The Harvest moon
means little now
there is no farm
nor brown bell cow
No tractors and
no steel disc plows
to work a farm
forgotten how
For all we know
all food comes canned
or packaged in
some distant land
It's prefab now
all rather bland
no fields no crops
no touch of man
In wonderment
we now explore
where comfort food
came from before
And Harvest Moons
are ancient lore
poor city folks
who farm no more.
It's a pity things like this stay as poems ?
<Deleted User> (19913)
Sun 23rd Sep 2018 06:30
Where brilliance. I felt like clapping. ?
<Deleted User> (19913)
Sun 23rd Sep 2018 06:30
Where brilliance. I felt like clapping. ?
<Deleted User> (19836)
Sat 22nd Sep 2018 19:00
Excellent poem. Something to think about!
Yes DK. I do too liked it very much, very relevant.
I am lucky enough to live in rural Ireland so do see traditional farming..it is so sad when progress is harming our health rather than improving it.
Superb. I really like this poem. Thanks,
Keith?
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Big Sal
Fri 28th Sep 2018 14:46
Like celebrating Christmas on Halloween, or eating a TV dinner made from unicorn meat.
What is it about your writing that you can take any topic off the cuff and turn it into relatable poetry?
I struggle to find topics worth my time, as when I begin on them, I usually just find something else to write about.
Instant gratification + Mass production = Animal Farm + 1984. (Unsure of how my math helps, but yeah)