Agriculturist poems on Hello Poetry

Edgel Escomen Nov 2017

I am an agriculturist
I plowed the field
I tilled the soil
I planted the seeds.
Until the seed cracked
And life begun
I watered the plants
And applied fertilizer.
Now the leaves are ready for photosynthesis
To transform water and carbon dioxide into food.
Insects gathered both beneficial and harmful
But God is in control.
One day i saw a fruit
It was a perfect fruit.
I waited until it ripes
I harvested it and fed the world.
It was all because of you Lord.

For God.

Kuzhur Wilson May 2014

The farmer

After the morning walk,
While returning,
Bought two bananas from the tea shop

While eating it,
Tried sketching the person
Who cultivated it, in my imagination

Where would the farmer
Who grew the bananas
That I am eating now, be?

Will he be sleeping
Or farming?

Will he be

While thinking about the farmer,
Remembered father, who was an agriculturist himself

Pity!

It was necessary to buy a banana
For this ungrateful seed
To remember its own cultivator!

Translation : Anitha Varma

#farmerindian #poetrykuzhoor

Victor Marques Oct 2010

António my father Name...Victor Marques

Antonio your name,
Agriculturist, grape grower.
Gotten passionate for the land,
For the Douro, Mounts.

That love that is not locked in,
He  sleeps in the hill, the mountain range.
He harvested sadness in the Colonial War.
He loved the Douro and Portugal.

He showed the land that joys would bring to it.
He  loved their children and wife Maria.
He planted grapevines that looked at the covered with star sky,
He  made  his wine with immaculate love.

The grapes are a love for all the life,
He  looked  for Rio Douro e Tua,
In  the memory of a people with glory,
With that tear that I feel now.
I comfort me in the duriense horizon,
Today, tomorrow and always.

Victor Marques
love, douro, Father

António, father,

Elizabeth Squires Aug 2014

Mr Monsanto

Mr Monsanto has a monopoly on the GMO market
his products fill many agriculturist's baskets
there harmful affects have been well documented
the damage they're causing can be circumvented

those men and women who work the land
can deal Mr Monsanto a crook poker hand
discontinue buying his bad chemical sprays
recommence those old pest controlling ways

he's been making big profits from the stuff that he sells
it is time for the agriculturists to hear the alarm bells
he's had the ear of the administration for too long
and it has always listened to the pitch of his song

Mr Monsanto keeps telling the world that his products are fab
but he never mentions a thing about adverse discoveries in science labs
the people are becoming informed on the land
they're waking up to the unsafeness of his brand

the public will not abide Mr Monsanto's crap
they know when a dodgy product has landed in their laps
cancer causing agents in cornmeal
this sort of thing doesn't make for edible appeal

big companies like Mr Monsanto might like to explain themselves
and enlighten us as to why his purulent stuff is on market shelves
behind his fortress walls he hides a folio of dross
uncovering it would ensure his company ran at a loss

alwaystrying Jan 2015

bubble at the end

He, growing, is nearly asleep but his psyche keeps fast to the tale
He hears:   The world at end, too many fights, ugly bites
                    They never knew or tasted peace, the blast on close
                    Rights, mere words.

He wakes, jarred by certain fear, praying the bubble at the end
Is big enough for enough
(Enough of the right people).

If the world should end this year and a select handful could make it out
Inside a scientific bubble, hidden in a volcano
(There is talk of super rich buying off tracts and strips
Away from when the crowds go mad........)
Will we need preacher or agriculturist, who will grow the crop?
Is an artist of importance or how about the taxman?
When this big, blue ball's reduced to rubble, do we need accountants?
The cave age beckons, folks and Lard knows, it seems not far off
Not the way groups take turns to hack away humanity.

Stockpile the water, canned food, save a let or two
And leave sentiment at the door, the bubble cannot hold us all
(Wait, where'd I leave my cell? Oh, there won't be electricity, no charge.)
No meat to eat, but hens to lay
Save the flint and remember: keep the secret.

— The End —