Monday, July 26, 2010

Entries to my poetry contest

Insubordinate (no blog but should have one) emailed me the following versions of familiar poems.  They are wonderful and have admittedly an agricultural theme which endears them to my heart even more.

O what can ail thee, farmer man
  Alone and watching carefully
The crops are late and autumn comes
  I am afraid
O what can ail thee, farmer man
  So haggard and so tres concerned
The blight is on these crops of mine
  And spray is dear
_________________________________________ 

I wandered 'cross my fields of green
Waving so slightly in the breeze
When all I once I saw a sheen
A spot of dreaded crop disease
On the heads of my crop so fine
So many there I felt like cryin'
 _________________________________________
On this year's hay crop . . .
Shall I compare thee to last year's hay crop
Thou art more greener and as high as the gate
Heavy rains do fall, beat thee down to earth
And haying time hath all too short a date
 ___________________________________________
I wandered - a lonely little cloud
But friends soon came to have some fun
With driving rain and hail so hard
We pummeled on Saskatchewan
Upon the crops, upon the ground
We flooded basements all around.
__________________________________________________
Grow grain along with me
Riches are yet to be
The rain is much, the GDD are low
Our crops are in Her hand
Mother Nature rules the land
Will we harvest; fear Jack: damage much, still no dough.

With apologies to Keats, Wordsworth, Shakespeare, and Browning .
And many many thanks to Insubordinate. 

5 comments:

  1. I know two of the four poems by heart--"La Belle Dam Sans Merci," and "I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud."

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  2. Darn right; there SHOULD be apologies for those!

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  3. Snowbrush, that is awesome. I thought I did well to recognize the poems though at one time I could do a couple stanzas of Rabbi Ben Ezra.
    RB, I didn't notice YOUR contribution anywhere!

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  4. Um, er, well, ah. . . . I'll get back to you on that.

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  5. I promised I'd get back to you, so here goes.

    I think that I shall never see
    A computer that is made like me.
    A me that sings, or hums, or grins
    when e’er a gospel song begins.
    A me who sees things, likes to try,
    and on some rocks likes Scotch (not Rye).
    They’ll make computers for a fee
    but only moms can make a me.

    Hmmmmmm. Well, anyhow....

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