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Weeds
In the backyard
Of my heart
I put some seed of love
But weeds grew too fast
Though I used herbicide
But they know how to survive
I threw out the rose, now I love
The weeds for their survival instinct
And power to grow everywhere
Without following any row
My mind follows the heart
And grows too fast like weeds
To pervade to hover
The minds and souls
Of people all over.
poem by Abdul Wahab
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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At The Tide's Will
WHEN the tide came surging in
To the beach it bore
Drift-wood and brown weeds —
These — and nothing more!
As the stranded weeds and wood
Borne by the sea,
Tossed at the wind's will,
Even so are we!
When the tide went out again
From the beach, it bore
Drift-wood and brown weeds —
These — and nothing more!
Little peace is ours indeed,
Little rest we know —
Weeds at the Tide's will
Tossed to and fro!
poem by Roderic Quinn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Women.
Alas! we women are the fools of you:
You mould us and you mar us — we are yours,
And ever have been since the birth of love,
Flowers cherished for a while, soon to be cast
As weeds away; and yet as weeds in the mire
Our fading hues breathe to the last of you.
poem by Robert Crawford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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Lift Me Up Like You've Plucked a Buttercup
When you come around finding you have found,
You've settled down.
With slowed jets ready to quit your lippin'
And prepared to sit and begin to listen'...
You've done shifted from a drifter position.
And it's there to be gripped!
All that life has blessed you with!
ooo-ooo
Many in fits can't handle what they get.
And they seek partnerships...
That end in arguments,
Gone ballistic.
Left in realistic lethal pieces.
Lift me up!
Like you've plucked a buttercup,
From your weaving...
Through the weeds you've been sneezing.
Lift me up!
Like you've plucked a buttercup,
From your weaving...
Through the weeds you've been breathing.
Just leave don't mention...
Any attitude you've got,
That's dropped you mopin'!
Take a little whiff of me I'll free you easy.
I'm that destiny you need.
Lift me up!
Like you've plucked a buttercup,
From your weaving...
Through the weeds you've been sneezing.
Lift me up!
Like you've plucked a buttercup,
From your weaving...
Through the weeds you've been breathing.
When you come around finding you have found,
You've settled down.
With slowed jets ready to quit your lippin'
And prepared to sit and begin to listen'...
You've done shifted from a drifter position.
And it's there to be gripped!
All that life has blessed you with!
ooo-ooo
Lift me up!
Like you've plucked a buttercup,
From your weaving...
Through the weeds you've been sneezing.
Lift me up!
Like you've plucked a buttercup,
From your weaving...
Through the weeds you've been breathing.
ooo-ooo
Just Lift me up!
Like you've plucked a buttercup,
From your weaving...
Through the weeds you've been sneezing.
Lift me up!
Like you've plucked a buttercup,
From your weaving...
Through the weeds you've been breathing.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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The Garden
CHOKED with ill weeds my garden lay a-dying,
Hard was the ground, no bud had heart to blow,
Yet shone your smile there, with your soft breath sighing:
'Have patience, for some day the flowers will grow.'
Some weeds you killed, you made a plot and tilled it;
'My plot,' you said, 'rich harvest yet shall give,'
With sun-warmed seeds of hope your dear hands filled it,
With rain-soft tears of pity bade them live.
So, weak among the weeds that had withstood you,
One little pure white flower grew by-and-by;
You could not pluck my flower--alas! how should you?
You sowed the seed, but let the blossom die.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Burning The Weeds
we take pride today
in burning all the weeds
those dry weeds
with all their screams
to the fire
we make
huge fire
we feel that hell in there
big smoke rising to
the skies
we look at the skies
seemingly
God smiles
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Fibonacci - Water (Variation 1)
Water
Water forms
Weeds in water
Weeds in water form patterns
Patterns form of weeds in water over stones
Over stones and weeds water forms patterns reflecting
sunlight and soul of water
©2009 Forrest Hainline
poem by Forrest Hainline
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The Weeds
Brown passed away, and Mrs Brown,
In weeds all smothered, went through town
By Brown's neat grave to take her stand,
And hold a metaphoric hand.
She diligently drove away
The sorrel springing every day.
When Mrs. Robert Wittle died
Poor Bob would sit her grave beside
On Sunday afternoons, and shed
His briny tribute to the dead;
And dimpled Mrs. brown and he
Had quite a bond of sympathy.
But presently, I understand,
'Twas Bob who held the widow's hand.
She decker herself in orange spray,
And all her weeds she cast away.
Now where the sorrel sheds its seeds
Brown's grave is thick with widow's weeds.
poem by Edward George Dyson
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Mosaic, We Abide
weird-weeds & beetles-bad
unkempt, black fouls
time snobs
fingers-a-pointing
darkness-a-reigning
sweet flower blooms
of summer
butterfly lightness
a flutter
sunshine color rainbows
flumes of clouds
flutes of wind
nature strums
such beauty music
heart bleeds for beetles-bad
and weeds a weirding
rejoice for clouds and flumes
of colors and flute winds
we abide by nature
in perfect goodness
excludes none
punishes no one
weeds a tumble
to flutes singing
and clouds drift
to rainbow colors
rains still showering
earth’s thirst
quenched
everything still
colors mix
sounds blend
bad, good, weeds
flowers, beetles
butterflies
all a flutter a chew
all beautiful
whole and always
a beautiful mosaic
we abide.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Lofty Sky
To-day I want the sky,
The tops of the high hills,
Above the last man's house,
His hedges, and his cows,
Where, if I will, I look
Down even on sheep and rook,
And of all things that move
See buzzards only above:-
Past all trees, past furze
And thorn, where nought deters
The desire of the eye
For sky, nothing but sky.
I sicken of the woods
And all the multitudes
Of hedge-trees. They are no more
Than weeds upon this floor
Of the river of air
Leagues deep, leagues wide, where
I am like a fish that lives
In weeds and mud and gives
What's above him no thought.
I might be a tench for aught
That I can do to-day
Down on the wealden clay.
Even the tench has days
When he floats up and plays
Among the lily leaves
And sees the sky, or grieves
Not if he nothing sees:
While I, I know that trees
Under that lofty sky
Are weeds, fields mud, and I
Would arise and go far
To where the lilies are.
poem by Edward Thomas
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By Morning Twilight
Night, like a dying mother,
Eyes her young offspring, Day.
The birds are dreamily piping.
And O, my love, my darling!
The night is life ebb'd away:
Away beyond our reach!
A sea that has cast us pale on the beach;
Weeds with the weeds and the pebbles
That hear the lone tamarisk rooted in sand
Sway
With the song of the sea to the land.
poem by George Meredith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Life Like Weeds
In this life like weeds youre just a rock to me
Youre just a rock to me, youre just a rock to me
I could have told you all that I love you
And in the places you go, youll see the place where youre from
I could have told you all that I love you
But in the faces you meet, youll see the place where youll die
I could have told you all that I love you
And on the day that you die youll see the people you met
I could have told you all that I love you
And in the faces you see, youll see just who youve been
I wish I could have told you I love you
In this life like weeds eyes need us to see
Hearts need us to bleed
In this life like weeds youre a rock to me
I know where youre from
But where do you belong?
In this life like weeds youre the good I breed
In this life like weeds youre a rock to me
In this life like weeds youre a rock to me
I know where youre from
But where do you belong?
In this life like weeds eyes need us to see
Hearts need us to bleed
In this life like weeds youre the good I breed
All this talking all the time of the year
Fills up until theres nothing left to breathe
And you think you feel most everything
And you know that our hearts are just made out of strings
To be pulled
Strings to be pulled
So you think youve figured out everything
But we know that our hearts are just made out of strings
To be pulled
Strings to be pulled
All this talking all the time, and the air
Fills up until theres nothing left to breathe
Up until theres nothing left to speak
Up into the better parts of space
song performed by by Modest Mouse
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Jet Planes
I saw my little cousin today:
I see them almost everywhere, at the movies,
Waiting at home in front of the television,
But I cannot hardly recognize them
They’ve grown like weeds is the aphorism,
And they’ve removed their pea green houses,
And their unicorns aren’t for real,
But lonely in their front yards with the tenebrous
Blue weeds:
You know, I see them on the swing-set and I want
To join them, but I am too old
For the sports of Christmas trees and young
Jet planes.
poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
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A Roman's Chamber
I.
In the cave which wild weeds cover
Wait for thine aethereal lover;
For the pallid moon is waning,
O'er the spiral cypress hanging
And the moon no cloud is staining.
II.
It was once a Roman’s chamber,
Where he kept his darkest revels,
And the wild weeds twine and clamber;
It was then a chasm for devils.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Manicured Reality
I agree,
A rose does smells sweet.
But they are not planted
On urban streets to bloom.
They would not be given that opportunity.
Although weeds are encouraged
To grow between the cracks,
Where broken glass settles.
And tourists are re-routed...
To view a revitalized naturalness!
Beautified without the aid of sunglasses,
Or weeds to spoil the experience.
A manicured reality,
Entices those deluded by the goodness
Of life and all it offers!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Mowing
There was not a sound
but that of the machine
that howl against the sky
and magically sheared the grass
from where it grew.
No bushes of grass, or even weeds
could keep its length
when that yellow long necked
Weedeater appeared.
Grass, weeds and stems
were scattered everywhere
and underneath, with the smell
of mown grass in the air
a beautiful lawn appeared.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Reapers
Black reapers with the sound of steel on stones
Are sharpening scythes. I see them place the hones
In their hip-pockets as a thing that's done,
And start their silent swinging, one by one.
Black horses drive a mower through the weeds,
And there, a field rat, startled, squealing bleeds,
His belly close to ground. I see the blade,
Blood-stained, continue cutting weeds and shade.
poem by Jean Toomer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Avoiding The Weeds
Come out from among the strife, unto The Savior, Jesus Christ,
From the weeds of worldliness, unto the Son of Righteousness;
Out from a world of dark despair, into The Lord’s love and care,
From a world of darkened blight, into The Lord’s Glorious Light.
Around us is such pain and strife, in this world, where sin is rife,
With many hindered by the weeds, as they attend to their needs,
Providing for the family’s care, they find temptation everywhere,
So in the darkness of the night, we truly need The Savior’s Light.
Weeds surround us in many ways, as we live life in darker days,
Even finding their way inside, The Church, for whom Jesus died,
Into the Church of Jesus Christ, His people, bought with a price,
As darkness finds its way within, the Body, God saved from sin.
In an increasingly darkened time, by our Lord God’s own design,
He is our Strength and a Tower, for believers to flee to any hour;
To this Tower the Righteous flee, Believers, just like you and me,
In this Tower strength is found, for us to stand on higher ground.
As God’s Truth a soul heeds, the man of God avoids the weeds,
With freedom in Christ our Lord, while the weeds can go ignored,
With our Savior right by our side, in Christ’s Spirit we shall abide,
To live daily, in the Light of God, led by our Lord’s staff and rod.
(Copyright ©04/2010)