens are out dancing
But now it's not funny
'Cause there goes one walkin'
Away with your sonny
Cursing their lovers
Cursing the Bible
Hallow-ed by my name
Yelling at fathers
Screaming at mothers
Hallow-ed by my name
song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hallowed Be My Name
Gather round right now and hear me whisper
The words of the prison, the words of laughter
The lords and the ladies were fixing their hairdos
Cursing their lovers, cursing the bible
Hallowed by my name
Yelling at fathers, screaming at mothers
Hallowed by my name
Come all you sinners, come now in your glory
And my ears will listen to your dirty stories
You're fighting to go up cause you're on your way down
Cursing their lovers, cursing the bible
Hallowed by my name
Yelling at fathers, screaming at mothers
Hallowed by my name
Ahhahaha...
Sluts and the hookers have taken your money
The queens are out dancing, but now they're not funny
Cause there goes one walkin' away with your sonny
Cursing their lovers, cursing the bible
Hallowed by my name
Yelling at fathers, screaming at mothers
Hallowed by my name
song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Confused Atmosphere
Mother Nature may be confused, just like those, who have used,
This demeaning title to describe, the very God they have denied,
The Lord God, Who orders all, weather patterns, great and small,
He may never enter their minds, while stirring weather of all kinds.
Confused He isn't or will not be, for He is The Lord of all Eternity,
He is God of Order, up above; controlling weather men speak of,
And they truly don't understand, He controls the weather at hand,
Confusing only meteorologists, who dream Mother Nature exists.
They forecast the weather to come, not aware of where it is from,
Knowing not who is really behind, the weather they bring to mind,
Being shaken and very surprised, when it's not as they surmised,
But taking credit from their peers, for saying good weather nears.
Often times, you may even note, as weather is good some gloat,
About the returning of the sun, as if, it's something they've done,
Even though they may shy away, as bad weather comes our way,
Almost with a real reverence to, The Lord, to whom it is truly due.
For He is The Creator of this earth, Ruler over the whole universe,
He has, and always will control, all weather patterns, big or small,
With change meteorologists see, that fools the latest technology,
And it's those who have refused, God's Truth, who are confused.
Between the bad man and the bad weather, I prefer the bad weather, because I know that tomorrow will be good weather.
aphorism by George Budoi (25 October 2010)
Submitted by George Budoi
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Good Weather,
Good Weather,
Good Weather is Essential,
It will help us grow from failure,
To great Health.
poem by Maxpoet Beauty
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The good have no place
The one who seems good
Gets credit more than
The one really good.
The one really good
Is left well behind
The one who is bad
In getting credit.
This is the world where
Merits have no place.
The good find pleasure
In cursing themselves.
18.08.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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In The South Western Grampians
In the South Western Grampians of Victoria the Summer hills are brown
And from Casterton to Hamilton the roadway winds up and down
The creeks are barely flowing the roadside drains are dry
And the sun is brightly shining in the clear afternoon sky.
In the South Western Grampians the weather mostly fine
And many days of warm weather and beautiful sun shine
An undulating Countryside and hardly any green
With so few groves and woodlands and few trees to be seen.
Through the South Western Grampians one may travel far and wide
But one won't see many houses in that brown old Countryside
A farming population and few people one see
In the South Western Grampians far Inland from the sea.
On the hills of the South Western Grampians there once were many trees
Where the Indigenous tribes in the Dreamtime lived and had their Coroborees
But now open to the weather those old hills look brown and bare
And the only sound the buzzing of the bush flies in the warm Summer air.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Winter Flower
Late in spring
The weather's so kind
Beyond the best, beyond the worst
Are all alive
After in summer's day
The weather's so hot
Good for teardrops' good for the smiles
Are all good shot
Then in autumn
It's turning gray
Beyond the problems, beyond the blood
Are all in tears
Late in winter's day
One single flower standing
And then alone
Until it's starts to cold
poem by Darlric John Lotik
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Winter Flower
Late in spring
The weather's so kind
Beyond the best, beyond the worst
Are all alive
After in summer's day
The weather's so hot
Good for teardrops' good for the smiles
Are all good shot
Then in autumn
It's turning gray
Beyond the problems, beyond the blood
Are all in tears
Late in winter's day
One single flower standing
And then alone
Until it's starts to cold
poem by Darlric John Lotik
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There is no such thing as bad weather, only different kinds of good weather.
quote by John Ruskin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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February 23
Light rain is falling in Central Park
but not on Upper Fifth Avenue or Central Park West
where sun and sky are yellow and blue
Winds are gusting on Washington Square
through the arches and on to LaGuardia Place
but calm is the corner of 8th Street and Second Avenue
which reminds me of something John Ashbery said
about his poem "Crazy Weather" he said
he was in favor of all kinds of weather
just so long as it's genuine weather
which is always unusually bad, unusually
good, or unusually indifferent,
since there isn't really any norm for weather
When he was a boy his mother met a friend
who said, "Isn't this funny weather?"
It was one of his earliest memories
poem by David Lehman
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Dad's Philanthropic Plan
I knew an old philanthropist, a farming man was he,
Shrewd at a deal, but still withal a man of charity.
He had three sons - three hefty lads - Josiah, Jim and Joe,
And each of these had his own land, and made a goodly show.
But still the farming methods of Josiah, Joe and Jim
Distressed their good old parent and disturbed the mind of him.
'These sons o' mine appear to be a sight too slow,' thought he
'They need a better class o' stock and more machinery.'
Wherefore this old philanthropist, this shrewd old farming man,
He sat him down and pondered long, and thus evolved a plan
A simple scheme, beneficent, and calculated so
That it would guard the interests of Josiah, Jim and Joe.
'I have acquired,' reflected he, 'a lot of tillage land
Much more than I can work; and my affairs get out of hand.
If I can but amalgamate their properties and mine,
And call the whole the Empire Farm, the prospect will be fine.
Then rose the good old farming man and called his sons around,
And thus his philanthropic scheme did earnestly expound:
'My sons, it grieves my heart to see you struggling on the land;
And I've decided, after thought, to lend a helping hand.
'You all have been good sons to me, and this is my great plan:
We shall amalgamate the farms and work them as one man.
But first you need machinery; your methods are too slow.
The cost of this will fall on you - Josiah, Jim and Joe.
'Josiah I'll allow to buy a good, upstanding team;
And Joe a separator, for there's coin in milk and cream;
To Jim I give permission - he's a fav'rite son o' mine
To buy a brand new harvester of up-to-date design.
'Josiah, he will feed the nags, and Joe can buy some cows
And these be privileges, mind, not ev'ry dad allows
While Jim can mind the harvester till harvest comes around,
When you can fetch it, with the nags, and work it on MY ground.
'And, as Joe's cows come into milk, he'll fetch 'em up to me,
'Long with the separator; I will work it - do you see?'
But, strange to say, they did not see - Josiah, Jim nor Joe.
They said rude things that plunged their parent into deepest woe.
They called him many ugly names, such as 'a mean old man';
And told him pretty plainly their opinion of his 'plan.'
'We'll buy our harvesters,' said they, 'and work 'em on our own;
And if you get hard-pressed - why, you can have 'em for a loan.'
The poor old farmer bowed his head. 'Ingratitude!' he cried,
'And after all I've done for you, my offer is denied!'
And dad, to-day, is forced to plough and harrow, dig and sow,
For they were most ungrateful sons, Josiah, Jim and Joe.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Sunshine is delicious, rain is refreshing, wind braces us up, snow is exhilarating; there is really no such thing as bad weather, only different kinds of good weather.
quote by John Ruskin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sunshine is delicious, rain is refreshing, wind braces up, and snow is exhilarating; there is no such thing as bad weather, only different kinds of good weather.
quote by John Ruskin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Oppositional Defiant Disorder
Now to those who think they are smart
Better do some medical reading
And take seriously these words at heart
Because you don't know your brains are short circuiting.
Uncontrolled stress gets to the speech nerves
Agitation and daily mounting stress
Can be manifested by profane cursing words
That when untreated may make you brainless.
It's a sign of Oppositional Defiant Disorder
And needs some resolve in Psychiatry
And may worsen in years for the speakers
The agitation may not be limited to profanity.
The inward turmoil may express in action
And the cursing may not be just verbal attack
The illness of cursing is a mental condition
That needs to be cured and its growth held back.
Copyright Cynthia Buhain Baello
February 27,2010
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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An April Day Near Mushera
Old March is still in April and the wind blows a cool chill
Across the windswept bracken of ancient Mushera hill
And the fields by Aubane river wet where the floods have been
But this countryside looks beautiful in all it's shades of green.
The swallows are returning in their hundreds every day
From warm climes of north Africa the deserts far away
And cattle out on pasture fields and though weather glass is low
The Spring has spread her greenery and lush the grasses grow
The weather will grow milder as days of bloom draw near
And the farmer prays that the Summer will be better than last year
His cattle wintered poorly on weather damaged silage and hay
And he tell all who listen that farming doesn't pay.
The birds busy nest building on bush and hedge and tree
And the blackbird whistles proudly proclaiming his territory
I still recall the innocence of a school going country boy
When I thought that every songbird only sung for love and joy.
An April day near Mushera and Spring is in the air
And in the fields and meadows wildflowers bloom everywhere
And though the ground is soggy where the recent floods have been
Old Aubane seems quite beautiful and looking lush and green.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Opposing Sex
The Widows of Ashur
Are loud in their wailing:
'No longer the 'masher'
Sees Widows of Ashur!'
So each is a lasher
Of Man's smallest failing.
The Widows of Ashur
Are loud in their wailing.
The Cave of Adullam,
That home of reviling
No wooing can gull 'em
In Cave of Adullam.
No angel can lull 'em
To cease their defiling
The Cave of Adullam,
That home of reviling.
At men they are cursing
The Widows of Ashur;
Themselves, too, for nursing
The men they are cursing.
The praise they're rehearsing
Of every slasher
At men. _They_ are cursing
The Widows of Ashur.
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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