I remember one day I was at Grandpa's farm and I asked him about sex. He sort of smiled and said, 'Maybe instead of telling you what sex is, why don't we go out to the horse pasture and I'll show you.' So we did, and there on the ground were my parents having sex.
Jack Handey in Deep Thoughts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Morning Sunlight
The sunlight hits down on the dew of the grass.
The farm animals walk past,
I turn to my horse.
This animal is the best love source.
I look towards the sun,
A new day has begun.
The pinkish-orange sky is beautiful.
The chilly breeze is suitable.
It won't be long until it gets warm.
I look off into the distance to see around the fresh hay, an animal swarm.
I couldn't blame them, I'd be hungry, too.
Laying in that barn all night in the cold with nothing to do.
I slip into my cowboy boots and throw on my cowgirl hat,
soon, roams by, the old, fat, cat.
That cat is so old, he's older than me.
He probably can't even see.
I lead my horse out to the pasture.
I remember what it was like here last year.
Not even a single horse let-lone a pony.
Now its filled with grazer, even an animal full of balony.
That pig is so cute I could cry.
Cross my heart and hope to die, I promise this is not a lie.
I smile and fill the food pan.
Fill the water cans.
It is my job of course.
I mount my horse.
September 24,2012
poem by Anna Hardin
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The Old Man Smiling
there was this old man
and i always remember him
tenant of the family for years
of the vast coconut land
we own
he was poor and lived in a very
small nipa hut
all house to him
no sala, no furnitures, just this
soil kitchen and dirty kettles and
unwashed tin cups and
and firewood and pail of water
from the nearby river
he got two sons and 3 daughters
all gone to the city
also becoming as domestic helpers
and he would bring a chicken from the farm
and a goat and some fruits
to grandpa and
grandpa would scold him for being too lazy
that the chicken was thin
and the goat was small
and the fruits were not ripe yet for harvest
and what i remember of the old man
was that no matter what verbal abuse or
(even physical abuse) that was accorded to him
he never answered or frowned or
complained
he had that smile always that i saw
and i always remember
always with a sad heart since then
even if i had already become a lawyer
and tried to defend the poor
peasants of our
little town
where the vast coconut farm has thrived
and still conquered
what little injustices still
left unsolved
he died years ago
and i could have died with him
if not
for the reason.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The power of female
A farm horse is drawn to a farm mare.
A race horse too will be
Averse not to a farm mare.
Such is the power of the female.
03.03.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Telling The Truth
Telling of Truths
A brown horse galloped across a snowy field at the end
of the pasture a fence, it jumped over and continued its
crazy gallop into the woods only came to a shuddering
halt when it saw a moose. Steaming nostrils, the moose
charged, horse fled deeper into the woods. Where it met
a forest troll who took it into his cave and gave the horse
a bucket of hot chocolate to drink. Since the snow deep
and tiring to sink into when walking, the troll also fitted
the horse with snow shoes; also, the troll had no need of
a horse led it back to its field. When the farmer came to
fetch his horse and saw the snowshoes, he had a nervous
breakdown and sent away to an asylum, where doctors
tried to convince him it was all in his mind. But the farmer
would have none of it. So he is still there and they will not
release him until he agrees with them that a horse wears
iron shoes and not snowshoes.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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When It Hurts Enough To Cry
When it hurts enough to cry,
Like when your parents give you up, and you don't know why.
Parents just like my own,
Didn't want anything to do with me, till I was grown.
Why do some parents give up their kids,
Do they ever regret later that they did?
My parents weren't there through the teen years,
Or seeing me graduate which brought me tears.
I hardly heard I love you son,
When growing up, I can't remember having any fun.
Something my dad said has always stuck in my head,
When I was five he said he wished I was dead.
Doesn't he know my heart was torn?
I never did ask to be born.
Parents are suppose to love their kids,
And it will show later what a good job they did.
They say you can't choose your mom or dad,
Cause if I could I wouldn't be so sad.
But I always remember what Jesus said,
''Always love your mom and dad.''
poem by Roger Dodd
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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 parents moved to Los Angeles when I was really young, but I spent every summer with my grandparents, and I'd stay with my grandfather on the farm in Longview. He was retired from the railroad, and he had a small farm with some cows and some pigs. I remember part of my youth was feeding hogs and plowing fields and stuff, so that's a part of me.
quote by Forest Whitaker
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Grandpa Danie Brand [2]
After taking part
as a youngster of sixteen
in the second Anglo-Boer war
where he had to spend nights in the open veldt
fired so much on the British
that his hands were full of blisters
from the rifle
of which the barrel got white hot
he married Lenie Swanepoel in 1918,
was really in love with her
and from 1926 he farmed on the farm Welgemeen
near to Steekdoorns in the Vryburg district
where he himself build his own homestead
from Josef’s stone and put up fences
and turned the wild veldt
into a viable farm.
Grandpa Danie did not have time
to sit on the porch,
as it goes with farming,
work took his attention constantly
and before early morning light
he was already in the fields
or at the diary busy with the cows
but was held in high esteem by the labourers
although he was strict.
On a day grandpa Danie
visited another farmer
to buy Afrikaner cattle from him
and while they walked into the lounge
of the other farmer’s house
he lit his pipe
whereupon the other farmer said to him:
“Mister Brand, I do not allow anybody
to smoke in my house”
and it was a big embarrassment to him,
so much so that while he was riding home on his horse,
busy driving the cattle with his workers
he stopped at a big rock
that rose into the air
and knocked his pipe against it
causing it to break in two pieces
and it was also the last time
that grandpa Danie did smoke.
When he got appendicitis
and his appendix erupted
grandma Lenie took great care of him
nursing him back to health
but he continually got pain
when he ate maize
and his brother Frans
who lived in Johannesburg
convinced him
to have a appendectomy
whereupon dressed in his black coat
grandpa Danie left for the hospital in Vryburg
and at the hospital
grandpa Danie got inflammation
and died from the operation wound
that got septic,
in a time before antibiotics
was discovered.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Grandpa Told Me So
(mark alan springer/james dean hicks)
If you dont get in the water youre never gonna learn to swim
He said a snake is just as scared of you as you are of him
He could tell by the moon when the fish would bite
Seems there was nothing that he didnt know
And as a kid I believed cause grandpa told me so
He talked daddy into letting me have my first car
I thought I was really something til becky thompson broke my heart
That first taste of love really did me in
Getting over her slow
And I knew someday I would cause grandpa told me so
He said life is made for you to live
The best love is the love that you give
Therell be times when you wanna hold on but you gotta let go
And I live by those words cause grandpa told me so
I promised him I wouldnt cry when it was his time to leave
Thats the only promise I made him I couldnt keep
He smiled from his bed and said well meet again
Somewhere down the road
And I believe cause grandpa told me so
He said life is made for you to live
The best love is the love that you give
Therell be times when you wanna hold on but you gotta let go
And I live by those words cause grandpa told me so
He said life is made for you to live
The best love is the love that you give
Therell be times when you wanna hold on but you gotta let go
And I live by those words cause grandpa told me so
Yeah and I still believe
Grandpa told me so
Grandpa told me so
I still believe
Grandpa told me so
I still believe...
song performed by by Kenny Chesney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wind Horse
Da naho… It is said,
Wind Horse, gentle Wind horse, you were the last of your kind.
Wind Horse, Wind Horse, you were running wild and free.
Wind Horse, Wind Horse, with this freedom you did nothing but give;
When one called for help you carried them to safety,
No enemy did you have.
Da naho… It is said,
Wind Horse, Wind Horse, you gave your life one day
To a boy with no leg.
Wind Horse, Wind Horse, you gave him your endless love.
Wind Horse, Wind Horse, you now run in the Great Hunting Grounds;
Giving joy to those there, as you did here.
Da naho… It is said,
Wind Horse, Wind Horse, your life was not the last gift
You gave the People.
Wind Horse, Wind Horse, you prayed for us, you wished a wish for us.
Wind Horse, Wind Horse, we remember you through your brother Horse.
Wi: yo: h … It is good.
Wind Horse, Wind Horse, we see you still.
poem by Tolly Rebeka Christian BlackWolf Hawk
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Surprise Me Again
Well I remember the day when she said go away
I rearrange my hair
Well I cant take anymore
I bought some natural food
And then I fell on the floor
Well I cant take anymore
I need a change of address
By the way, why cant you smile
She said at first it was great
And in the middle I stayed
But at the end I was sick
I said Ive got to get out quick
Then you suddenly smiled
You took me by surprise
You suddenly smiled
You took me by again
Well I remember the time
Wrapped up nice and cosy
She was washing my hair
Well I was thinking of midnight, falling in love
Watching the rain fall
When we relax Im going to sleep on your chest
And listen to your beats
And lets go to norway, live in rain and snow
And get totally depressed about nothing
At all really hello
Then you suddenly smiled
You took me by surprise
You suddenly smiled
You took me by again
You suddenly smiled
You suddenly smiled, again and again
You cant smile
Then you suddenly smiled
You took me by surprise
You suddenly smiled
You took me by again
You suddenly smiled
You suddenly smiled
You suddenly smiled
You suddenly smiled
You took me by again
song performed by by Haircut 100
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Boy Lives On Our Farm
The boy lives on our Farm, he's not
Afeard o' horses none!
An' he can make 'em lope, er trot,
Er rack, er pace, er run.
Sometimes he drives two horses, when
He comes to town an' brings
A wagon-full o' 'taters nen,
An' roastin'-ears an' things.
Two horses is 'a team,' he says,
An' when you drive er hitch,
The right-un's a 'near-horse,' I guess
Er 'off'--I don't know which--
The Boy lives on our Farm, he told
Me, too, 'at he can see,
By lookin' at their teeth, how old
A horse is, to a T!
I'd be the gladdest boy alive
Ef I knowed much as that,
An' could stand up like him an' drive,
An' ist push back my hat,
Like he comes skallyhootin' through
Our alley, with one arm
A-wavin' Fare-ye-well! to you--
The Boy lives on our Farm!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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And You Don’t Remember Me
I sat on the park bench
pen and notebook in hand.
I watched all the people
as they passed on by.
I wondered how in life
each one of them had fared
with their happiness
and their sorrows.
I looked for inspiration
for something to write.
She looked at me and smiled,
I smiled back
thinking that was that.
“You don’t remember me? ”
She said and sat down.
I looked at her again
as memories swirled
around in my mind.
She was right
I didn’t remember her
Her hair was mousey colour
with flecks of grey
starting to appear here and there.
There were thick lines
across her forehead,
crow feet lines
near the corners of her eyes.
The corners of her mouth
drooped just slightly.
Her blues eyes were striking
and I knew I had seen them before,
but they were with a younger face
a long time ago.
A face that lit up
whenever she spoke.
“You still don’t remember me? ”
She asked once again.
I shook my head,
but unfortunately, I did.
I could remember
all the beauty
she had had in her youth,
before time had ravaged her
and taken away her beauty
and her youth.
She looked so sad.
I wanted to reach out
like I always wanted to,
but something deep inside,
a little voice you could call it,
kept telling me no.
My urge to hold her
was trying to win out,
but I couldn’t do it.
She was no longer
a part of my life.
All she was now
was a memory I clung to,
a memory of my youth
so long, long ago.
With notebook and pen,
I smiled and bit her farewell.
I whispered her name
as I said a last goodbye.
I didn’t look back
or I would have looked back with regret.
She was a past,
something none of us can ever relive.
poem by David Harris
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Me And Grandpa Together?
if grandpa were still alive
he could have scolded me to no end
why at this hour
(it is 11: 30 in the morning)
i have not yet done anything for my life
perhaps like chopping wood or pasturing the carabao
or bringing them in their mud hole and keeping them cool
under shady mango trees
or perhaps i could have been in the farm cutting those weeds
feeding the chickens,
and the pigs, and milking cows
and cleaning the pigsty
or climbing coconut trees and gathering all those nuts
and processing them to copra
all these farm dreams of his for me
he never knew what poetry is.
and if he soon discovers that i am into this craft
i know he will call me again some of my favorite names:
lazy-bone
useless ogre
animal
demon
a mouth to feed
another problem of society
rebel
fool
good-for-nothing
i nfidel
enemy of the church
devil
etcetera
but i might be wrong, grandpa loves me and his only wish is that
i must know how to make our farm the best in the village
the farm that produces the fattest cow
the heaviest pig,
the biggest coconut
the longest corn
i'm hardheaded, very hardheaded
if granpa were alive, i could have set a table for two,
for us, one glass of wine,
under the moon, under the garden
soft winds blowing our hair
in an atmosphere of camaraderie
nothing about sons and fathers or grandpas and grandsons
we'll talk perhaps about women, and poetry and
well, the last but not the least of course, our faith still in God.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Feel Good
Wake up in the morning
And feel the warmth
Feel the joy
Remember your first toy?
Remember the fun you had
Remember when you cried
Think of playing in the sand
Wasn’t it all grand
Remember your first dog?
Think of the laughter
Think of the hate
Think of the need to escape
Remember when you were sick
Remember your Parents?
Remember the heartache
Remember the love
Think of how nervous you were
How many times you changed your clothes
Remember your first date?
Don’t take it as a loss take it as a gain
For you gained that toy, dog, parents, loved one
Yes they hurt you, got lost, ran away, disappointed you
But you have to remember the good you gained from it
Take it, hold it, embrace it…
Accept it, challenge it, protect it…
Live it, be it, believe it...
poem by Garreth Eyssen
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I saw them
I saw Mr.Hitler was carrying an enormous swastika of bronze
on his shoulder.
I saw Mr.Napoleon too, was riding on a huge horse of copper
with his blunt sword.
both were heading to a pasture to cut some grass.
They passed themselves speechless
as two enimies of a movie.
The pasture was belonged to a pauper once.
He too a war-hero
and his name was unknown.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Animals have no prejudice
A horse does not find itself
Superior to a donkey.
A race horse finds not itself
Superior to a farm horse.
They have no sixth sense
To form prejudice.
02.01.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Can You Smell The Rain…This Is A True Story
A child was premature
Only after 24 weeks her mother gave birth
She was only 12 inches long
When she came into this world
Her mother and father
Were waiting for news
And as always
Doctors filled them with gloom
She will not live for very long
And if she does complications
Will unfold
She will be blind
She will be deaf
She will be retarded
She has not fully developed yet
Tears abashed as she cried in pain
Both parents distraught
At their tiny daughters plight
They said their prayers
They had their faith
The asked the lord
To watch over her
She survived 2 months
She was breathing still
They were fianaly able to hold her
Small tiny body in their arms
But still the Doctors said
She would not live long
And each time her parents
Would cry once more
This can't be true
She's breathing still
They said their prayers
They had their faith
The asked the lord
To watch over her
Two more months
Had passed on by
And still she breathed
And still she was alive
But alas the Doctors did say
She will not survive
Another day
Distraught once again
Her parents were sad
And once again they
Bowed their heads
They said their prayers
They had their faith
The asked the lord
To watch over her
Now five years on
She runs and plays
And does everything
A little girl does
And then one day
While out on a trip
With her loved ones
Her family and friends
She was chatting to mom
About things from the day
Of playing with friends
And her family
When suddenly she paused
And said out loud
Can you smell that?
Her mother concerned
Looked up to the sky
It was just about
To rain outside
She nodded to her
And said with a smile
Why yes little one
I can smell the rain
But shaking her head
She said no not that
Can't you smell that?
Puzzled she smiled
As she shook her head
Why yes my dear child
It's about to rain
Her daughter just smiled
And shook her head
Then patted her shoulders
And said out loud
It smells like him! ! !
Then her mother just wept
As her father smiled
And realized she was
Talking about God
The rain had stopped
The sun came out
She yelled with glee
I want to go play
She hugged her mom
Smiled at her dad
Its ok mom
It was just only God
Then ran off to play
poem by Kaila George
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I Wish I Could
I wish I could tell you I love you
I wish I could take back those times I did not
But I can't and I never can
I wish I could take back those times that I was mean
That I had an attitude
But I can't and I never can
I realized to late what you mean to me
Grandpa I love you
Grandpa I miss you….I'm sorry for my tears
You saved me from the orphanage where you were forced to go
You saved my baby brother's life but I never said thank you
Grandpa I love you
Grandpa I miss you…..I'm sorry for my tears
I can never again hug you
I can only see your smile in your pictures
I can never ask about the wars you fought in
I can never hear your stories again
Grandpa I love you
Grandpa I miss you…….I'm sorry for my tears
I wish I could tell you I love you
But I can never do it again
poem by Rachel Dowd
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Lonesome Poke Town
As the train was approaching a small town out West
The passenger looked out of the window and saw the most
beautiful horse in the world
The train was not scheduled to stop there
But, Jack, the passenger pulled the stop cord
Jack went into the train station He asked the station master about the
horse
He asked the station master about the horse
It so happened that he owned the horse
Jack asked if he could buy the horse
The station master said, 'Yes'
Jack paid the master $25.00
And the most beautiful horse was his now
And he named him 'Irish'
August 14,2006, Clarence A. Graham, Jr.
poem by Jr. Clarence A. Graham
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