We were sharecroppers - we were a little bit of everything. We farmed and tried to make something.
quote by Buck Owens
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Earthly Reflections
We've over farmed the Sacred Earth.
Sold her beauty to the highest bidder.
Traded Her future for what?
We've almost left her barren.
The sucking sound of greed,
Consuming her very soul.
But its only a matter of time,
Until she will again be whole
We've over farmed the money tree too.
The value of exchange once a sacred bit of bread.
Or warmth to heal the family.
Or the wool from which to spin our thread.
Life sustaining items of meaning.
Have been perverted into,
Something meaningless.
Home is where the heart is.
Not for speculation.
The impersonal zeros,
Dancing on the balance sheet,
Can never bring us back
To that place.
Where humanity will,
Once again meet,
In humanity to one another.
Homes standing empty.
With little children living
Homeless by the river,
Of poverty. They must be freed.
We must cure these symptoms
Of this disease called greed.
poem by Lynne FincherSpringarden
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Material farmed out for comments to interested agencies and people meant they would be in touch later.
quote by Arthur Sylvester
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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His Father's Death...
that early morning before eating
breakfast his father asks for a glass of water
his chest is in pain
and the world closes out for him
Marcelino Sr.
R.I.P.
he farmed his way till death....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Think I, ll Eat Fish Again
Well they do say its good for you
All those fishy oils, omega 3
Lots more choice on the menu for me
Not like eating meat, farmed intensively
Well anyway not usually
Fish have enjoyed their lives swimming free
Then netted, dragged from water to air
Wrenched from the sea a hook through the lip
Helplessly flapping they silently die
Their mouths moving they utter no cry
And maybe this is the reason why
We can eat fish again you and I
poem by Alan Bienvenu
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The Fall Of The Mayan Empire
They slashed and burned the forests
To support their growth of crops
They farmed land till the topsoil
Was by the rains washed off.
The Mayan population
Grew malnourished and then died
And the mighty Mayan empire
Then slipped slowly out of sight.
This farming's being repeated
In rainforests the world wide
Why can't we learn from history?
Why can't we get it right?
poem by David Keig
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I Pray Ole
Lets say goodbye till tomorrow
With a word sincere
How do you make it through the night
I hope to God youre still here
I pray ole
Can you make, can you make it through
Can you make, can you make it through, can you make it through
Can you make, can you make it through
Can you make, can you make it through
Can you make, can you make it through
Can you make, can you make it through, can you make it through
Can you make, can you make it through
I pray
I pray
Its a God eat God world
Its a dogs tomorrow
And the song and wind
Brings nothing but sorrow
Oh ho oh ho, oh ho oh ho, oh ho oh ho
Can you make, can you make it through
Can you make, can you make it through, can you make it through
Can you make, can you make it through
Can you make, can you make it through, can you make it
Can you make, can you make it through
Can you make, can you make it through, can you make it through
Can you make, can you make it through
Can you make, can you make it through, can you make it
Ba ba, ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba
Ba ba, ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba
Ba ba, ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba
Ba ba, ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba
Ba ba, ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba
Ba ba, ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba
Ba ba, ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba
Ba ba, ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Pray, Ol
Let's say goodbye till tomorrow
With a word sincere
How do you make it through the night
I hope to God you're still here
I pray Ole
Can you make, can you make it through
Can you make, can you make it through, can you make it through
Can you make, can you make it through
Can you make, can you make it through
Can you make, can you make it through
Can you make, can you make it through, can you make it through
Can you make, can you make it through
I pray
I pray
It's a God eat God world
It's a dog's tomorrow
And the song and wind
Brings nothing but sorrow
Oh ho oh ho, oh ho oh ho, oh ho oh ho
Can you make, can you make it through
Can you make, can you make it through, can you make it through
Can you make, can you make it through
Can you make, can you make it through, can you make it
Can you make, can you make it through
Can you make, can you make it through, can you make it through
Can you make, can you make it through
Can you make, can you make it through, can you make it
Ba ba, ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba
Ba ba, ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba
Ba ba, ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba
Ba ba, ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba
Ba ba, ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba
Ba ba, ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba
Ba ba, ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba
Ba ba, ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Wife of the Mind
Sharecroppers' child, she was more schooled
In slaughtering pigs and coaxing corn out of
The ground than in the laws of Math, the rules
Of Grammar. Seventeen, she fell in love
With the senior quarterback, and nearly
Married him, but—the wedding just a week
Away—drove her trousseau back to Penney's,
Then drove on past sagging fences, flooding creeks,
And country bars to huge Washington State,
Where, feeling like a hick, she studied French to compensate.
She graduated middle-of-her-class,
Managed a Senior Center while she flailed
Away at an M.A., from the morass
Of which a poet/rock-singer from Yale
Plucked her. He loved her practicality;
She adored his brilliance. Sex was great.
They married in a civil ceremony.
He played around, for which she berated
Herself, telling friends things were "hunky-dory."
Resentment grew... oh, you said "life"? That's another story.
poem by Charles Harper Webb
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Watery Rood
The factory farmed chickens
never given a place to brood.
In the livestock states
tornado, hurricane and flood.
The cross to which the animals were nailed
has boomeranged as watery rood.
*********
June 4,2008, severe thunderstorms impact the upper Midwest United States. Tornadoes, hail, severe lightning, . Flash flooding caused evacuation of thousands of homes in low-lying areas. The situation worsened as rain continued on June 5. Flooding has continued up to June 14. States affected: Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Michigan, Minnesota, Missouri, and Wisconsin.
poem by O. Anna Niemus
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Language
Languages are spoken by the masses,
Sought by the fame and religion,
Equal to noone but the classes,
Abject are they who control the origin.
Sell the message I speak for a fiver,
In the form of words excellent;
I derive these solutions to the screwdriver,
In face of fodder of the livestock over violent.
I am farmed but farmer who speaks only,
Does not write but righteously speak,
Only to damn the animals that are lonely,
The lonely are the very dying cheek.
Language is the most dreaded monster,
One of them is in the museum,
Offer it a letter of a barrister
So that laws are in the atom.
Lawful ingredients must be favoured
Over the disgusting levers of taste,
Lots of spinach in the letter of the unflavoured,
Like a pie without trust.
poem by Naveed Akram
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A World Without People
… a world of birds and ponds,
this world
of camphor-scented glades, a new one
in morning flames beyond each one
my soul comes and inquires within,
one with showers of light spotting the sea’s nameless floors,
nameless glades, full of chatter,
colored roots, great cats loping in retreat,
big-eyed dogs licking and shameless,
and never the solitaire hand of money-making,
the forcing plow before the money-shire,
the clink of scheming, the cuss of sweat,
but a world that washes, cools, christens with scent,
a world of life farmed with the seeds of death,
a world that refreshes the music I had thought was psalms …
poem by Edward Wright Haile
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Make Believe
Make believe U're a hero, make believe U're a star
Make believe that U're somebody instead of who U really are
Make believe
It's only a movie
U don't need 2 scratch 4 crumbs when U deserve the whole cake
Make believe U're Sidney Poitier, believe, U gotta make believe
U got 2 make believe, U got 2 make believe
Baby, U got 2 make believe it's only a movie
Make believe U're sophisticated, make believe that U're en vogue
Make believe that U're quite wealthy even though
U're so broke U can't pay attention
Baby, U got 2 make believe, U got 2 make believe
Make believe it's only a movie
Make believe U're a star
U got 2 make believe, U got 2 make believe
U got 2 make believe, U got 2 make believe
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You Make Me
You make me wanna slam my head against the wall
You make me do the limbo
You make me wanna buy a slurpee at the mall
You make me watch the gong show
Theres really something kinda strange about you, baby, but I cant exactly seem to put my finger on it
You make me
You make me
You make me
Thats what you do to me
You make me wanna hide a weasel in my shorts
You make me wanna phone home
You make me wanna write a dozen book reports
Then pack myself in styrofoam
Sometimes you make me want to build a model of the eiffel tower out of belgian waffles
You make me
You make me
You make me
Thats what you do to me
(you make me) thats what you do
(you make me) thats what you do
(you make me) thats what, what you do to me
You make me wanna hang out in a trailer park
Then take my hamster to the beach
You make me wanna do my laundry in the dark
And use a recommended bleach
When Im with you I dont know whether I should study neurosurgery or go to see the care bears movie
You make me
You make me
You make me
Thats what you do to me
(you make me) thats what you do
(you make me) thats what you do
(you make me) thats what, what you do to me
Thats what you do to me
Thats what you do to me
Thats what you do to me
You make me wanna break the laws of time and space
You make me wanna eat pork
You make me wanna staple bagels to my face
Then remove em with a pitchfork
You know theres something quite unusual about you but I cant exactly seem to put my finger on it
You make me
You make me
You make me
Thats what you do to me
(you make me) thats what you do
(you make me) thats what you do
(you make me) thats what, what you do to me
(you make me) thats what you do
(you make me) thats what you do
(you make me) thats what you do-do-do-do-do to me
(you make me) thats what you do
(you make me) thats what you do
(you make me) thats what you do to me
song performed by by Weird Al Yankovic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cry Again
its difficult to love you
when you do the things you do
time and time again
and when i try to play it wrong
you turn from smooth
you play it rough once again
you make me cry
you make me cry again
you make me cry
you make me cry again
you make me cry
you make me cry
saturday, same old story
Sunday mornings wounded glory repeats again
and every day a dream is born
is counted by a love thats torn, deep again
you make me cry
you make me cry again
and the tears roll by
you make me cry again
you make me cry
and you make me cry
you make me cry
you make me cry again
tide? that turns me into this ocean
subsides again
so high and so dry
with this bitter emotion lies again
you make me cry
you make me cry
and you make me cry
stop making me cry
stop making me cry
and you make me cry
you make me cry
song performed by by Simple Minds
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One Of The Few
When youre one of the few to land on your feet
What do you do to make ends meet?
Teach
Make them mad, make them sad, make them add two and two
Make them me, make them you, make them do what you want them to
Make them laugh, make them cry, make them lie down and die
song performed by by Pink Floyd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cultural Exchange
In the Quarter of the Negroes
Where the doors are doors of paper
Dust of dingy atoms
Blows a scratchy sound.
Amorphous jack-o'-Lanterns caper
And the wind won't wait for midnight
For fun to blow doors down.
By the river and the railroad
With fluid far-off goind
Boundaries bind unbinding
A whirl of whisteles blowing.
No trains or steamboats going--
Yet Leontyne's unpacking.
In the Quarter of the Negroes
Where the doorknob lets in Lieder
More than German ever bore,
Her yesterday past grandpa--
Not of her own doing--
In a pot of collard greens
Is gently stewing.
Pushcarts fold and unfold
In a supermarket sea.
And we better find out, mama,
Where is the colored laundromat
Since we move dup to Mount Vernon.
In the pot begind the paper doors
on the old iron stove what's cooking?
What's smelling, Leontyne?
Lieder, lovely Lieder
And a leaf of collard green.
Lovely Lieder, Leontyne.
You know, right at Christmas
They asked me if my blackness,
Would it rub off?
I said, Ask your mama.
Dreams and nightmares!
Nightmares, dreams, oh!
Dreaming that the Negroes
Of the South have taken over--
Voted all the Dixiecrats
Right out of power--
Comes the COLORED HOUR:
Martin Luther King is Governor of Georgia,
Dr. Rufus Clement his Chief Adviser,
A. Philip Randolph the High Grand Worthy.
In white pillared mansions
Sitting on their wide verandas,
Wealthy Negroes have white servants,
White sharecroppers work the black plantations,
And colored children have white mammies:
Mammy Faubus
Mammy Eastland
Mammy Wallace
Dear, dear darling old white mammies--
Sometimes even buried with our family.
Dear old
Mammy Faubus!
Culture, they say, is a two-way street:
Hand me my mint julep, mammny.
Hurry up!
Make haste!
poem by Langston Hughes
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In the early morning
When a god in the early morning
descended from the east
he wanted to find
a farm girl
and to get a Afrikaner girl
as a mate,
but no Afrikaner farm girl
liked him.
He got really angry
and went to the old Orange Free State
and there he scorched the earth open
with lightning bolts
and blasted every thing flat
to be able to see miles far
when an Afrikaner farm girl passes.
He farmed as well as he could
and fetched his sheep
from the fields
and one day
when he was standing in the field
between the blue bushes,
he saw an Afrikaner farm girl going past
and on his horse
he rode as fast as the wind
with dust hanging
twisting behind him
to get his girl.
l’Envoi
With time a nation
emerged like giants
out of that dry earth
and they work
before the sun rises
farming in that arid region
and here and there
a boy
watches a girl...
[Reference: The Orange Free State is province in South Africa, which is very arid with a flat landscape.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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You
you make me smile
you make me laugh
you could make me cry
but you don’t
you could tell me no
but you don’t
you could make me hate you
but you don’t
you could make me have sex with you
but you wont
you could make me do a lot of things
but all you want to do
is make me fall deeper in love with you
and
make me feel
like an angel
poem by Mrs. Cynosure
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Don't Make Me
Don't make me angry,
Don't make me sad.
You'll regret,
Doing it.
Don't make me bad,
Don't make me afraid,
You'll regret,
Doing it.
Don't make me nice,
Don't make me good,
You'llk regret,
Doing it.
Don't make me happy,
Don't make me laugh,
You'll regret,
Doing it.
Don't make me learn,
Don't make me run.
You'll regret,
Doing it.
Don't make me mad,
Don't make me aggrevated,
Or I'll,
Kill you...
poem by Dragon Crenshaw
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Wasteland
Wasteland: Man created desolation.
Now although the tides of war have moved on.
The earth conceals seeds of destruction
One step can trigger an explosion.
There’s little hope of reconstruction
and even less of compensation...
The simple folk who once farmed hereabout.
Were by opposing armies driven out
Now homeless refugees they go without.
Although receiving sympathy; I doubt
if it will help. Because they are still kept out
by landmines which have not been taken out.
What should be seen as a priority
is not being regarded seriously.
Sadly it has been left to charity
to remove the mines but too slowly
By experts; all volunteers who gallantly
risk life and limb so that the land can be
returned to useful cultivation
The landmines made safe every last one
no more need to fear explosion
The land is safe; a job well done
There’s little time to rest we must move on.
There always seems to be another one.
Another area needing to be cleared
of land mines which are rightly feared.
The rightful owners have disappeared
forced to flee when rebel soldiers appeared.
When we arrive we won’t be loudly cheered.
The land is empty desolate and weird.
14-Mar-09
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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