The Farmer's Awakening

[heslopian]

The lonely farmer got to work the day his mother died;
he pitied no man's tortured soul, nor sat around and cried.
Much to do and God to serve, his motto everyday,
no time no time to sit and cry and cry my life away.

His mother was a fearsome doe,
frail as life in the womb,
but with a voice that broke manhood
and sauntered on its tomb.

"Don't let me see you touch the drapes"
she'd say on long Sundays,
then if he did, she'd grab the rod
and really make him pay.

"Thank our Lord before you sleep"
was something else she said,
"because he'll come here in the night
to strop your black soul dead."

She was a very old woman
in more ways than just age,
and to her kin he owed his life
as manly, pure and sage.

So when she died the house was dark
and all the chairs were bleak,
the walls would peel, the curtains sag,
the floors grew slightly weak.

It needed now a woman's touch,
a pair of hands to grace the shades,
strong women with sprightly flesh,
not widows or old maids.

He met them in the local church,
or at the roadside bar,
and some would deign to follow him
to see his lonely farm.

Now the curtains never sag,
the walls have stopped peeling,
he's even had skin left over
to hide cracks in the ceiling.

[billy]

will get to this tomorrow, i had a quick scan and i like it

[heslopian]

Cheers homie It was inspired by the Hitchcock clip I posted on the new movie thread.

[Keith]

The lonely farmer got to work the day his mother died;
he pitied no man's tortured soul, nor sat around and cried.
Much to do and God to serve, was his motto everyday,
no time no time to sit and cry and cry my life away.

His mother was a fearsome doe,
frail as life in the womb,
but with a voice that broke manhood
and sauntered on its tomb. scary

"Don't let me see you touch the drapes"
she'd say on long Sundays,
then if she did she'd grab the rod if he ?
and really make him pay.

"Thank our Lord before you sleep"
was something else she said,
"because he'll come here in the night
to strop your black soul dead." like the manic feel of this

She was a very old woman
in more ways than just age,
and to her he owed his life
as manly, pure and sage.

So when she died the house was dark
and all the chairs were bleak,
the walls would peel, the curtains sag,
the floors grew slightly weak. so much to see in one stanza

It needed now a woman's touch,
a pair of hands to grace the shades,
strong women with sprightly flesh,
not widows or old maids.

He met them in the local church,
or at the roadside bar,
and some would deign to follow him
to see his lonely farm.

Now the curtains never sag,
the walls have stopped peeling,
he's even had skin left over
to hide cracks in the ceiling. super scary ending and closes the loop to boot

Great lines and so frekin scary, really like the hint in the penultimate stanza that somethings not quite right, just before the last stanza hits you over the head with a shovel thanks for the read

[heslopian]

In the third stanza I meant to imply that if she saw him touch the drapes she'd grab the rod, but it isn't clear enough. I'll change it in a mo. Thank you very much for your kind and helpful feedback

[billy]

The lonely farmer got to work the day his mother died;
he pitied no man's tortured soul, nor sat around and cried.
Much to do and God to serve, was his motto everyday,
no time no time to sit and cry and cry my life away.

hi jack a suggestion for the 2nd line so as to help with the meter;
So much to do and God to serve, his motto everyday, i like this verse as an opener. it has that rural strength in it.

His mother was a fearsome doe,
frail as life in the womb, meter could be better here but no suggestion.
but with a voice that broke manhood
and sauntered on its tomb.

"Don't let me see you touch the drapes"
she'd say on long Sundays,
then if he did she'd grab the rod did,
and really make him pay.

"Thank our Lord before you sleep"
was something else she said,
"because he'll come here in the night
to strop your black soul dead." excellent verse

She was a very old woman
in more ways than just age,
and to her kin he owed his life
as manly, pure and sage.

So when she died the house was dark
and all the chairs were bleak,
the walls would peel, the curtains sag,
the floors grew slightly weak.

It needed now a woman's touch,
a pair of hands to grace the shades,
strong women with sprightly flesh,
not widows or old maids.

He met them in the local church,
or at the roadside bar,
and some would deign to follow him
to see his lonely farm.

Now the curtains never sag,
the walls have stopped peeling,
he's even had skin left over
to hide cracks in the ceiling.

what a change round you freak
i think it's a great poem jack but the meter lets down the content. i don't think it would be that hard to smooth out though. i found it funny and dark and the titles perfect and that first 4 lines work so well at throwing off before the truth is found.

thanks for the read

[heslopian]

I knew meter would be the weakness. I'm just glad it wasn't too atrocious Thanks for your suggestions Billy, I'll use both of them. Cheers, as always, for your kind and helpful feedback