Poems

Artisanal Agriculture A to Z

Author: Tom Nichols, OSU Sheep Center Manager
A is for Artisanal Agriculture
An industry on the rise.
B is for broccoli and blueberries
In your weekly CSA surprise.

D is for organic dairies
With cows eating grass.
F is for fermentation
Of the “Green” grapes in your glass.

H is for hitching up horses.
Hoeing and heritage herbs.
I is for independence
Escaping jobs in the ‘burbs.

K is for Kids,
Schooled at home.
L is for lifestyle,
Local lamb and loam.

M is for market mornings
Muffins and mittens ordered by mail.
N is for newsletters, neighbors
And negotiating the sale.

O Organics at Safeway
Now. What’s up with that?
P is for petunias, peonies
And picking peas into your hat.

Q is for quality produce
Advertised on your farm sign.
R is for ripened and ready
Right off of the vine.

S is for seeds, sustainability
And grassfed steaks that are prime.
T is for turning compost, tilth
And taking your time.

U is for Un. Unpastuerized, unadulterated
Unconventional and underpaid.
V is for the variety
Of friends that you’ve made.

W is for worms, weeds,
And worrying about the weather.
X is for lending an extra hand
And experiencing new things together.

Y, Why go the extra mile?
Why, it’s all the little things
That make you smile.

Z is for zucchini.
Take plenty it’s free.
That’s it,
Artisanal Agriculture from A to Z


Dear Scientist

Author: Eric Gale (Orgs Member)

Dear Scientist,

Morning calm and cool clouds.
45 minutes. Weeds fall.
Precision agriculture - dextareous hands.
But what was done (precisely)?
Peppers were the only edibles.
The rest was asthetics - flowers at the head of rows.
First impressions for the Masters.

 


Untitled

Author: Willie

among many and most other people places things
undone, underdone, unseen etc....
are my fledgling associations
with your peacely parsely pickers

my shoulder is bumming me out
stiff and sore
is a bit of a way to say

but,
see you soon
and isn't the sky so beautiful?
(yes)

 

Vegophilia

Author: Robert Samarotto

No court would hold me
had the jury seen your buttock
basking in the sun.

Alone in my kitchen
I turn your nubile body
over and over in my hands
caressing your firm purple flesh.

My Jezebel – my dark skinned beauty –
have no fear
you will never see the knife.

Aubergine – Aubergine
I wrap my tongue around your name
I weep on Plato’s doorstep
and ask myself
- to what vine is this crime attached?

 

Onion

Author: Robert Samarotto

Tear jerker – sob sister
you are the fruit of sorrow.
Your story is as old as life.

For the death of my father
I mourned three days,
for my mother
I cry only feathers and dust.

But when you come apart in my hands
tears bloom in my eyes
I swim in the eclipsed light
of water darkly veiled.