Although raised on the farm - my grandfather was an unsuccessful fundamentalist preacher turned farmer - my father and his brother both became professors.
quote by Philip Warren Anderson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rednecks unite!
My father is my brother
My sister, with three ears,
Is his significant other.
My sister is my mother
And somehow, also my brother
My father's father am I
The vile thought makes me shudder.
Grandma was a mule,
Grandfather's sperm, she used as fuel
A french aristrocrat,
Made love to my mother, for he prefered his women fat
A letter written for my eyes
Containing news of demine
Said my true mother was some other
And my father, not her brother.
Jubilant and joyous,
My wife is what used to by my sister.. Or brother?
poem by Thy Mother
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Come Back to the Farm!
Brother, come back! come back!
Dear brother, what can be the charm,
That holds you so strong -- that keeps you so long
Away from your father's able farm?
Poor Father, he tells how he needs you --
And would it be more than is due.
His labors to share, his burdens to bear,
Who once bore your burdens for you!
'Tis the voice of your sister -- she calls you,
In tones both of love and alarm!
"By dead mother's prayers -- by father's gray hairs --
Dear brother, come back to the farm."
Father, tho' years ago
The ablest and strongest of men,
Is failing at last -- you know he has past
The milestone of three-score and ten.
He's feeble, he's trembling, he's lonely,
Who once was so fearless and brave;
Yet you are away, while day after day
He totters on down to the grave.
Come from the wide, wide world,
Where dangers and perile abound!
Oh how can you roam so far from your home,
Where safety and comfort are found?
Come bring us the light of your presence,
Come give us the strength of your arm;
That we may once more see joy, as of yore,
Sit smiling upon the old farm.
poem by Henry Clay Work
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Brother In Law, AL
My brother in law, AL
Is such a wonderful guy.
He doesn't walk on water...
But if he thought he could,
We would all watch him try!
A great brother and father...
And grandfather too!
There is nothing he would stop
For someone else to do!
He works like a team of horses...
Even when he is sick!
And when he takes time for himself,
We all worry about it!
'He's doing what? ? ?
NOTHING?
What's the matter with him? '
He is 'always' so positive.
Although my sister Mim says,
'Oh, no he's not.
He can give much attitude!
And that's why I love him a lot! '
She 'is' his better half!
They are a match.
That's why they remain attached!
My brother in law, AL...
Is a pal and a friend! I
I often ask him how he does it?
And he just laughs...
Or quietly grins!
He knows who he is.
And those who are blessed...
Have much respect and appreciate him!
But don't call him Alfred Lee...
Geeesshh!
A raised eyebrow to you he will send!
And even then...
He has a smile or a grin to show again.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Beauty....... of what?
The earth wait's the sky drizzles
Seasons come and seasons go
With the smell of weather
The farmer chooses to decorate his farm
A farmer believes every leaf
Of the plant as its own
At every point protects and nurtures
The plants every leaf
The farmer that stood by
That plants every need and move
The plants have no respect for him
The farmer doesn't even find out
Who caste the evil eye
But all that's left is his ruined farm of hope
What was ones a living green
Is now nothing but flying sand?
What did I plant and what did I get?
What did I plant and what did it become?
Wonders the helpless farmer
Even when crying on the inside
Smiles just for its plants
A farmer believes every leaf
Of the plant as its own
At every point protects the plants every leaf
What did I want and what did I get?
Is all the farmer could think
poem by Kiara Davar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In View of the Biblical Zoo
Over the tree line towards the valleys end
Abed Abed-Rabbo raises a hand
The farm he surveys, his father's before him
Has been past down for generations in keeping with custom
In view of the Biblical Zoo
A farm of olives trees is a refreshing contrast
Against an imposing backdropp of urban concrete
And an ever expanding city complex
But because of the need for living space
This established ecosystem is being replaced
And Abed Abed-Rabbo is now forced to abdicate
His precious Olive farm, with its one room sleeping cave
Against urban sprawl and concrete walls
Alone one man can not possibly stand
And any amount of compensation cannot match
The resulting environmental impact
Even if it appears we live comfortably
In reality it is, pseudo-security
Without air or water quality
In an ever expanding city
© Calac
Abed Abed-Rabbo – A Palestinian farmer,48, inherited his farm full of olive trees overlooking the Jerusalem Biblical Zoo from his father and his grandfather.
The property in the village of Wallajeh, is situated on the southern edge of Jerusalem.
A decision to annex his farm full of olive trees into the city has been proposed due to the demand for apartment living space
poem by Chris Lane
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My grandfather was a very elegant individual. My father also. He was a lawyer and farmer in Cuba. In Miami, he had to go to work wherever he could. But whenever it was time to go out, you saw how they cared for how they looked.
quote by Andy Garcia
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The public should know that the liability issues here have yet to be resolved, or even raised. If you're a farmer and you're growing a genetically engineering food crop, those genes are going to flow to the other farm.
quote by Jeremy Rifkin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It's All Relative: : Humour
My mother’s brother’s sister’s name is Grace
She’s my aunt and likes to go from place to place
My mother’s sister’s brother’s name is Brad
He’s my uncle and he is my cousin’s Dad
My grandmother on my mother’s side
Is my maternal gran, she is my grandfather’s bride
She also is my father’s mother-in-law
And not surprisingly they often go to war
My cousin is the nephew of my mother
His father happens to be my mother’s brother
My aunty’s niece is in fact myself
If you're confused please don't look at me for help
(Sydney, Australia - 2005)
poem by Alessandra Liverani
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My brother, his own father.
I have a brother,
When he was young, He was carefree,
I have a brother,
All grown up now, no more not free
I have a brother,
Who struggles to survive
I have a brother, at times be vain
Took my father in, took my father's pain.
I have a brother,
Who takes care of my mother,
Bless him, my brother,
He became his own father.
Copyright Philo Yan August 25,2012
Home invasion in Springs
Masked like the black criminals
that robs you of your car
and just there and there promises you death,
they arrived
with a mini bus taxi on the farm,
drove right through the farm gate
and at the front door
jumped out of the kombi
with five steps intruded into the house
to bring death to the farmer,
to rape the wife
and daughter.
The farmer heard the crash
at the gate,
he realized that it was big trouble
heard them in their own language command
to kill, while shot upon shot
was ringing from the front porch
and he though about the obliteration
of his whole family.
His wife was too far away
in the lounge busy with sewing
and he heard his daughter rushing screaming
to her mother
turned about hurried to the gun safe
and got hold of a pump action shotgun
with LG cartridges
and rushed down the hallway.
In the lounge four black criminals
aimed pistols at his daughter and wife
told them to strip themselves bare
and when they did not want to
one said to the others in his language
to kill them
while the farmer was sneaking
closer at the back of the lounge suite.
Just one glance from the farmer
made his wife and daughter fall to the ground
two shots came from the shotgun
lifting two of the gangsters right from their feet
and the other two started shooting
into the ceiling
and the wall of the lounge
and when the farmer fired again
they fled in fear to the outside
turning around to fire at the farmer
and another one dropped in his tracks,
the other ran wounded into the cornfield.
At the start the police, wanted to arrest
the farmer for the murder of the robbers,
but there was more than enough evidence
that it was self-defence,
even the farm workers
were witnesses
about the shooting, threat
of the robbers
and by his actions
the farmer saved himself, his wife and daughter
and the labourers praised him
as a kind and a just man
but at the church
some members regarded the farmer
as a mass killer
who had determined the fate of others with a shotgun.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Me & The Farmer
Me and the farmer get on fine
Through stormy weather and bottles of wine
If I pull my weight hell treat me well
But if Im late hell give me hell
And thought its all hard work no play
Farmer is a happy crook
Jesus hates him everyday
cause jesus gave and farmer took
{wont he let you go? } probably no
{wont he let you go? } probably no
{why does he treat you so? } I just dont know
{why does he treat you so? } I just dont know
Me and the farmer like brother, like sister
Getting on like hand and blister
Me and the farmer
Hes chpped down shppe, planted trees
And helped the countryside to breathe
Ripped up fields, bullied flocks
And workded his workers right around the clock
It may seem strange but hed admit
Intentions arent exactlly true
And through God loves his wife a bit
He hates the farmer through and through
{wont he let you go? } probably no
{wont he let you go? } probably no
{why does he treat you so? } I just dont know
{why does he treat you so? } I just dont know
Me and the farmer like brother, like sister
Getting on like hand and blister
Me and the farmer
All things bright and beautiful
All creatures gr3eat and small
All weve got is london zoo
cause farmer owns them all
song performed by by Housemartins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Farm
There┬┤s a cockroach in my coffee
There┬┤s a needle in my arm
And I feel like New York City
Get me to the farm
Get me to the farm
Get me to the farm
Somebody get me to the farm
I got terminal uniqueness
I'm an egocentric man
I get caught up in my freakness
But I ain┬┤t no Peter Pan
Get me to the farm
Get me to the farm
Get me to the farm
Get me...
Buckle up straight Jack
Sanity is such a drag
Jellybeam thorazene
Trancendental jet lag
Sanity I ain┬┤t gotta
Feeling like a pinala
Sucker punch-blowin┬┤lung
Motherload-pigeonholed
I'm feeling like I'm gonna explode
I wanna be a Hare Krishna
Tattoo a dot right on my head
And the prozac is my fixer
I am the living dead
Take me to the farm
Take me to the farm
Somebody take me to the farm
Somebody take me to the farm
Take me to the farm
Take me to the farm
Somebody take me to the farm
Somebody take me to the farm
Take me to the farm
Take me to the farm
Take me to the farm...
Take me to the farm
Take me to the farm
Somebody take me to the farm
song performed by by Aerosmith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My grandfather was a farmer so I was always raised that you worked very hard whatever your job is; my sister was a teacher. You're to be respected if you try hard and try to be good at something and the results are less important. You can't control that. The more important thing is that you tried your best. But now there's much more of an intention where some of these kids don't want to be actors, they want to be famous! Their focus isn't necessarily on craftsmanship.
quote by Vince Vaughn
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Old Family Picture
In the old
black-and-white
family picture,
I see
great grandfather
dead drunk
with his hat
slightly skewed.
In the same old
black-and-white
family picture,
I see
grandfather
as drunk as
his father is
with his hat
also slightly skewed.
Father fools
great grandfather
and grandfather
with his rice-washed-water
as the good old home-made
Makoli.
They all believe him.
1996
poem by Sangnam Nam
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Johnny Rottentale
Go will i
Over yonder
I will see my mother
And my sister
And my father
Oh but my brother is going to hell
Well they hung him
From the gallow
As the sun turned
Red from yellow
And the crowd they
Heard him haughty
And they sighed
With much relief
The preacher asked him
For any last words
My brother spit on
Onto his clean shirt
Oh and he smiled
Without redemption
Said this is one soul
God dont need
Well now I loved him
I will miss him
As hes burning
And twisting
For his heart with
Dedication
To the devil
And his creed
Well as a child we
Wed call him rotten
Tell him he was lonely
And forgotten
And he revenged our
Constant cheering
Oh with his every
Word and deed
Oh yeah and for my
Contribution
To his souls lack
Of retribution
Oh well I ask the
Lords forgiveness
On my very bended knee
song performed by by Indigo Girls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Just like if you were brought up on a farm, you would most likely carry on your father's business as a farmer; I was brought up in the kitchen and ended up becoming a chef.
quote by Martin Yan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ain't Gonna Work On Your Farm No More
I ain’t gonna work on your farm no more
I ain’t gonna scrub all your floors,
I ain’t gonna take all your friends who ignore
what I do when they hide behind doors
where they pay no attention to stuff that I think,
and say, when they pay me a dime,
that I ain’t entitled to spend it on drink,
or ladies who show me good time.
I ain’t gonna work for your children or friends
who preach of the law and the Lord,
and hear all those messages God never sends
to people with who He is bored,
like I am. I ain’t gonna work on your farm,
instead I will write me a song,
and pray that its words will all sound the alarm,
for I expect to be back before long.
Mark Z. Barabak (“He’s Digging ‘Farm, ’” LA Times, June 26,2008) writes that Barack Obama’s favorite Bob Dylan song is “Maggie’s Farm, ” performed in 1995 at the Newport Festival, when he turned electric and never looked back:
I AIN’T GONNA WORK ON MAGGIE’S FARM NO MORE
I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
I wake up every morning
hold my hands and pray for rain
I've got a head full of ideas
driving me insane
It's a shame the way she makes me scrub the floor
well, I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
Well, I ain't gonna work for Maggie's brother no more
I ain't gonna work for Maggie's brother no more
He hands you a nickel
he hands you a dime
He asks you and your friends
if you're having a good time
He blames you every time you slam the door
Well, I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
Well, I ain't gonna work for Maggie's Pa no more
I ain't gonna work for Maggie's Pa no more
He stubs his cigarette out in your face just for kicks
his bedroom window is made out of bricks
And the National Guard are standing at his door
well, I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
Well, I ain't gonna work for Maggie's mother no more
I ain't gonna work for Maggie's mother no more
She talks to all the servants about man and God and law
and everybody swears she's the brains behind Pa
She's sixty-eight, but claim's she's twenty-four
well, I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
Well, I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
I try so hard to be just who I am
but everybody wants you to be just like them
They say 'see, while you're playing I get bored'? ?
well, I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
I ain't gonna work on Maggie's farm no more
6/26/08
poem by Gershon Hepner
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Three Wooden Crosses
a farmer and a preacher a hooker and a teacher
Ridin on a midnight bus
bound for Mexico
one was headed for vacation
one for higher education
and two of them were searchin for lost souls
and that driver never ever saw the stop sign
and eighteen wheelers can't stop on a dime
Chorus:
there are three wooden crosses on the right side of the highway
why there's not four of them heaven only knows
I guess it's not what you take when you leave this world behind you
It's what you leave behind you when you go
That farmer left his harvest
A hime and eighty acres
the faith and love for growing things in his young son's heart
and that teacher left her wisdom in the minds of lots of children
did her best to give em all a better start
and that preacher whispered, "can't you see the promise land"
as he laid his blood stained bible in that hooker's hand
Chorus
That's the story that our preacher told last Sunday
As he held that blood stained bible up for all of us to see
he said bless the farmer and the teacher and the preacher
who gave this bible to my momma who read it to me
there are three wooden crosses on the right side of the highway
why there's not four of them
now I guess we know
it's not what it takes when you leave this world behind you
it's what you leave behind you when you go
there are three wooden crosses
on the right side of the highway...
song performed by by Randy Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Brother
Henry
Brother, got to sing your song
Brother, is taking us so long
For the elderly brother has raised us by his love
And to be equal is the freedom of his love
When will we realized that the skin is just a glove
To be thankful for the freedom of his love
Sister, stand up tall and proud
Sister, yell it strong and loud
I'm black and I'm proud
For no human can change the course of time
And no human creates the live in mind
So how can a man makes rules when yet he has no love
And how can a man a woman fill they are above
For an heavenly brother has raised us by his love
And to be equal is the freedom of his love
When will we realized that his skin is just a glove
And be thankful for the freedom of his love
Brother brother brother
Brother brother brother brother
Brother brother brother brother.
song performed by by Lenny Kravitz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wentertainment
Entertainment
Where I grew up the landscape was flat, the sky wide
and Christianity, demanding. The nearest village didn’t
have a cinema but sometimes a travelling preacher
came along and the meeting hall was full.
They were good the old preachers, spoke about sin,
forgiveness and the saving of the soul. Many cried
came up to the podium spoke of their many sins and
was forgiven, many came it was a good meeting.
Our neighbour was there being saved, the farmer
told me that he was always saved but it didn’t last
long, he tended to look embarrassed for a few days,
then he was back being his old sinful self.
The farmer’s wife, Alice, stirred restless in her seat,
her eyes shone she wanted to get up there and
confess her sins; I still wonder what sins that might
have been? But the farmer, Torvald, held her back.
Back at the farm Torvald had a dram his wife sat near
him, and at milking time next morning she was half
an hour late, said she hadn’t heard the alarm clock;
the farmer didn’t get up before breakfast at eight
Yes, they had warm, caressing voices the preachers
of old, and sometimes they thundered about sin till
we deliciously shivered, and when the collection box
went around we kindly gave more than old buttons.
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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