A man of words and not of deeds is like a garden full of weeds.
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A man of words, but no deeds, is like a garden full of weeds.
A man o' words, and no o' deeds, is like a garden fu' o' weeds.
Sonnet- God's The Weed-puller
Despite my sweat and toil with pen and hoe;
My rose-filled garden grows recurrent weeds;
God plans to give me roses all the more;
A small reward for my good thoughts and deeds.
This time, God picks the weeds in His own style;
Each one by Hand with intact roots and stem;
And burns them all thoroughly in a pile;
And plans to give to me the diadem.
The ways of God are strange but never fail;
With woeful hearts, He pines for righteous souls;
I need not fight hereafter by e-mail;
God is plugging the Rodent, Snake, Fox holes.
No more, my garden can grow lethal weeds;
God will provide His honest people's needs.
poem by John Celes
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Life's Garden
We all grow up in this Garden called Life,
There are many inner and outer strifes,
In the silence, in the silence,
In this beautiful Garden called Life!
There are weeds and pests in this Garden called Life,
They are know as ignorance, greed, and vice.
In the silence, in the silence,
In this beautiful Garden called Life.
Every garden needs sunshine and rain,
In this garden you will find joy and pain.
In this silence, in the silence,
In this beautiful Garden called Life!
Plant sparsely, your harvest will be a pittance,
Plant bountifully, your harvest will be munificence,
In this silence, in the silence,
In this beautiful Garden called Life!
Did you plant deeds of joy, love and peace?
Or did you drop seeds of hatred, conflict, and gloom?
The world will know by the plants' bloom.
In the silence, in the silence,
In this beautiful Garden called Life!
poem by Anna B. Kurzweil
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The Nit Picker
A garden full of tender care
brings joy beyond and above
NOT UNLIKE A CHILD
When given unconditional love
For like a garden that’s picked and picked
a child will not grow
for so much picking just destroys the roots
and no more blossoms will show
From the depth of the earth the weeds appear
their ugly forms take over
the child that’s hurt shows anger abound
and the offender should run for cover
So slow down now and think about
the damage that you have done
AS A PARENT OF SUCH A
WONDERFUL CHILD
who’s life has just begun
Don’t turn her into a garden of weeds
its time, from where I'm sitting
turn it around with love abound
and stop that cruel nit picking
poem by Janice M Pickett
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Flowers Of Tomorrow
Forget unkind words and deeds
For life is a ground of weeds
Where you have to sow the seeds
Of happiness to get rid of weeds
With the weeds of pain and sorrow
And hope for the flowers for tomorrow
That will bloom evenin narrow
Path of joy to bring you tomorrow
A bright tomorrow where will shine
The sun of joy all for mine
That will spread the joy of wine
To bring joy to thee and mine.
Seema Chowdhury
poem by Seema Chowdhury
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When You Define A Thing
when you define
a thing, you limit it,
it is like fencing
your garden
the garden becomes
a set of exclusive
flowers, and anything
not like it becomes
a weed, and anything
that moves
becomes a pest
it is not that you
do not define, we do
it sometimes
only to understand
the limits of
understanding,
but we must be open
to other possibilities
of a garden,
a garden of stones
a garden of sand
of mud, of water
a fountain, a garden
of winds, of clouds
a garden of memories
like a poem
for instance, a garden
of words,
words with arms open
to the magic
of further creation
words still trying
to define themselves
in the garden
of the unknown
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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An upright soul
Thoughts must conform to words
And words to deeds to give peace.
Good thoughts and bad words: one is
raw.
Bad thoughts and good words: one is a cheat.
Good words and bad deeds: one is
cruel.
Bad words and good deeds: one is a
barker.
Thoughts, words and deeds must not
be
In conflicts to ensure an upright soul.
25.11.2004
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Don't water your friend's garden when yours is full of weeds.
In the Garden, With My Father
It is spring.
As in my garden, I stand.
In the garden -
My father is there;
... though long since gone...
He IS there.
I tend to the weeds,
The veggies and flowers...
He is there.
I never understood him
(as I should have, could have) ...
Until now,
Here, in the garden.
Where I, like he, work the soil.
I've come just recently
(these last few years)
To enjoy and love my garden so.
- I am not as surprised afterall, as I would have thought,
To find him here.
Here, in the garden.
He loved his garden very much.......
I - at that early age of restless youth - had no use
For such slow moving things.
But now, I see, and myself move, at a much slower pace.
Therefore, it is him I am here and now able to see,
In the garden.
Watching it all grow, so peacefully.
It is somewhat sad, that now,
When I can no longer tell him,
I understand.
For I have come to find... I love the garden too,
Just as much as he;
And we both always will.
My father - standing in the garden -
I now know.
After all these long years.
And I've missed him so;
But, how wonderful to find,
He IS here...
In the garden, our garden,
Always, with me.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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Sunny On the Other Side
Let not a rainy day,
cast a shadow upon your garden.
Let not your worries be over your head.
Let not others downfall be your upbringing.
Let not anger define your character.
Let not your garden be full of weeds.
Let not greed entangle like vines.
Let not life loose it's meaning.
Let not love be lost to lust.
Let not your passions fade away.
Let not your book have few pages.
Let your book become a novel, and in that novel, control the outcome.
Let rainy days inflict the greatest growth.
Let your garden become a jungle.
Keep your gate open to the seeds of life,
and inside those gates, dreams will bare the sweetest fruit.
Let only the sun,
cast a shadow upon your garden.
poem by Jacob Gifford
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Garden of Soul
My soul’s garden must grow those plants
And trees and shrubs that yield good fruits;
Sin grows like weeds that stifle growth
Of virtues and more vices grow.
The grace of Almighty God comes
Down on soul’s garden as sun, rain,
As virtues grow in more numbers,
And sin-weeds turn a scarce member.
poem by John Celes
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Will I write about heroic deeds?
Will I write about heroic deeds?
When the sun daily struggles through the clouds of mist,
will I look between kaki-weeds, beer bottles for meaning
if the reports of damage, of evil things
are incessant disguised in cloaks
where the country is full of gangsters,
people stand and pee on street corners against walls,
life is webbed like gossamer
where evil creatures sit and wait on a moment
to suddenly attack
and evil is breeding out everywhere?
Will I write about what I see and how ghastly
weeds are filling the country,
or will I just shut up, be silent about that which exterminates us?
[Reference: Sal ek? (Will I?) by Ian Raper.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Getting Good Deeds Done
The best of good deeds,
Are not the ones discussed to be done!
The best deeds that are good...
Are those deeds lived,
And done by the ones who know
When and how to give!
Getting deeds done
Without discussions,
Weaken good intentions...
With diminishing attention given!
And spoken words without action,
Provide no satisfaction.
Although distracts with attraction,
That gets everyone talking...
And then walking away,
Just to say,
They promised they would come!
They promised to provide support...
But not get involved,
With getting good deeds done.
They see deeds as no lasting remedy!
But distortions of their involvement,
In the eyes of everyone!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Late Walk
When I go up through the mowing field,
The headless aftermath,
Smooth-laid like thatch with the heavy dew,
Half closes the garden path.
And when I come to the garden ground,
The whir of sober birds
Up from the tangle of withered weeds
Is sadder than any words
A tree beside the wall stands bare,
But a leaf that lingered brown,
Disturbed, I doubt not, by my thought,
Comes softly rattling down.
I end not far from my going forth
By picking the faded blue
Of the last remaining aster flower
To carry again to you.
poem by Robert Frost
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Some Men Will Do
The bad and evil that some men will do
Will follow them after they enter their grave
Their acts will become adages that others will view
And to those axioms, their memories will be a slave,
Those men will be remembered by their past deeds
Long after, they are dead and gone
Then their stories will grow wild, like garden weeds
As their past deeds will live and linger on,
They will be remembered long after they are dead
By the exploits they did while they were living
As one good act alone won't lead to a good life led
And they cannot erase those sins, and the misgiving,
So I will say this before I will enter my grave
With the life that I am living, just and true
I want to be thought of with the righteous and the brave
And I don't want to be remembered, by the evils some men do.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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The Garden
The Garden
By: Adam M. Snow
The garden blooms to your delight;
to and from this very night.
When you are but one;
this garden blooms until you're done.
Keep that in mind but out of sight;
this garden is full of roses so white.
Open up and let shine the sun;
for Springtime has only begun.
Show off your garden so bright;
for there is no need to fight.
Now go on, no need to run;
when you're in your garden my son.
poem by Adam M. Snow
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The Need To Be Faraway
it is only when
i am far away
beyond the reach of
this civilization
that for a
little while
i quit
writing because it is this
distance
that keeps me
sane
it is the nearness
of all these
little things around me
that keeps
my hands moving
cultivating a garden of
words
to hide
the weeds
to please what has
been
creating havoc
in that warring
hole of
my empty being
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Listen, Listen
Listen, listen to the life all around.
You need not put your ear to the ground.
For what springs forth is already here.
It's just repeating year after year.
There's grass growing green mixed with weeds.
There are people doing good and bad deeds.
There are babes being born and some that we mourn
as we listen to life all around.
Listen, listen to the life that's here.
You need not shirk from it. You need not fear.
For the fearful ones will ne'er be content.
They'll shake where they stand with discontent.
There are birds that sing, then eat the worm.
There are people that are well and some with germ.
There are raindrops falling and the echoes of drought
as we listen to life all around.
Listen, listen to the life on earth.
You need not search hard for there is no dearth.
It's there in abundance. It's in full bloom.
It's outside among the flowers and inside every room.
There are cats that purr and some that screech.
There are people that listen and people that preach.
There are words in the air and true words of prayer
as we listen to life all around.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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There Is A Secret Garden In My Heart
where i grow
some weeds
and flowers
with colors
and scents
not of your liking
i hide them
there
only for me
to see
and smell
and touch
you do not
know
i am more real
in this garden
my home
away from
you
where i can
be a weed
a grass
and not the
flower
that you always
love
in this garden
where
i am alone
where
i can be myself
away from
the clutches
of your choking
gaze
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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