The glory of gardening: hands in the dirt, head in the sun, heart with nature. To nurture a garden is to feed not just on the body, but the soul.
quote by Alfred Austin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet On Curse Upon A Farmer’s Blessing
A farmer can never be churlish
even if shabby be his clothes
even if his clothes reek sweat
honest dirt grains forehead hands
his toil in hot sun blesses bellies
his labour feeds families prevents
famine starvation disease death
his field feeds pace of progress.
Destiny of kingdoms empires nations
are feed from lie in soil rough hands
dirt being cultivation civilization toils
politic threat war vast army marches
stomachs well fed fight pride glory wars
nature blesses with food feeding beasts.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The nature of her beauty
The nature of her beauty
~
her pale soft skin
pure like untouched fields of snow
her lips red like the roses petal
feather like in their kiss
those eyes warm like the earth
feed my soul with a richness of passion
the depth of which is limitless
bury my heart into hers
let me lay amongst her nature
let me rejoice her beauty
let her words sing to me
the essence of her soul
place my hands in hers firmly
that I may feel their warmth
holding eternally
there is a beauty undying
embedded into my heart
and its all in her nature
poem by Matthew Holloway
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The Glory of the Garden
Our England is a garden that is full of stately views,
Of borders, beds and shrubberies and lawns and avenues,
With statues on the terraces and peacocks strutting by;
But the Glory of the Garden lies in more than meets the eye.
For where the thick laurels grow, along the thin red wall,
You will find the tool- and potting-sheds which are the heart of all;
The cold-frames and the hot-houses, the dungpits and the tanks,
The rollers, carts and drain-pipes, with the barrows and the planks.
And there you'll see the gardners, the men and 'prentice boys
Told off to do as they are bid and to it without noise;
For, except when seeds are planted and we shout to scare the birds,
The Glory of the Garden it abideth not in words.
And some can pot begonias and some can bud a rose,
And some are hardly fit to trust with anything that grows;
But they can roll and trim the lawns and sift the sand and loam,
For the Glory of the Garden occupieth all who come.
Our England is a garden, and such gardens are not made
By singing:--"Oh, how beautiful!" and sitting in the shade,
While better men than we go out and start their working lives
At grubbing weeds from gravel-paths with broken dinner-knives.
There's not a pair of legs so thin, there's not a head so thick,
There's not a hand so weak and white, nor yet a heart so sick,
But it can find some needful job that's crying to be done,
For the Glory of the Garden glorifieth every one.
Then seek your job with thankfulness and work till further orders,
It it's only netting strawberries or killing slugs on borders;
And when your back stops aching and your hands begin to harden,
You will find yourself a partner in the Glory of the Garden.
Oh, Adam was a gardener, and God who made him sees
That half a proper gardener's work is done upon his knees,
So when your work is finished, you can wash your hands and pray
For the Glory of the Garden, that it may not pass away!
For the Glory of the Garden, that it may not pass away!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Soul’s relation to body
I love you; who is ‘I’- soul or body?
I won over your heart; you stole my heart.
Heart- do we mean the corporal one?
Soul, the fire, catches the body, the wood.
Soul to soul and body to body, no love sparks.
Soul in body loves soul in body.
Souls or bodies exclusively love not.
Soul and body are not like air and balloon.
Soul and body is like heat and body.
3.01.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Nature Is One Great Intelligence
nature is one great intelligence
it never puts anybody's nose on his anus
or his penis on his head, or his hands
on his foot, stomach on his buttocks
and men and women, male and female
fit into each other just nice as if
they have been made for each other
and those who love otherwise would
too find their love nature arranges for them
nature is such a great intelligence
all things go according to its secret plans
though with some interesting variations
nature is such a great intelligence
not a single thing happens without a reason
nature is such a great intelligence
you can go along with it, hand in hand,
mind in mind, body and soul
sitting quietly in your house
in a cave, in your own self listening
to its voice of love for all
go along with its great workshop of body,
mind and soul, a blossom in all its silence
confident of its own splendour and fragrance
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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All that's good and beautiful
All that's good and beautiful
~
All that's good and beautiful
in my heart resides her name
a flower in the garden of my soul
eternally in bloom, forever beautiful
the seeds of such a love as this
should serve to sow in the world
a happiness all should share
and tend with the gentlest hand
to feed and nurture it through
the harshest winters to come
and the dry endless summer
that it never wilts nor dies
a work of love persists to remind
the legacy that shall remain
is one for all to see and know
all that's good and beautiful
in my heart resides her name
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Green Fingers
People have gardens, both large and small,
Whilst flat dwellers have no garden at all.
Some people love to surround their homes
With comical-looking, little garden gnomes.
A few gardens boast fantastic water-features,
Or a large array of stone, woodland creatures.
To make their garden nice, some folk really do try,
Whilst other gardens really are a sight for sore eyes.
Some folk really wish their garden was just not there,
And, about them, they, very obviously, just do not care.
Without a garden, some people would feel really lost,
And they keep them looking nice, whatever the cost.
Some people are blessed: they have green fingers,
And, in their gardens, for hours, they love to linger.
When some people pull on their gardening gloves,
They tend their gardens with such heartfelt love.
People love to spend their time sowing seeds,
Trimming their hedges, and pulling up weeds.
Some tend flower beds, upon bended knee.
Some grow delicious fruit upon their trees.
The gardener's nightmare is the garden pest:
To eradicate them all, they do their best.
Some people love to escape to their sheds,
Where they can think, and clear their heads.
In their gardens, people love to spend time,
But they like it best, when the weather is fine.
When all of their gardening chores are done,
Some people love to sit and relax in the sun.
Time spent in the garden, always really flies;
The benefits of gardening cannot be denied.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Evergreen
Evergreen
~
My heart is evergreen
Growing in every season
The garden of my soul
Refuses to wilt
A flower blooms in beauty
In this permanent place
I named it after you
With love
It grows constant
As you feed me passion
You keep me strong
In the garden of my soul
No death knell of seasons
Comes to visit here
While my heart remains
Evergreen
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Between This Body And This Soul
my body thirsts for water
my soul thirsts for another
my soul immersed my soul entwined
my body grows my soul static as a thought
i shift from one channel to another
body to soul, soul to body,
the body's nature to sin
the soul's quest to heaven
God is in between.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Serpentine
Dark in the forest the sun dose not shine
Slowly in the night the snake walks
Hark in the sky an angle dose look
Down in my soul the death starts to infest
life has abandoned the garden where we stand
the snake walks no more in the light from heaven
man lives no more in the light as well
death is our calling and we must answer
your soul eternal this body but mud
crumble oh body and relinquish me
the pain is to much the façade is cracking
to the dirt i give my body
to you i give my soul oh lord
forgive me for the serpent has lead me astray
poem by Cody Moore
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This is my body
This is my body that you see
It is beautiful carved by God’s hands
Smoothened by His breaths
You will love it and want to have it
To touch and caress
To be feasted upon by the hunger
Of your eyes and thirst of your lips
To be rubbed by the coldness of your body
Seeking the warmth of my flesh
This is my body that you will first see
But there is more in me than my body
This soul that seeks your soul
This beautiful soul that seeks the beauty of your soul
The hands of my spirit reaching out to your invisible hands
They have all for years been longing to clasp
My soul longing to be with your soul
So they can be together
To be fused with each other as one
To be happy and calm and perfect
To that final place where this body
Shies away because something more beautiful
Inside it shines and glows and becomes
So beautiful in all eternity
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Where The Blacktop Ends
Gonna kick off my shoes
And run in bare feet
Where the grass and the dirt and the gravel all meet
Goin' back to the well gonna visit old friends
And feed my soul where the blacktop ends
I'm lookin' down the barrel of Friday night
Ridin' on a river of freeway lights
Goodbye city I'm country bound
'Til Monday rolls around
Gonna kick off my shoes
And run in bare feet
Where the grass and the dirt and the gravel all meet
Goin' back to the well gonna visit old friends
And feed my soul where the blacktop ends
Workin' in the grind is an uphill road
Punchin' that clock and carryin' that load
I bust it all week and then I'm free
The weekend belongs to me
Gonna kick off my shoes
And run in bare feet
Where the grass and the dirt and the gravel all meet
Goin' back to the well gonna visit old friends
And feed my soul where the blacktop ends
Give me some fresh air give me that farm
Give me some time with you in my arms
Far away from the hustle and the pressure and the noise
Gonna kick off my shoes
And run in bare feet
Where the grass and the dirt and the gravel all meet
Goin' back to the well gonna visit old friends
And feed my soul, you betcha
Gonna kick off my shoes
And run in bare feet
Where the grass and the dirt and the gravel all meet
Goin' back to the well gonna visit old friends
And feed my soul where the blacktop ends
Where the blacktop ends
Where the blacktop ends
Where the blacktop ends
song performed by by Keith Urban
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Heart Body And Soul
the soul knows
the body
which the body
doesn't sometimes
the heart beats
and knows the
state of the soul
you see the eyes
of the heart
as the soul feels
the beatings of
your heart
when the body sleeps
the soul practices
its journey to the
gate of the heart
as the heart shies
away from the
reasoning of the
body
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Liturgy....
liturgy....
black coffee,
old hands opening boxes.
sweeping the floor
of the soul.
words shaped like photographs
made of wind and tears.
simple things...
simple doings!
the same shovel
digs the grave,
digs in the garden.
barefoot,
and half naked,
no need for words,
no fears to console.
live without regrets,
leave it all on the table.
do the work, and move on.
dont be the hollow religious image,
a body that has no love,
a love that has no body.
dont be so quick to wash your hands,
the dirt neath your nails
is your heritage!
liturgy...
black coffee,
and touching,
the shovel, and the axe!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Gardening At Night
I see your money on the floor, I felt the pocket change.
Though all the feelings that broke through that door
Just didnt seem to be too real.
The yard is nothing but a fence, the sun just hurts my eyes.
Somewhere it must be time for penitence. gardening at night is never where.
Gardening at night. gardening at night. gardening at night.
The neighbors go to bed at ten.
Call the prayer line for a change.
The charge is changing every month.
They said it couldnt be arranged.
We ankled up the garbage sound, but they were busy in the rows.
We fell up, not to see the sun, gardening at night just didnt grow.
I see your money on the floor, I felt the pocket change.
Though all the feelings that broke through that door
Just didnt seem to be too real.
Gardening at night. gardening at night. gardening at night
Your sister said that youre too young.
They should know theyve been there twice.
The call was 2 and 51.
They said it couldnt be arranged.
I see your money on the floor, I felt the pocket change.
Though all the feelings that broke through that door
Just didnt seem to be too real.
We ankled up the garbage sound, but they were busy in the rows.
We fell up not to see the sun, gardening at night just didnt grow.
Gardening at night. gardening at night. gardening at night
song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Painted Head
By dark severance the apparition head
Smiles from the air a capital on no
Column or a Platonic perhaps head
On a canvas sky depending from nothing;
Stirs up an old illusion of grandeur
By tickling the instinct of heads to be
Absolute and to try decapitation
And to play truant from the body bush;
But too happy and beautiful for those sorts
Of head (homekeeping heads are happiest)
Discovers maybe thirty unwidowed years
Of not dishonoring the faithful stem;
Is nameless and has authored for the evil
Historian headhunters neither book
Nor state and is therefore distinct from tart
Heads with crowns and guilty gallery heads;
Wherefore the extravagant device of art
Unhousing by abstraction this once head
Was capital irony by a loving hand
That knew the no treason of a head like this;
Makes repentance in an unlovely head
For having vinegarly traduced the flesh
Till, the hurt flesh recusing, the hard egg
Is shrunken to its own deathlike surface;
And an image thus. The body bears the head
(So hardly one they terribly are two)
Feeds and obeys and unto please what end?
Not to the glory of tyrant head but to
The estate of body. Beauty is of body.
The flesh contouring shallowly on a head
Is a rock-garden needing body's love
And best bodiness to colorify
The big blue birds sitting and sea-shell cats
And caves, and on the iron acropolis
To spread the hyacinthine hair and rear
The olive garden for the nightingales.
poem by John Crowe Ransom
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Nature
Nature is beautiful
nature is fun
love it or hate it
nature is something to love
nature is god's gift to us
Nature
Nature we love
wate and feed nature
Nature water's and feed's us
god gave us nature
we cant live with out it
nature makes us
i know nature
Nature is beautiful
Nature is about the earth
nature has flower; s and weed's
weed's or flower's nature is us
NATURE
poem by Kerri King
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Gardening At Night (Acoustic 2)
I see your money on the floor I felt the pocket change.
Though all the feelings that broke through that door
just didn't seem to be too real.
The yard is nothing but a fence the sun just hurts my eyes.
Somewhere it must be time for penitence. Gardening at night is never where.
Gardening at night. Gardening at night. Gardening at night.
The neighbors go to bed at ten.
Call the prayer line for a change.
The charge is changing every month.
They said it couldn't be arranged.
We ankled up the garbage sound, but they were busy in the rows.
We fell up, not to see the sun, gardening at night just didn't grow.
I see your money on the floor, I felt the pocket change.
Though all the feelings that broke through that door
just didn't seem to be too real.
Gardening at night. Gardening at night. Gardening at night
Your sister said that you're too young.
They should know they've been there twice.
The call was 2 and 51.
They said it couldn't be arranged.
I see your money on the floor, I felt the pocket change.
Though all the feelings that broke through that door
just didn't seem to be too real.
We ankled up the garbage sound, but they were busy in the rows.
We fell up not to see the sun, gardening at night just didn't grow.
Gardening at night. Gardening at night. Gardening at night
song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Stalemate
I do not give thanks to the hands that feed me
I work for those
Hands anyway
Writing his letters
His own contents
Not to my delight
I love somebody else, her hands are soft
Her thoughts so graceful
Touching me
Penetrating the deepest recesses of my brain
My soul jumps with joy
To the sight of her,
She eats me, I am half-consumed yet I
Sing of her
Kiss her all day
Yet what does she give me?
This death unto myself,
The hands that feed me caress me to no end
Helping me live, I understand this kindness perfectly
How I wish to love the feeding hands
How I wish to reeducate myself & learn to live on these hands
I am hardheaded, as always thinking about her all day all night long.
The heart has its own foolish reasons, while the feeding hands
Are patient, and silent, understanding my true longings.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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For literature sake.
When the body ages, does the soul do?
When the body gets wounds, does the soul suffer?
Are body and soul like sac and air?
Not so obviously.
Are body and soul like flesh and heat?
Might be.
Does not soul die when body dies, then?
Heart is not the seat of emotion, but brain.
Soul is not distinct to be treated so.
Yet soul is distinct for literature sake.
18.02.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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