No one even asks what I'm doing these days,
and it's obvious they don't care.
I want to wash my hands of these people;
I come from a family of fist fighters,
and forgiveness is like a cardinal sin.
Fuck, even I'm still bitter about the shit.
Even I still get upset at the thoughts.
My lover wraps her arms around me
and I radiate this bullshit into her.
Sleeping next to me
is dirtier than sleeping
in any grave.
This dirt farmer can't wash his hands or his mind,
he isn't a fist fighter or a loud talker,
he won't let the easy things slide,
and even six feet into this hole,
this dirt farmer is still digging.
Greyness masks the giving sun,
Cool air snakes between my thighs,
Dragonflies alight in heeded flight,
As monsoon floods the paddy's eyes.
I step barefoot on the spongy mud
Which tugs back upon my sole
My journey etched in reddish clay
Mapped out from source to goal.
Winds murmur of a change of plan
And unveil the playful sun.
I put new footprints in my footprints
And begin again where I've begun.
Have you ever been kissed by the one girl?
The only girl who claimed to steal your heart
As your mouth dried to dust, your brain a swirl
Of all the things you thought of as love’s art.
And there she’s stood, just waiting in the rain,
Her honeyed lips moistened to glossy shine,
And your soul takes that leap of faith again
Embracing senses spreading like a vine.
© JG Farmer 2013
Structure: 8 lines written over iambic pentameter of decasyllabic
Rhyme Scheme: ababcdcd
Just sitting here alone with naught around
But quaking ducks and loaves of bread to break
A breath of wind that fails to bring a sound
Yet gently shivers autumn leaves to shake.
I search the path that led me down to here
My heart that longs to see you drawing near
The chance you found your way to follow me
But knowing deep inside it cannot be.
Yet darling I’m not touched by loveless fear
Although distance may seem a fierce frontier
It is your love that brings me all I need
And gives me strength to see the future through
There is one small thing I must now concede
When we are apart, baby, I miss you!
© JG Farmer 2013
Structure: 14 lines in iambic pentameter or decasyllabic
Rhyme Scheme: ababccddccfgfg
farmer giles he came from wales
he loved the kids and told them tales
he sat down in his rocking chair
telling stories to all those there
make them up from inside his head
until the kids got tired and it was time for bed
always very happy he loved the children so
telling little stories that only he would know