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Farm laws
They want
Govt. to withdraw
In toto
In toto
Farmers adamant
Govt. adamant
Are farm laws bad?
I am no expert
Are farm laws good?
I am no politician
Then what do you want to say?
Sirs and Madams
I want to say
There is a jungle of laws
Implementation biggest flaw
Inefficient judicial system
Makes laws virtually non existent
Litigation remains on earth
Litigant goes to Swarg
Further, law no exercise in linguistics
Intention behind it  is to be seen
So law is like plasticine
Judges mould it the way they deem
Good or bad farm laws
Shun hooligans and hooliganism
Dear farmers give a try
If you don't find suitable
Don't sell to private traders
Don't enter into contract farming
There's no compulsion at all
If Govt abolish APMCs
Withdraw MSP
Stop growing pulses, wheat and rice
Let people die
You are already expert in dying
I am given to exaggeration
This is my way of expression
Alexandra Jan 6
Tongues of flame licked,
Twisted and swam
Among driftwood and husk
Crushed cans lie by boots and barefeet alike,
Hunting dogs snuffle the undergrowth, fur matted in boar blood.
Torn, tired and scarred hands rest between scuffed knees
A brief respite, for all attending will awake before dawn
Cane, cattle, dirt and toil is in my DNA
As a child, legs brown in dust, littered with scabs - legacy of a farming childhood.
I'd watch the fire-bug sparks drift toward the soft evening sky, adorned in cold unreachable jewels,
And listened,
**** destroyed a years worth of crops,
Price of fertilizer was increasing
The price of sugar plummeted
Underneath the lightheartrd camaraderie and swapping stories of pigging,
These men were terrified,
Losing hope and will,
And I knew,
I knew, that this life would not be mine.
On the farm it was common to spend a Friday night with locals around a bonfire. This is an ode to children of farmers who grew up watching and living the realities of farm- life. Farmer suicide is something that can't be dismissed.
Flatfielder Nov 2020
Sore knees resting
On the round table's top
Imagine suggestions
No worries about a crop
An empty glass without a rim
Staring at me
Pushed aside with a grin
Energy levels rise
After playing quite a many
Old rock videos
They are in my guts
Make me want to go
On that bike trip
Wind in my eye
Bug just missed
Susan N Aassahde Oct 2020
Pentagon waist
on a bloom of skates
a shepherd tallies his day
Norman Crane Oct 2020
I hold the tool. I am the blade. I drive
myself into the fertile ground. I dig
potatoes out. They were buried alive,
but in darkness they thrive. Now the old pig
will feast. When he grows fat I will slay him
to feed me and kin. I don't like killing
but when necessary it's not a sin.
I shall live another year, God willing.
I have long been on the land. I am old
but my sun is not yet setting in the
sky. When I was a child I was told once by
my father you become earth when you die.
If so, I hope my children carve my chest
with blade. I hope I'll yield a fruitful harvest.
Chris Saitta Aug 2020
These clouds of Italy are grown on vines,
Infidels of skies, fruit bearers of wine-veined
Marble, fertile in spite of its own lifeless tableau,
Here thrives the succulent garden of the alone,
Where turns aside the burnt nape of the plowman,
Voyager of the cool midnight seas of the mind,
Up to this arable vine of sighs from outworn gods,
And hears his heart once more give up its throne.
Don Bouchard Apr 2020
Have you ever done enjoyable work,
But toward supper time,  
After a long, long day,
A satisfaction sets in,
Almost a fullness,
A readiness to stop for the day...

I know this feeling.
I understand Robert Frost's poem,
"After Apple Picking."

I loved haying on the ranch,
But after 14 hours' roaring up and down
Long alfalfa fields,
I was content,
Ready to shut down for the day,
Ready to climb down from the old John Deere,
Ready to walk, dusty, to the old truck
Waiting in growing darkness.

I recall listening for sounds of night coming on:
Crickets rasping against the cooling day,
Nighthawks' screeching, veering for insects,
Soul-mourning cries of coyotes,
All teamed against the ghosts of day:
Tractor's roaring echo in my ears,
Thumping memory of lurching over clods,
Dust clogging my itching eyes and throat....

The old tractor, too, was content
Sitting silently,
Cooling in the twilight.
Contentment, Cooling, Farming
Michael R Burch Apr 2020
by Michael R. Burch

for Dylan Thomas

The poet delves earth’s detritus—hard toil—
for raw-edged nouns, barbed verbs, vowels’ lush bouquet;
each syllable his pen excretes—dense soil,
dark images impacted, rooted clay.

The poet sees the sea but feels its meaning—
the teeming brine, the mirrored oval flame
that leashes and excites its turgid surface ...
then squanders years imagining love’s the same.

Belatedly he turns to what lies broken—
the scarred and furrowed plot he fiercely sifts,
among death’s sicksweet dungs and composts seeking
one element that scorches and uplifts.

Keywords/Tags: poet, words, delving, farming, sea, moon, tides, love, metaphor, earth, roots, plot, radiance, pitchblende, uranium
Dinesh Padisetti Mar 2020
There is beauty in working with hands
That I can never describe in words
Yet here I give it a try, before my land goes dry

Everyday I sow seeds & plant plants
Without knowing what they'll look like
In years to come, when there's no music to hum

Some say it's boring farm work
Under hot sun & cold rain
Yet I keep doing it over & over

For I know why I'm growing
As it's the only way to a world
Free of tyranny, depression & eternal suffering

So I'll keep growing till my land goes dry
For I need to feed the last man on earth
Give him hope & few seeds to grow.
From the time when I was working in a permaculture farm
Hannah Christina Feb 2020
They're all doubled over in an aching belly laugh;
I can already smell the apple pie.
One of a bunch of two-liners I wrote for Poetry Class.
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