Fishermen
From a still sea
the sun rises.
Farmers return
with their harvest.
poem by Kurt Hearth
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One Who Rejects Christ
There's farmers and there's farmers,
There's many a field and field,
But none of the farmers round about
Can haul such harvest-wagons out
As I from an acre's yield.
There's plenty and plenty of farmers
That leave the ground by the fence,
Thinking it's nice if a patch of roses
Should scratch out the hay and tickle their noses
With nice little wild-rose scents.
I'm not like other farmers,
I make my farming pay;
I never go in for sentiment,
And seeing that roses yield no rent
I cut the stuff away.
A very good thing for farmers
If they would learn my way;
For crops are all that a good field grows,
And nothing is worse than a sniff of rose
In the good strong smell of hay.
poem by John Crowe Ransom
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Food for thought
The fields are bare, the harvest safe in store
Now is the time for man and beast to rest
King winter will enforce his frigid rule.
The fields are white, the harvest safe in store
In time the sun will shine and spring return
The earth will show renewed vitality
When sunshine puts an end to winters reign,
the frost retreats to let the spring return.
The farmers and the peasants know the score.
The city folk are merely parasites
who do not know nor want to know the score.
They are convinced they do not need to learn.
Confident that gold can buy anything,
this is not true. When famine strikes they’ll learn.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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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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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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Sun rises and all wake up
The Sun rises and all wake up
And engaged in their works
The Sun rises and knowledge spread
Smile entire creation
The Sun rises and eyes opened
The sun rises and sucks water
To return the same in multiple colors
The sun is the soul of entire world.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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It is not the big farmers who reap all the harvest.
Hai… ku de grâce stops
Lord of the wheat for tax rises,
Farmers ring wins out...
haiku by Ken e Hall
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Unsung Heroes
The land laid waste and desolate.
Opposing armies came and went,
that neither thought to contemplate
the end result is evident.
There’ll be no harvest here to reap
There’s no one left to till the land.
Beneath the soil the farmers sleep.
The warriors failed to understand
In war there is no victory.
The winners and the losers fail
to learn from all past history.
That warriors die to no avail
The real heroes are men of peace.
The farmers and the labourers
the men who toil without surcease
to feed themselves and their neighbours.
14-Aug-07
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Harvest and Autumn
Harvest, harvest
all you need,
is food and drink
and fruit indeed.
Harvest friend is harvest moon,
of course.
Autumn, Autumn
Harvest is in Autumn,
oh, what a great time to celebrate! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
poem by Karolina Gosztyla
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A Farmers Poem
'I don't like Poetry'
Said the husband to the wife..
'I've no time for such things
I live a Farmers life'
But the wife said 'dear husband'
'you live a poets poem'
do you not reap the harvest
of seeds by whick you've sown?
I've seen you bow your head in thanks
when God answered prayers for rain
i've seen your eyes shine with pride
with every baby calf you name'
' I guess poetrys okay' he said
as he kissed that farmers wife
and silently he thanked the Lord
she saw poetry in their life....
connetta Jean
poem by Connetta Jean
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Our deep respect for the land and its harvest is the legacy of generations of farmers who put food on our tables, preserved our landscape, and inspired us with a powerful work ethic.
quote by James H. Douglas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Burgher's Battle
Thick rise the spear-shafts o’er the land
That erst the harvest bore;
The sword is heavy in the hand,
And we return no more.
The light wind waves the Ruddy Fox,
Our banner of the war,
And ripples in the Running Ox,
And we return no more.
Across our stubble acres now
The teams go four and four;
But out-worn elders guide the plough,
And we return no more.
And now the women heavy-eyed
Turn through the open door
From gazing down the highway wide,
Where we return no more.
The shadows of the fruited close
Dapple the feast-hall floor;
There lie our dogs and dream and doze,
And we return no more.
Down from the minster tower to-day
Fall the soft chimes of yore
Amidst the chattering jackdaws’ play:
And we return no more.
But underneath the streets are still;
Noon, and the market’s o’er!
Back go the goodwives o’er the hill;
For we return no more.
What merchant to our gates shall come?
What wise man bring us lore?
What abbot ride away to Rome,
Now we return no more?
What mayor shall rule the hall we built?
Whose scarlet sweep the floor?
What judge shall doom the robber’s guilt,
Now we return no more?
New houses in the streets shall rise
Where builded we before,
Of other stone wrought otherwise;
For we return no more.
And crops shall cover field and hill
Unlike what once they bore,
And all be done without our will,
Now we return no more.
Look up! the arrows streak the sky,
The horns of battle roar;
The long spears lower and draw nigh,
And we return no more.
Remember how beside the wain,
We spoke the word of war,
And sowed this harvest of the plain,
And we return no more.
Lay spears about the Ruddy Fox!
The days of old are o’er;
Heave sword about the Running Ox!
For we return no more.
poem by William Morris
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The Farmers Daughter
Written by brian wilson.
I could come from miles away
Aint got (aint got, aint got)
No place to stay (place to stay, place to stay)
Glad to (glad to, glad to)
Help you plow your fields (help you plow, help you plow)
Farmers daughter (farmers daughter, farmers daughter)
Might be (might be, might be)
Just a couple of days (couple of days, couple of days)
Clean up (clean up, clean up)
Rest and on my way (on my way, on my way)
Thank you (thank you, thank you)
And Im must obliged (much obliged, much obliged)
Farmers daughter (farmers daughter, farmers daughter)
Mmmm-mmm-mmm-mmm-mmmmm
Mmmm-mmm-mmm-mmm-mmmmm
So long (so long, so long)
Better leave your land (leave your land, leave your land)
Many thanks (many thanks, many thanks)
It was mighty grand (mighty grand, mighty grand)
I do (hope to, hope to)
Hope to see you again (see you again see you again)
Farmers daughter (farmers daughter, farmers daughter)
Oh oh
Farmers daughter (farmers daughter, farmers daughter)
Oh oh
Farmers daughter (farmers daughter, farmers daughter)
song performed by by Fleetwood Mac
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Farmers Daughter
I could come from miles away
Aint got (aint got, aint got)
No place to stay (place to stay, place to stay)
Glad to (glad to, glad to)
Help you plow your fields (help you plow, help you plow)
Farmers daughter (farmers daughter, farmers daughter)
Might be (might be, might be)
Just a couple of days (couple of days, couple of days)
Clean up (clean up, clean up)
Rest and on my way (on my way, on my way)
Thank you (thank you, thank you)
And Im must obliged (much obliged, much obliged)
Farmers daughter (farmers daughter, farmers daughter)
Mmmm-mmm-mmm-mmm-mmmmm
Mmmm-mmm-mmm-mmm-mmmmm
So long (so long, so long)
Better leave your land (leave your land, leave your land)
Many thanks (many thanks, many thanks)
It was mighty grand (mighty grand, mighty grand)
I do (hope to, hope to)
Hope to see you again (see you again see you again)
Farmers daughter (farmers daughter, farmers daughter)
Oh oh
Farmers daughter (farmers daughter, farmers daughter)
Oh oh
Farmers daughter (farmers daughter, farmers daughter)
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Land Of Dispute
Throughout the years, this fertile ground of all time
produce an abundant rice harvest
but when Cane and Nila had to be planted
with the laws and promises
a bundle of money
measure of welfare change
everything is measured by the amount of money in the bag
in the bank, and the stock trading
Money in the hands of farmers flows like spring water
Their time out to plant sugar cane and Nila
Time to be a little rice,
rice plants were molt
abundant harvest changed complaints
Their well-being such as inhaled
West wind,
disappeared
poem by Prasetya Utama
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The Width of Wind
I have seen the harvest what they have hardly reaped?
And came the ferocious wind then taken the grain away to a certain end.
The poor farmers cried aloud and nobody was heard.
Again they plow but who could fights against the invisible wind?
Dedication to my fellow poetess friend Sandra.Fowler
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Sonnet: Harvest-time
In Summer, farmers scythe the harvest fast;
Their weary frames from morn till eve stay bent;
The produce sheaved is dried in fields so vast;
The air with songs of joy from heart is rent.
The scorching Sun doesn't bother their tanned skin;
Despite their speed, their work is ne’er over;
All hands labour, young, old, both kith and kin,
For golden harvest, thanking Lord- Giver.
The reapers everywhere must work quite hard;
There is no time to eat or drink water!
Their sweat-drenched land has yielded them reward;
The struggle involved ain't a great matter.
Each morn they stand and pray to Sun- their God,
Without which, there's no food, peasant, landlord.
poem by John Celes
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Our farmers round, well pleased with constant gain, Like other farmers, flourish and complain.
quote by George Crabbe
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Inspired by Issa - Harvest Moonn
harvest moon -
the field flying
with broken stalks
harvest moon -
no more loud sighs
from the windy fields
harvest moon
thanksgiving incense
trails over fields
harvest moon
the garden echoes with plan
for the next season
inspired by
harvest moon-
some are stretched out
some praying
-Issa,1821
http: //cat.xula.edu/issa/
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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First Encounter - RabindranathTagore's paintings
Tagore's Last Harvest
a child putting wings
to his imagination
Tagore's Last Harvest
behind the colours and lines
a child
Tagore's Last Harvest
the nobel laureate dances
with ink and pen
Tagore's Last Harvest
the colourful images
of a colourful life
Last Harvest an exhibition of 49 of Tagore's paintings
are exhibited in Kuala Lumpur Visual Arts Museum for three months
April to July.
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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