I am a farmer
I am a farmer
who are up before first light
and I drink my coffee
between the cows in the stable
where milking machines
are doing their thing sucking
and I pour cream into the black.
A few eggs from my own chickens
and sheep chops from the animals
that grazes right over the farm
is great for breakfast.
Later I walk down to the fields
or ride on Umfaan
my Arabic stallion
to see
if the keepers
are tending the cattle
and where they are grazing.
Sometimes I can stay for hours
in the grassland
and look at the bushes
about me
and the serenity
of it all climbs very deep
down into my heart.
I am as strong as the earth
that I love
and help to hack holes
right through iron stones
with a pickaxe
where the new fence
pole after pole
is beginning to stand.
I am pitched into this Africa
just like this
and have nowhere else
to go to
and my hands are hard as rock
from years of work
and years of resistance
against the sun and weather
and I love my farm
and my country.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
A Truely Norwegian Poem
The Suitor
Uphill I walked it was still dark, had to be at
the farm a five, milking time. Hard westerly
wind makes the climb tough soon the cattle will
be mooing in their pens, the boss grumpy, I’m
hungry and no time to eat; milking eight cows
by hand is no joke. End of the last hill I see
the farm, there is light in the kitchen,
Emma, my dog, barks, stops when she hears my
steps, ten to five, morning light I stop and catch
my breath, they are not going to think that I was
hasting for them I’ll have a quick mug of coffee
a slice of ham, just like any other day, they will
wonder and the maids whisper, but not ask where
and with whom, I spent the night.
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
It’s the second day that I visit
It’s the second day that I visit
on the farm near Reivelo,
just past Vryburg.
They farm with cattle, goats,
a few sheep, muscovy ducks, turkeys
and chicken.
The scrambler bumps up and down
right through the field
and go past rocks and bushes,
while we drive along the rough field
and the hot wind
cut across my face
and there are places
where it cannot go.
It’s time to transform
young bulls to oxen,
to brand cattle
and to cut their horns
and I get a black stallion
to ride into the field.
My cousin rides in front
with a brown Arabian mare
and there are bushes
and flat slabs of rock
and small hillocks that we past
to try and round up young cattle
to the corral.
It’s nice to be a cattle herder
for a time
and to use legs and heels
and reigns,
to round up cattle in the field.
Every thing goes well until
I chase a young black bull
just to the entrance of the fold,
where it stops stubbornly
and doesn’t want to move
a feet further.
I jump out of the saddle,
fasten the reigns
to a small branch
and rush to the obstinate bull.
It stands and snorting
and stamp its feet
and when it sees me,
it rushes confused
at the horse.
That faithful horse stands firm
while the bulls horns swishes
onto the reigns
and the horse
stops that bull in its tracts,
that a piece of the bridle
breaks right off.
Then I am at the bull
and pull the reigns
out of its horns
and it walks meek
into the corral,
while in astonishment
I stand and look at that animal.
With a knee-strap
and pliers in the nose
we draw the bull to the ground
and when we shear it,
it moans like a heifer
and there’s a burning smell
that goes up from the branding iron
and I see the horns
dropp at my feet
and it’s another beast
when it stand on its feet.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
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
Vote! | Copy!
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Lovely To His Eyes (Hybridanelle)
A farmer walks up to his horse and it is spring again
in the distance there’s ploughing red Massy Ferguson tractor
and he bridles the horse and there is pain
His son is out there tracking the field
seems young, vital and strong
and it’s as if he has now got to yield
and the earth is soft underfoot after the rain.
and he’s still the administrator.
A farmer walks up to his horse and it is spring again
and he still has some power to wield
and his eyes measure the ploughed field, the smell of fresh earth,
seems young, vital and strong
and he wonders how many years still remain
but the ache reminds him of the words of the doctor
and he bridles the horse and there is pain
that surrounds him, almost like a token of new birth
and the ardent Arabic horse knows its master well
and his eyes measure the ploughed field, the smell of fresh earth
and stretched out lies the farm that he has to maintain
and on the house’s thatched roof gleams the lightening conductor.
A farmer walks up to his horse and it is spring again
and he horse acts with love, as if under his spell
and life is really great under the sun, wind and sky
and the ardent Arabic horse knows its master well
and from riding horses he have got to abstain,
but he keeps his face pleasant like that of an actor
and he bridles the horse and there is pain
everything is familiar like any other day, where he is saddled high
and he feels full of spirit
and life is really great under the sun, wind and sky
the farm stretches out lovely to his eyes without a stain
and he rides to the chicken coop and the incubator.
A farmer walks up to his horse and it is spring again
and he bridles the horse and there is pain
and probably soon his only child will inherit.
His son is out there tracking the field
and he feels full of spirit
and it’s as if he has now got to yield.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Aint Gonna Work On Maggies Farm No More
(bob dylan)
I aint gonna work on maggies farm no more
I aint gonna work on maggies farm no more
I wake up every morning
Hold my hands and pray for rain
Ive got a head full of ideas
Driving me insane
Its a shame the way she makes me scrub the floor
Well, I aint gonna work on maggies farm no more
Well, I aint gonna work for maggies brother no more
I aint gonna work for maggies brother no more
He hands you a nickel
He hands you a dime
He asks you and your friends
If youre having a good time
He blames you every time you slam the door
Well, I aint gonna work on maggies farm no more
Well, I aint gonna work for maggies pa no more
I aint gonna work for maggies 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 aint gonna work on maggies farm no more
Well, I aint gonna work for maggies mother no more
I aint gonna work for maggies mother no more
She talks to all the servants about man and God and law
And everybody swears shes the brains behind pa
Shes sixty-eight, but claims shes twenty-four
Well, I aint gonna work on maggies farm no more
Well, I aint gonna work on maggies farm no more
I aint gonna work on maggies 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 youre playing I get bored ? ?
Well, I aint gonna work on maggies farm no more
I aint gonna work on maggies farm no more
I aint gonna work on maggies farm no more
I aint gonna work on maggies farm no more
I aint gonna work on maggies farm no more
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Abandoned Zimbabwean Farmhouse
It was a great commercial farm
at a time,
says the uncultivated fields
where the last crop of maize stands
not harvested at the right time,
says the big house
build from rock with Rhodesian teak floors
and great wooden doors
of which only splinters remain
where they had been axed
for fire wood
says the huge barn,
with a now rusting roof,
now stripped from anything valuable
says the stable now bare
from any living animals
and its obvious that the farmer
and his family left in haste
and that everything is going to waste
says the broken china cups, the broken dinner plates
the child’s toys which are scattered, smashed
and I wonder if the family did survive
when the farm was invaded
by a thieving unruly youth
and so-called war veterans.
[Reference: Abandoned Farmhouse by Ted Kooser.]
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Beginning To See The Light
(reed)
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Some people work very hard,
But still they never get it right.
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Now Im beginning to see the light.
Wine in the morning
And some breakfast at night.
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Here we go again
Playing the fool again.
Here we go again
Acting hard again.
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Now Im beginning to see the light.
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Im beginning to see the light.
I wore my teeth in my hands
So I could mess the hair of the night
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Hey Im beginning to see the light.
I met myself in a dream
And I just wanna tell you - everything was alright
Im beginning to see the light.
Here comes two of you,
Which one will you chose?
One is black, one is blue.
Dont look just what to do.
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Now Im beginning to see the light.
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Some people work very hard
But still they never get it right
Well Im beginning to see the light.
There are problems in these times
But none of them are mine
Baby, Im beginning to see the light.
Here we go again,
I thought that you were my friend.
Here we go again,
I thought that you were my friend.
How does it feel to be loved?
How does it feel to be loved?
song performed by by Velvet Underground
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Only he can understand what a farm is, what a country is, who shall have sacrificed part of himself to his farm or country, fought to save it, struggled to make it beautiful. Only then will the love of farm or country fill his heart.
quote by Antoine de Saint-Exupery
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
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
Vote! | Copy!
The country fair
You accompanied me to the country fair,
dared me to ride a wild stallion there,
the sun was bright on that autumn day
and you had a string through your hair.
You smiled like angels do
with your eyes shining more blue
that the bright sky
and I was falling in love with you.
Pigs were pigs, so were cows, sheep
and chickens too, but you looked deep,
right into my soul
and I could have been asleep,
dreaming about your interest in me
but I felt free
with the horse galloping away
and riding it in glee
while it brought your brothers to a fall,
making huge men small
and in congratulations your lips were on mine
staying the only thing, of that day that I recall.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Old Macdonald
(words & music by randy starr)
Old macdonald had a farm, ee-i-ee-i-o
And on that farm he had some chicks, ee-i-ee-i-o
With a cluck, cluck here, a cluck, cluck there
Loud as they could be
And when those chicks got out of line
Chicken fricasse
With a cluck, cluck here, a cluck, cluck there
Loud as they could be
And when those chicks got out of line
Chicken fricasse
Well, old macdonald had a farm, ee-i-ee-i-o
And on that farm he had some cows, ee-i-ee-i-o
With a moo, moo here, a moo, moo there
Cattle everywhere
And when those cows got out of line
Hamburger, medium rare
With a moo, moo here, a moo, moo there
Cattle everywhere
And when those cows got out of line
Hamburger, medium rare
Ohh, well, old macdonald had a farm, ee-i-ee-i-o
And on that farm he had some pigs, ee-i-ee-i-o
With an oink, oink here, an oink, oink there
Pigs everywhere in sight
And when those pigs got out of line
Pork and beans at night
With an oink, oink here, an oink, oink there
Pigs everywhere in sight
And when those pigs got out of line
Pork and beans at night
Well Im goona have a farm one day, ee-i-e-i-o
And Ill do things mcdonalds way, ee-i-e-i-o
With a cluck, cluck here, a cluck, cluck there
A moo, moo here, a moo, moo there
An oink, oink here, an oink, oink there
And I can promise you
If those animals ever get out of line
Well have a mulligan stew
How about you?
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Hogarth Experiment Part 2
The fire raged out of control
and into the night.
Its glow coloured the sky.
Chemicals exploded
as they warmed to boiling point.
Hogarth’s assistant Adam Wright
pulled Hogarth from the flames
and across the lawn.
The clanging of bells
from the Fire Brigade and Ambulance
were soon to be heard.
Hogarth was rushed to hospital
where he would stay for just over a month.
His makeshift laboratory laid
a charred skeleton on his return.
All his work was gone,
destroyed in the fire.
He was a broken man.
He became a recluse in his home.
His hair turned white overnight.
He just sat everyday in his chair
and looked out the window
from dawn to dusk.
No one could reach him;
it was as if his will to live was gone.
Three years later and Hogarth hadn’t changed.
He would get up every morning
and in his chair would sit.
The war in Europe was over
and celebrations now had begun.
The mighty Germany had fallen;
its leader Hitler was now dead.
Soon the troops would be coming home.
The VE day celebrations were getting well into swing.
While on a farm not far from the valley
something strange was happening.
Ernest Rotherham went out to bring in his cattle
from grazing for milking time.
The sight that greeted his eyes made him cry.
There spread across the field
his cattle lay dead everywhere.
He ran back to his farm
and telephoned for the Vet.
The Vet was on call at the moment,
but on his return, they would send him out.
About twenty miles away
Joe Harper the local Vet
was driving down a county lane.
Bushes grew tall on either side
and from behind them;
he could hear a loud hum.
He stopped the car,
but left the engine running.
He opened the door,
got out and peered through the bushes.
A sharp pain like a knife pierced his back.
To be continued…
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Grandma Lenie Brand
As one of the pioneers in the Vryburg district
she lived with her husband Danie Brand
(a second cousin of late President Jan Brand
of the Orange Free State Republic)
on the farm Welgemeen.
When her husband passed away in 1938
grandma Lenie
took over the farming
and if work is a gift
she was really blessed in it
as she wielded a pickaxe
digging holes along with her sons
and the labourers
putting up fences, herded cattle
and still at fifty-six
milked cows,
if the workers did not turn up.
Today you would not expect this
of a fine woman,
who was really religious
farming by herself
in the years
just before the Second World War
and she was one of the esteemed
farmers in the Vryburg district
and she bought a Willis motorcar
and later a model t-Ford,
with which the family travelled to Vryburg
to do they’re shopping.
Grandma Lenie was known
for her philanthropy
and her willingness to help,
lived as if every day
was a deed of love,
was quite strict,
but also really fair
and still I remember
how she looked at me with shining eyes.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Mona's Monday Morning.
Mona stands outside
the back door of the
cottage and stares up
at the morning sky.
Monday, school soon.
It seems a lifetime ago
since Friday. She and Lisa
had, the previous day,
burned into each other
a different relationship.
She can still sense each
touch, each hold and kiss.
The rainfall had soaked
them like a holy baptism,
a fresh start, a new beginning.
She breathes in the morning air.
Fresh in the lungs. Cows
moo in a far field. A crow
calls. She closes her eyes
and smells the farm across
the fields. Each part of her
seems touched. Each inch
of flesh seems hotly kissed.
The bedroom had been their
sanctuary, a place of rebirth.
The parents had not heard
or known or suspected a thing.
Teatime had been so innocent
after. Acting as normal, as if
the moments before they had
not made love, had not been
naked in each others arms
flesh to flesh, body against body.
Just tea and sandwiches and
cakes and the usual talk of
farm and land and weather.
She opens her eyes and
watches the clouds drift.
More cows moo. Birds
fly overhead. There is
a new life within, a new love
inside her heart and head.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Love On A Farmboys Wages
High climbs the summer sun
High stands the corn
And tonight when my work is done
We will borrow your fathers carriage
We will drink and prepare for marriage
Soon my darling, soon my darling
Chorus: shilling for the fellow who brings the sheep in
Shilling for the fellow who milks the herd
Shilling for the fellow with a wife for keeping
How can we feed love on a farmboys wages?
Deep under winter snow
Deep lay the lambs
And tonight by the full moons glow
Flask of wine on my feather bedding
We will drink and prepare for wedding
Soon my darling, soon my darling
Chorus
People think that Im no good
Painting pictures carving wood
Be a rich man if I could
But the only job I do well is here on the farm
On the farm
And its breaking my back
We will borrow your fathers carriage
We will drink and prepare for marriage
Soon my darling, soon my darling
Chorus
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Love On A Farmboys Wages
High climbs the summer sun
High stands the corn
And tonight when my work is done
We will borrow your fathers carriage
We will drink and prepare for marriage
Soon my darling, soon my darling
Chorus: shilling for the fellow who brings the sheep in
Shilling for the fellow who milks the herd
Shilling for the fellow with a wife for keeping
How can we feed love on a farmboys wages?
Deep under winter snow
Deep lay the lambs
And tonight by the full moons glow
Flask of wine on my feather bedding
We will drink and prepare for wedding
Soon my darling, soon my darling
Chorus
People think that Im no good
Painting pictures carving wood
Be a rich man if I could
But the only job I do well is here on the farm
On the farm
And its breaking my back
We will borrow your fathers carriage
We will drink and prepare for marriage
Soon my darling, soon my darling
Chorus
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Johnsons Aeroplane
Four long lines one darker than the rest
Each one has a purpose making borders on the land
Farmers pride you know he works real hard
]from a small aeroplane you can see the fields
Heart shaped hedges
Japanese gardens
A place to work and grow
A place to work and grow
Four long years one leaner than the rest
The animals are fed and the pastures dry
Farmers pride if the weather doesnt lie
]from a small aeroplane you can see the sea
Lots of blue
Very deep blue
A place to work and grow
A place to work and grow
Johnson sees the fields from all the sides
Steel machines and black tar roads
Countryside where the spirit never dies
In his face all the history shows
Farmers pride as the rains came down
song performed by by INXS
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Traditional Panorama
cows spotted thick
skins grazing on the green
field with golden rays of
sunshine
early morning
birds flying hovering
on tree branches
fences, and boundaries
cottage of a farmer
blue clouds now starting
to hover in place
a girl singing butterflies
mother milking the cows
and father beginning
to plow the corn field
no plane above the skies
no rockets
at night some meteors
fall,
wishing stars and
zodiac escapades
from the numbing routine
of traditions
no one escapes
the panorama is closed and
strict
the characters are born
marry, beget children,
and then they die
and get buried
years and years
leaves fall, there are no questions.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!