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Bardo Oct 2022
My Mom, she was well versed in the Old ways
I remember in the late summer and autumn time
She was always making jam
Blackberry jam, strawberry jam, gooseberry, raspberry, blackcurrant, apple, plum, damson
I don't even think we had any damsons
But still she could make damson jam, such were her powers
So one day she said to me "Go on down the fields there and get me some blackberries, and I'll make some blackberry jam", she gave me a plastic bag
So I looked over the fence, checking to make sure the farmer wasn't around
I don't think he liked us walking on his land,
So I go down to this field and I look over the gate
And as far as I can see, there's nothing in the field, no animals at all to be seen
So I jump over the gate and walk right across the field to the bottom ditch
Where there's loads of blackberry bushes and I start picking my blackberries
It's very quiet in the field, eerily quiet and there's this strange sense of space, that you're very small in a very big field
After about five minutes I'm getting kinda bored so I stop and turn around to take in the  view
And straightaway I see in the very corner of the field, under some overhanging tree branches
This big white horse and he's watching me,
(You wouldn't have been able to see him from the gate
There might have been a little indent there in the ditch where he was hidden)
I said to myself "God, you're lucky, lucky it wasn't a Bull or you'd be in real trouble, Bulls can be vicious, they can **** you, I'd heard stories
And I'm no matador"
Anyway suddenly the horse he starts galloping towards me
I say to myself "Well, nothing to worry about, sure it's only a horse"
Well he gallops right up to me and then he rears up on his hind legs with his front legs pumping and him whinnying like crazy
And I'm shocked thinking "What the ****!"
And I start backing into the ditch 'cos I'm afraid he might kick me or something
Then he goes and drops his big hooves about two inches from my foot
And I'm thinking "Wait a minute, you could have broken my foot there if you had have landed on my foot, with your big hooves"
I was going to tell him "Look Mr.Horse you're starting to cross a line here man"
But he's not finished, he moves in closer to me
And with his big head and his big long face
He starts nudging me further and further into the ditch
And he has these big teeth that are clenched, their almost grinning at you
I'm nearly afraid he might bite me
So I'm now there in the ditch, I've long since dropped my blackberries
And I don't know what to do, I know nothing about horses
What am I, John Wayne or something
What am I gonna do, shout "Help! I'm being molested by a horse"
And I wonder "Why don't they teach you this at school Self Defence against horses, something feckin' useful for a change,
Then I think of that Mel Brooks film Blazing Saddles and the mad guy Mongo punching the horse
But I say to myself "you can't punch a horse, that might really make him angry, god knows what he'd do then, he probably would kick you"
So I'm there practically in the ditch at this stage and very traumatized by the whole experience
Suddenly the horse he seems to tire of me
He turns around and starts to slowly trot back to his corner
(It was probably a territorial thing),
So I pick myself up out of the ditch and  tentatively start to try and cross the field back to safety, to where the gate is
But I'm half afraid he might turn around and come back and catch me out in the open,
But no! He keeps on just trotting back toward his corner...
So when I judge he's far enough away I suddenly clandestinely take off in a sprint across the field back toward the gate
But still there's no reaction from the horse, he's just not interested anymore,
It's a funny thing about human nature but once you know you're safe you kind of get a bit brave
I remembered I'd been on Summer holidays a year or two before
And I'd gone for a walk in these woods on my own
And I got attacked by a swarm of ******' bees, I must have disturbed their nest
I got stung 5 or 6 times in the head, the ******* nearly killed me
I remember passing some tourists and me screaming like I was a man on fire,
Now I'm thinking, Jaysus I just go down the fields to pick a few blackberries and now I get attacked by a ******' horse
What's goin' on, the feckin' Universe seems to have it in for me, I should stay at home in my bedroom where it's safe and lock the feckin' door.
And I'm quite angry now, in fact I'm really *******
And of course, now I know I'm safe, I know that if he runs at me I'll get to the gate first and can hop over it
So I start walking toward the horse and I start taunting him
"You ******, you ******' horse", I give him the finger or the fingers, then I put up my fists like I want to fight him,
"Come on you ******, come on out and fight, I'm going to McDonald's tonight, gonna get myself a nice big horse burger, yummy yummy,
Lots of onions and ketchup, you'll taste lovely,
I'll be licking my fingers over you baby,
The Knackers Yard that's where you're going to sunshine
Then I think I'll insult his mother, that's what I'll do
Your Mom, yea! She was a tasty little snack
A nice little snack box
I hope you're not gonna be too stringy now.
I turn around and start shaking my ***/bottom at him,
"******'horse! ******! you're a ******' ******"
Then I make a run toward him with my fists flying, "Come on you ******, you white c**t!"
The horse just stands there looking at me, he doesn't make a move.
Then I start to think better of my actions "****! You better watch out, better be careful, someone might see you, you might get into trouble
Imagine if the farmer was watching he'd be saying "There's something wrong with that kid, he must have some mental health issues, Look! he's abusing my horse
Well Farmer your feckin' horse abused me ,
I'll probably have PTSD Post Traumatic Stress Disorder after this
I should take him to court, that's what I should do.......
Then I thought funnily, ..."Mr. Ed anyone ?"
Autumn piece about the perils of jam making. A true story, it happened many years ago when I was young. Remember Mr. Ed the talking horse from the 50's.
Man Mar 2021
say what you want of me
i'm true to myself
and how i feel
tell me i need to be better
cause you're right
that i should do more
i should
that i could be more
i could
"what do you want though?"
enough cheddar to see myself fed
i'm no dairy farmer
but cream has filled my head
and now i'm sinking
cause the light man
is now heavier than lead
Tim Deere-Jones Feb 2021
A small man with a big smell
when his seldom washed clothes were drying after rain.
Stubble chin, fish eye, loose lip
but always ready for0 the tankard's rim,                                    
especially if you were buying.

One of the dark ones, relics of the Bronze Age,
whose ancestors had thrown their seed,
thin grain upon the small and bitter acres that he worked.

Only the rocks grow well in the fields of the grey hills!

At first I thought him diminished,
crushed by the land itself,
it's possession a cancer devouring
and defeat an old coat lashed round his middle with wire.

But drunk once, on a market day,
lowing and jammed like stalled beasts
into the FARMERS bar, he stumbled,
hugged me close to steady himself
and roared out loud to the heedless herd,
with arm outstretched, ******* to the world,
"****** you boys! I am still here!

Nobody heard but me,
whose ear was riven by that yell
and sprayed with rich spittle.

True though, despite the braggadocio of beer,
with the grain of him deep and compacted
like the rocks he fought, he did endure.
here's a memory of a man i knew for a while when living and working in the far west of Cornwall
गेहूँ       के   दाने    क्या   होते,
हल   हलधर  के परिचय देते,
देते    परिचय  रक्त   बहा  है ,
क्या हलधर का वक्त रहा है।

मौसम   कितना  सख्त रहा है ,
और हलधर कब पस्त रहा है,
स्वेदों के  कितने मोती बिखरे,
धार    कुदालों   के  हैं निखरे।

खेतों    ने  कई   वार  सहें  हैं,
छप्पड़  कितनी  बार ढ़हें  हैं,
धुंध   थपेड़ों   से   लड़   जाते ,
ढ़ह ढ़ह कर पर ये गढ़ जाते।

हार   नहीं   जीवन  से  माने ,
रार   यहीं   मरण   से   ठाने,
नहीं अपेक्षण भिक्षण का है,
हर डग पग पे रण हीं माँगे।

हलधर  दाने   सब  लड़ते हैं,
मौसम  पे  डटकर अढ़ते हैं,
जीर्ण  देह दाने भी क्षीण पर,
मिट्टी   में   जीवन   गढ़तें हैं।

बिखर  धरा पर जब उग  जाते ,
दाने     दुःख    सारे     हर जाते,
जब    दानों    से   उगते   मोती,
हलधर   के  सीने   की ज्योति।

शुष्क होठ की प्यास  बुझाते ,
हलधर    में    विश्वास  जगाते,
मरु   भूमि   के  तरुवर  जैसे,
गेहूँ       के     दाने    हैं   होते।

अजय अमिताभ सुमन
Nidhi Jaiswal Jul 2020
When he move
Like cloud in the blue sky.

His tears are raining like acid rain.

Who wants to ruin everyone.

Because a divine soul became like ghost.

The **** of nature made him like this.

He was a hardworking farmer.

Used to work day and night,
to get two breads.

But the wrath of nature,
snatched him family from him.

Living with this broken heart,
committing suicide as a burden.

Today his move like cloud in the blue sky,
his tears are raining like rain,
he screaming loudly in the blue sky,
The spirit has aroused in him now,
divine soul became like ghost.

This poem is based on true story of a farmer
In today's time most of the farmer committed suicide
Due to natural changing that's crop destroyed.
Thanks for reading.
Poetoftheway Jul 2020
brown skin farmer girl (this changeling poem)


we are I’ve decided

alike and unlike.

I know, an epiphany.

we are both brown skinned,

the sun has wrested my skin

buried it in dark loamy,

soiled brown side by side,

now alike.

your hair is long(er)

now, mine too.

a cascading mountain ranging,

edging south from your Columbia,

to my  Columbia

over my ears, down my neck,

which like yours, dreams knightly

of being loved by endless kisses,

a prince(ss) charmant


we could not be

more different,

than how god us designed.

but here’s the rub,

people change,

they dream of becoming,

reinventing the original design,

and this explains

not the why, but the how,

how this poet came to write

this changeling poem


and you think we could not be more different and
more alike, and you would be rightly correct.
Amanda Kay Burke Nov 2019
The rooster crows when the day begins
He yells "****-a-doodle-doo!"
Awakening not just the farm animals
But the farmer and his tired wife too
Day 13: Write a short poem a child would like
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