When the ripened ears are full and fall over, as if in sleep, the farmer awakens, that is to say, he begins the harvest.
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Taxes On The Farmer Feeds Us All
(traditional, adapted by ry cooder)
(d) - (a) - (e)
(a) we worked through spring and winter, through (d) summer and through (a) fall
But the mortgage worked the hardest and the (e) steadiest of us all
It (a) worked on nights and sundays, it (d) worked each holiday
(e) settled down among us and it never went (a) away
The farmer comes to town with his wagon broken down
The farmer is the man who feeds us all
If you only look and see I know you will agree
That the farmer is the man who feeds us all
(a) the farmer is the man, the farmer is the man
He buys on his credit until (e) fall
Then they (a) take him by the hand
And they (d) lead him from his land
And the (e) merchant is the man who gets it (a) all
The farmer is the man, the farmer is the man
He lives on his credit until fall
With the interest rates so high
Its a wonder he dont die
But the taxes on the farmer feeds us all
Well, the banker says hes broke and the merchant stops and smoke
But they forget that its the farmer that feeds them all
It would put them to the test if the farmer took a rest
And theyd know that its the farmer that feeds them all
The farmer is the man, the farmer is the man
Lives on his credit until fall
Well, his pants are wearing thin
His condition, its a sin
cause the taxes on the farmer feeds us all
song performed by by Ry Cooder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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This time in june
It's june
The farmer's spell
With cutlasses and hoes
We rushed off our feet;
Off to the feild we go
It's june
The farmer's delight
With so much rigor
We worked our fingers sore
And in the night
We barely had a sleep
It's june
The farmer's joy
The heavens had opened up
Their hearts upon the earth
For the farmers household
It's time to toil
So, in november;
When harvest finally comes
The farmer walked with pride
It's the pinnacle of his yeild
And he is proud to trade
So, in november;
When harvest finally comes
With basket and sacks
We headed for the feild
It's time to fill our barns;
Even our bellies,
Also; the farmers wallet
A heavy weight to lift
And for the farmers household
It's time for spoils
This time in june;
It was a different story
And my father says;
No pain, no gain!
poem by Bolami lawal
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The Farmer's Song
....and the farmer sing a song
a song of bountiful harvest.
His face covered with sweat
but he smiles as bright as the sun
and the farmer sing a song...
'Oh, gracious heaven
thank you for this day
thank you for this bountiful harvest.'
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
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Harvest For The World
All babies together
Evry one a seed
Half of us are satisfied
The other half of us in need
Loves bountiful in us
Tarnished by our greed
Oh, when will there be a harvest.. for the world?
(harvest for the world)
A nations planted
So concerned with gain
As the seasons come and go, we wont wait in vain
Far too many, feelin the strain
(chorus)
(a harvest.. a harvest)
(a harvest.. a harvest)
(a harvest.. a harvest)
(a harvest.. a harvest)
(a harvest for the world)
Dress me up for battle
When all I want is peace
Those of us who pay the price
Come home with the least
And nation after nation, tuning into beasts
(chorus)
When will there be.. a harvest
When will there be.. a harvest
When will there be.. a harvest
When will there be.. a harvest
When will there be.. a harvest
When will there be.. a harvest
When will there be.. a harvest..
song performed by by Duran Duran
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A farmer does not boast that he has had a good harvest until his stock of yams lasts till the following harvest season.
Sleep-Walker
In a ray of light,
I feed the polite look,
A famous farmer of twigs,
Like a dove or a sparrow,
Whichever fits the flight of the farmer.
Inert gases are in my bed,
In the night is a collection,
On the post is a sign,
In the mind has been madness
Of a mare or an ordinary horse.
The sleep is like a blind man,
And I can see more than anyone,
More like a walker of sleep,
More like the sleep-walker from above.
He who sleeps most wins,
And those who walk outside will sing in dreams.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Sleeping is Heaven
Soft feelings are surprising when the hardness,
Heaven feeds us while we sleep, the creeping up.
When do special dreams enter the world of sleep?
Some of us sleep, then dine in our thoughts
About sleep too obscure. The slant appears
To be excelling the sleep. When is there peace?
Softer hurt awakens us from sleep,
The hurt or small pain is itself suffering.
poem by Naveed Akram
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ripened cotton
this urge to grab them
harvest them all in one night
haiku by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Appletree
Appletree
I'm sittin' on my window sill and looking
through the pain you broke my heart
Oh mamma no you cannot teach me a different soul
I won't believe in your God of course I see this clouds
above but that's not God, that's not the Lord
and the smoke of my cigarette got into my eyes and now
I'm feel like I'm gonna cry
and all you guys laugh at me but I don't feel like
I am just a child, just a child
and I don't give a damm
yes I don't give a damm
I don't give a damm
and break my apple in two pieces or three
imagine the world is just an apple tree and live your life
and be careful 'cause harvest time is your death don't fall
and I don't give a damm
yes I don't give a damm
I don't give a damm
you're laughin' but you wanna cry your coolness hey,
is just a lie you're venerable too it's the price you
have to pay look in the mirror before you try to fly you have
no wings come on be reasonable guy don't try
and I don't give a damm
yes I don't give a damm
I don't give a damm
Break my apple in two pieces or three
imagine the world is just an apple tree and live your life
and be careful 'cause harvest time is your death don't fall
and I don't give a damm
yes I don't give a damm
I don't give a damm
your blood is runnin' through my head then my temples then my
bed drowsy eyes and big composure your cut throat spits a
clear red tincture full of love and full of greed I cannot
sleep I cannot sleep
and I don't give a damm
yes I don't give a damm
I don't give a damm
Break my apple in two pieces or three
imagine the world is
song performed by by Wonderwall
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Thoughts In A Wheat-Field
IN his wide fields walks the Master,
In his fair fields, ripe for harvest,
Where the evening sun shines slant-wise
On the rich ears heavy bending;
Saith the Master: 'It is time.'
Though no leaf shows brown decadence,
And September's nightly frost-bite
Only reddens the horizon,
'It is full time,' saith the Master,
The wise Master, 'It is time.'
Lo, he looks. That look compelling
Brings his laborers to the harvest;
Quick they gather, as in autumn
Passage-birds in cloudy eddies
Drop upon the seaside fields;
White wings have they, and white raiment,
White feet shod with swift obedience,
Each lays down his golden palm branch,
And uprears his sickle shining,
'Speak, O Master,--is it time?'
O'er the field the servants hasten,
Where the full-stored ears droop downwards,
Humble with their weight of harvest:
Where the empty ears wave upward,
And the gay tares flaunt in rows:
But the sickles, the sharp sickles,
Flash new dawn at their appearing,
Songs are heard in earth and heaven,
For the reapers are the angels,
And it is the harvest time.
O Great Master, are thy footsteps
Even now upon the mountains?
Are thou walking in thy wheat-field?
Are the snowy-wingèd reapers
Gathering in the silent air?
Are thy signs abroad, the glowing
Of the distant sky, blood-reddened,--
And the near fields trodden, blighted,
Choked by gaudy tares triumphant,--
Sure, it must be harvest time?
Who shall know the Master's coming?
Whether it be at dawn or sunset,
When night dews weigh down the wheat-ears,
Or while noon rides high in heaven,
Sleeping lies the yellow field?
Only, may thy voice, Good Master,
Peal above the reapers' chorus,
And dull sound of sheaves slow falling,--
'Gather all into My garner,
For it is My harvest time.'
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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A strange farm girl
She smiled with the old farmer's son
And he thinks that she's different from others.
The way she holds the sickle
And her talking manner too.
After the harvest festival
She's not to be seen anymore and the farm boy is sad.
''She's with her far relative here
On her school holidays and then back to school.'
His inquisitive widowed sister told.
She helped to the Harvest and not only that
And she's stolen the boy's mild heart.
How many school holidays have passed?
And the usual harvest never stopped.
The farm boy has taken
His deceased father's burden
And like a nonentity he just walks towards the barn!
* 'There are times when silence has the loudest voice.' -Leroy Brownlow
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Im Awake Now
Ive been where the river ran
Im drownin in a sunless sea
Sleep has helped me find my end
You promised me youd set me free
Dont fall asleep to dream
A banshees at my window pane
Theres an angel at my feet
Dont fall asleep to dream
Im awake now
(you cant touch me, I wont sleep no more)
Awake now
In the corner of my mind
Where he sits and waits for me
Theres a wall of confusion building
And the sky begins to bleed on me
Dont fall asleep to dream
Im looking for a way out now
Peace of mind is all I need
Dont fall asleep to dream
Im awake now
(you cant touch me, I wont sleep no more)
Awake now
(you cant touch me, I wont sleep no more)
Awake now
(you cant touch me, I wont sleep no more)
Awake now
Awake now
Awake now
Awake now
Awake now
song performed by by Goo Goo Dolls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Worm or beetle - drought or tempest - on a farmer's land may fall, Each is loaded full o' ruin, but a mortgage beats 'em all.
quote by Will Carleton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We accept it because we have seen the vision. We know that we cannot reap the harvest, but we hope that we may so well prepare the land and so diligently sow the seed that our successors may gather the ripened grain.
quote by Liberty Hyde Bailey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Papa's lone journey in the mountain
and then he writes in his diary: i was alone in the forest
with my horse, i sleep under a big tree watching the full moon
the wind blows from the sea, far, far away, i lit a cigarette, open
a bottle of wine. It feels like i am a fishing boat in the rain, sailing,
asleep in that long and winding river.
and then the rain begins to fall.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Two Sonnets From The Spanish Of Francisco De Medrano
Causa la vista el artificio humano, etc.
The works of human artifice soon tire
The curious eye; the fountain's sparkling rill,
And gardens, when adorned by human skill,
Reproach the feeble hand, the vain desire.
But oh! the free and wild magnificence
Of Nature in her lavish hours doth steal,
In admiration silent and intense,
The soul of him who hath a soul to feel.
The river moving on its ceaseless way,
The verdant reach of meadows fair and green,
And the blue hills that bound the sylvan scene,--
These speak of grandeur, that defies decay,--
Proclaim the Eternal Architect on high,
Who stamps on all his works his own eternity.
II. THE TWO HARVESTS
Yo vi romper aquestas vegas Ilanas, etc.
But yesterday those few and hoary sheaves
Waved in the golden harvest; from the plain
I saw the blade shoot upward, and the grain
Put forth the unripe ear and tender leaves.
Then the glad upland smiled upon the view,
And to the air the broad green leaves unrolled,
A peerless emerald in each silken fold,
And on its palm a pearl of morning dew.
And thus sprang up and ripened in brief space
All that beneath the reaper's sickle died,
All that smiled beauteous in the summer-tide,
And what are we? a copy of that race,
The later harvest of a longer year!
And oh! how many fall before the ripened ear.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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It is only the farmer who faithfully plants seeds in the Spring, who reaps a harvest in the Autumn.
quote by B.C. Forbes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Picture On A Café Wall
A farmer and his mule are kicking
up dust on their way to Messines.
The mule has very long ears and
the farmer wears a big, black hat.
Side by side they walk the yonder
yet, they have time to get there.
The road is asphalted now, and
dust settles on the grassy verge.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Farmer's Daughter
I do come from miles away,
Ain't got no place to stay.
Glad to help you plow your fields,
Farmer's daughter.
Might be just a couple of days,
Clean up, rest, and be on my way.
Thank you, madam, much obliged,
Farmer's daughter.
So long, got to leave your land.
Many thanks, it was might grand.
I do hope to see you again,
Farmer's Daughter.
Farmer's Daughter.
song performed by by Fleetwood Mac
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A good harvest does not grow with ease; the more diligent the farmer, the more bountiful the crop.