Growing Up and More 095

No one is going to take this land,

from me,

etched in my heart,

with the sweat of blood,

hands bleeding, callous,

living in the weather,

every day and night,

cold and heat.

If I have to work more,

than 17 hours each day,

warfare with the plow,

I will.

Breathing for generations,

mud and alfalfa,

the oneness of the earth,

I will live and die here,

no one will take it.

And the government?

If they try one more time,

to put me out of business,

I will raise flowers instead,

no food, and you can bury me,

in the tulips.

This is my land.

This is told in the first person, but I am not a farmer.

Peace and blessings to everyone.

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2015, nicodemasplusthree

“If you love nature, you will love people.”

Peace on the Farm

Mountains and Rivers 129

What makes a herd of Jerseys so gentle,

grazing in a field of green?

soft spirits endless.

The cool morning air refreshing,

the bones of the farmer,

the lungs begin breathing again,

the heartbeat of the earth.

In the middle of the day,

there is a time of tearing gently,

the fields, to bring healing,

food of restoration,

stalks of corn bending in the wind,

whispering like ocean waves.

And in the evening, there is always,

the sunset of warmth,

 speaking a job well done,

gradually hiding over the mountains.

The farm reminds me of gentle times,

the way we used to be.

No wonder, men and women, love farming,

living in, and loving the earth,

the natural cycle of life,

gentleness born everyday,

No wonder.

Mountains and Rivers 094

Blessings to everyone and peace!

“If you love nature, you will love people.”

Poetry and Photos © Copyright 2015, nicodemasplusthree

Deeply Rooted

farming with 2 horses

Most farmers have roots sinking deep,

the soil, from generations,

learning sweat, and the songs,

of the earth,

rooted, embedded in the love,

of our mother,

women from India working her strength, growing.

Most women learn their roots,

their backbones, and body aches carrying,

horrible burdens, of other people’s sins,

producing love and children,

the heritage,

wanting the freedom, but always loving.

The first people, came out of the earth,

with so roots so deep,

they were launched into the sky,

forever beautiful,medicine man

but suffering for their strength,

brought low by jealousy,

by those refusing to hear,

refusing their beauty,

not wanting the encouragement,

of the earth.

Not listening to the music.

I wish there were another way,

to grow strong, without pain,

to ascend on wings, that never knew,

the heartache.

So we could experience the joy,

of union,

strength ruling as a king.

For now though,

you and I will be here,

on this rock, this earth,

learning how to fight, learning how,

to love,

and to survive.

Maybe someday.


Blessings to everyone and PEACE!

“If you love nature, you will love people.”

Poetry © Copyright 2015, nicodemasplusthree

images from google

The Sunflower Farm


They tied up the farmer, and pushed him aside,

using regulations for rope, and papers.

I thought I might find him,

in the Smithsonian,

where things used to be.

The conglomeration was waiting to eat up his land,

robots and injections to produce fake food.

But he was a fighter, never giving up,

hero with a tractor, and hard work,

he shut down his beef operation,

and came back to life, a resurrection,

and raised –


seeds for food, and liquid gold,

for cooking,


and the conglomeration went away, hungry.

 Sunflower Farm


Note: This poem is fictitious but I believe it is not far from the truth.

Poetry © Copyright 2014, nicodemasplusthree



Buffalo Bird Woman used to sing to the corn,

to help it to grow, she was from the Hidatsa people.

Now we dump tons of chemicals on our corn-

call it food, and think we are doing a good thing,

land depleted, strange diseases.


I think the first way is better. Love the land,

and sing.


Poetry © Copyright 2014, nicodemasplusthree