Seek not the gardener in the flesh
Two maidens walk throughout the forest unknown
Darkened shadows gloom and each fights off
The demons of her insecurities, they stumble across
What seems like naught less than a garden, for all of
The flowers grow in rows creating the impression of design.
One of the maidens claimed that no gardener would come this
Far into the unknown just to create a garden of such wonders.
The other could not comprehend that such a beauty could of
Come across within a conscious will for it’s existence pure.
They each argued in turn and learnt
From each nothing more than the cementation
Of opinion in ignorance towards the other
Yet they agree to test in empirical measures
What force treasures this Garden of wonder.
So they waited and they waited so patiently,
For they had set up fences, and awaiting defenceless they saw nothing.
They heard nothing but the wind as it carried
Upon its song the seeds of springfull joy,
Still the flowers continued to bloom
But no gardener appeared in the form
The un believer was willing to accept.
She that sees the garden knows true the beauty of her surroundings
She knows that it does not need to be measured
For it is a treasure as it is a pleasure in itself,
Yet still her companion points to the weeds that grow,
She point to the dying trees burnt as embers glow.
She can not listen as her friend explains that each is a cycle within the
Medicine wheel, each weed is as worthy of our praise as are the flowers
That catch and dance in Apollo’s radiance.
As the seasons turn we learn
As we grow every second
We are making anew the mould,
Before the kiln of silence awaits.
Seek not the gardener in the flesh
But know that it is he who breathes fresh breathe anew
Into every living being
The gardener unseen is as real as the emotions within which we swim.
poem by David Lacey
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Garden of Life
A garden of life is again a garden that I desire,
It grows from a point and a line that I concoct,
The real line is here, the garden is upon us.
What can May bring towards the end of the day?
It is summer evening, gardener of the week is absent
To feel fellowship with flowers and with plants and with trees.
Why do the seasons give in? What do you do in the night?
The day felt a picture too bold for the night, which was kind,
I like it when heat has ridden past the day.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Garden of my soul
Garden of my soul
~
In the garden of my soul
sewn into eternity
a love flowers brightly
with the sweetest amore
and you the gardener
the rain and the sun
bring life and beauty
what more could I ask
than to be here forever
with you beside me
in the garden of my soul
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Planted A Flower
I planted me a flower
Though my friends say a weed
In my garden from a forgotten seed.
So I planted it deep
And around it I hoed
So someday my flower would grow.
But my flower never came
From the sunshine or the rain
That GOD placed above its head.
And so my friends would just laugh
Every time that they would pass
My garden, my plant and I.
Gardeners were them all
As though they have been called
To bring beauty upon our sight.
And a gardener wasn't I
Just a poet in disguise
And for that reason I sat and cried.
More care to my plant I gave
And more affection to it I showed.
While praying one day my flower would grow.
And my friends would just laugh at me
When they saw me on my knees
And to my flower when they heard me speak.
To ignorance they did blame
Its a weed they would exclaim
Then they would walk away.
For a madman I must be
Trying to create a flower out of a weed
Then I would bow my head to weep.
And every night that I went to bed
I dreamt of a rainbow in my head
Which was my flower I planted with my own hands.
And every morning when I awoke
I ran to my garden, but I was torn
For my flower was still unborn.
And I could hear my friends laugh at me
Hidden behind an old oak tree
And I could see them shake their heads and walk away.
But then came one magic morning
When in my head my dreams were forming
While in my garden, my dream, had awoke.
I awoke, to gasps and jeers
I arose, to shouts and cheers
Then in my garden, I walked in bitterness and fear.
Then I saw a rainbow with a halo
I saw my friends with a child's glow
And then I heard the wind, as she softly spoke to me.
You had faith in a weed,
A weed, had faith in you.
And nature, had faith in you two.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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The Gardener
The gardener does not love to talk,
He makes me keep the gravel walk;
And when he puts his tools away,
He locks the door and takes the key.
Away behind the currant row
Where no one else but cook may go,
Far in the plots, I see him dig
Old and serious, brown and big.
He digs the flowers, green, red and blue,
Nor wishes to be spoken to.
He digs the flowers and cuts the hay,
And never seems to want to play.
Silly gardener! summer goes,
And winter comes with pinching toes,
When in the garden bare and brown
You must lay your barrow down.
Well now, and while the summer stays
To profit by these garden days
O how much wiser you would be
To play at Indian wars with me!
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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Scions
She is pale in her flower garden.
Unlike the colorful earthbound tenants
populating the rows and beds.
Some uninvited and resisting eviction,
as she roughly snatches them like hair
from fecund scalp.
She is kneeling like a penitent
lost to her prayers.
Oblivious to the rest of it.
I watch her from the window
as I wrestle with form.
Choosing words over feelings.
Weeding desperately in my garden.
Trying to see the flowers
through the carnivorous weeds.
She is better in her work.
Drawing pleasure from the honesty and simplicity
of noble nurturing effort.
While I on the contrary,
an insane gardener, murdering
the flowers with my reach.
poem by George Murdock
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Gardner of beauty
Your beauty is like that of a Gardner tending to his flowers making life more beautiful with each day you tend to them. I could only wish to be one of your flowers in your garden and hope to feel your gentle hands as you would tend to me. Your beauty is to me as rain is to a flower, giving it nourishment for life. your beauty is my rain and it makes my love grow for you like that of the flower. Your loving soul is that of Gods warmth coming from the sun to a flower. Your love is my sun and feeling it's warmth to the touch it makes my soul grow as the flower would on a summer day. How I ask to be your flower and you be my gardener of life.
7-1-09
poem for my wife
poem by Timothy Honeycutt
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Miracles Of Transformation
place lived in could be
a harsh barren dessert
where sudden sand storm
can strip our life to bone
God hides great serene
beauty in strange places
to teach hope in inspired
miracles of transformation
there is incredible serene beauty written...
into mysterious timeless dessert places...
once a gardener asked God for two gifts:
a beautiful plant with colourful flowers,
and a butterfly to flutter about the flowers,
to add beauty to his small potted garden:
the gardener excited waited for his flowering plant...
the beautiful butterfly he believed God would give...
the gardener prayed for forty days and forty nights:
God observing devotional faith answered his prayer;
presented him with a cactus plant and a caterpillar;
are you surprised because the gardener asked for,
a beautiful plant with amazing colorful flowers,
yet God answered his prayers with a cactus plant?
God knew the needs of the man’s faithful heart:
secrets written into his patient appreciative soul;
the gardener knew the secret ways of dessert life;
for many days the gardener thanked God for this gift,
of sacred life; to add beauty to his small potted garden:
at dawn dust all hours between; the gardener thanked,
God for the wisdom glory of this special gift bestowed:
soon the cacti bloomed with amazing colourful flowers,
and in the place of the caterpillar there was a beautiful,
stunning butterfly, to flutter about the colourful flowers:
God told that gardener old a new spiritual message.
God said “I will send my only begotten son, to be
born as flesh, like the caterpillar I gave you on the
cactus plant, to walk in the world; my man of faith”
God said “My child how you wondered,
what had happened to the caterpillar?
From where did the butterfly come? ”
God said “This mystery of life I wrote into creation”.
“I envisage transformation from your body of clay
into a body of light; as a miracle as meaningful as
the journey of a caterpillar; for my son will pass
through metamorphosis death into resurrected life!
This journey is my undeserved gift for the seed of Adam!
Original Sin will be defeated through this sinless sacrifice;
of my only begotten son; who will defeat the sting of death!
accept this ransom sacrifice my child as reconciliation;
through the blood of my son to resurrection in heaven.”
that gardener old, knew the cactus plant was the cross;
metamorphosis death was the tomb; flowers the message,
blooming in the world, through work of Holy Spirit; who
spread miraculous testament, the butterfly transformation,
resurrection of Jesus Christ; clay into restored body of light:
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Margaret
I KNOW a garden where white lilies grow,
Under the grey sweet-laden apple boughs;
It is a garden where the roses blow,
And honeysuckle covers half the house.
O happy garden, do you keep the vows
Breathed in your quiet ear beneath the rose,
Or do you tell the tale to each soft wind that blows?
Across your grassy paths she used to stray,
She moved among you like a living flower,
Her beauty drank your beauty every day,
Your beauty decked her beauty every hour.
You gave her rose and lily for a dower,
With all sweet flowers and fruits your bosom bore--
She took them all--and now she comes not any more.
O garden, if you breathe such secret things
To the south wind who loves you, tell him this:
To spread the scented softness of his wings,
And seek that other garden where she is,
And bid him bear no blossom and no kiss;
Only, dear garden, tell the wind to say
How grey the world is grown since Margaret went away!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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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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Be The Garden Not The Gardener
the thoughts growing in your mind
are thorns
you are the one growing them in your mind
let no thought grow there
let yourself be not the grower of these thoughts they are the thorns
let your mind be just the garden
let Him spread the seeds and let these seeds grow like
some clouds seeded in the skies
let Him grow the thoughts in you
you see them
they are the red roses
because you are the garden
you are not the gardener
you have never been and you are never the good one
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Our Marriage Is Our Garden
Our marriage is our garden.
I want our garden to be beautiful.
With lush green grass,
With fragrant and colourful flowers.
A place of solace.
A place of peace.
A place of love.
Our garden must be watered.
Not watered too much.
As that would saturate the ground.
Not watered too little.
As that would leave the plants wilted.
And our grass barren.
But regularly.
So the flowers can stand tall
It must be weeded.
It must be maintained.
It must be loved.
We will plant seeds in our garden.
For new life makes any garden more beautiful and diverse.
We can harvest the fruit trees, but our harvest is limited
If we eat all the fruit too quick,
Then we must wait until the next harvest to eat again.
If we don't pick the fruit when it is right, it will spoil.
Our harvest is for our family.
If I eat all the fruit myself, then they will starve.
If we eat too much we will get sick.
If we eat what we are supposed to, then we will be healthy.
If we do not monitor the fruit,
Then someone might eat more than their share.
If we do not stand guard in our garden,
A thief might come into the garden to steal our fruit.
The fruit for our family.
For their garden must be barren and their crops have spoiled.
Our garden will stand the test of all seasons.
As all gardens do.
Another garden will also experience the same seasons.
Just at different times.
All gardens face rain.
All gardens get sun.
It is the rain that nourishes the garden and helps it's life to grow.
But our garden must be maintained regularly.
Only artificial things require no maintenance.
The artificial has no life.
It is fake, it is plastic.
Our garden needs to be real.
So life may grow and continue to grow.
So one day our children can enjoy a garden of their own.
For them and their children.
May their garden be overflowing with life and love.
And be the most beautiful garden in the world.
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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The Disgarded Garden
Their once was a young man who wanted to become a Gardner. There once was a young Rose Tree that wanted a Gardener. They met each other one summer day and began what seemed to be a beautiful relationship. The Gardner was attentive of his garden along with his Rose Tree and the Rose Tree was so happy that its tender branches grew and it bloomed continuously for the Gardner so he’d always be happy.
As time went by the Rose Tree noticed that Gardner wouldn’t tend to her as much as he once did. And when he did he would cut away harshly at the Rose Tree. The Rose Tree being a simple plant who did not need much attention still bloomed for the Gardner. It seemed the more she tried, the more the Gardner would cut away and the tree was now nestled in the ground. Why could this be? He had a bountiful garden that any Gardner would have loved to have. What more could anyone want thought the Rose Tree.
Now in an abandoned garden the Rose Tree grows back its branches, with very thick thorn’s to protect it self. As time goes by one day, out of nowhere appears a Gardener who has silently admired the Rose Tree from outside the garden gates and begins to nurture the Rose Tree in her garden. He tenderly and sympathetically pulls away all the weeds and brush from the Rose Tree so the air, rain & sunshine can reach her again. Allowing her the opportunity to grow back as she once was; vibrant, strong, colorful and to be simply, herself.
This is something the Rose Tree had long forgotten and is very grateful for the loving words of encouragement and kindness that her new Gardner has shown. She longingly awaits for his visits and when the Gardner comes to see her she bloom’s for him and relaxes underneath his beautifully kind smile. My darling Gardner, I am glad fate has brought you to walk along the path leading to the once lost garden and Rose Tree.
poem by Sarah Barron
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The Weed
There was an old woman
that planted a garden.
And in the garden
there grew a weed.
The weed grew next to
a beautiful flower.
The flower had grown
from a tiny seed.
The weed was strong
and would not bend.
The wind did blow
and it did send
the seeds from the flower
into the air.
They circled around
and landed where
the weed was growing
next to the flower.
Soon the weed was
surrounded by flowers.
It loved where it was
and looked by the hours
at all of the beautiful
colorful flowers.
The old woman who planted
the garden one day
decided that she would
make a bouquet.
She went to the garden
to cut the flowers.
But when she got there
down came the showers.
The raindrops that fell
made the weed shine
which made the old woman
change her mind.
She left them alone
in her garden and knew
that the weed belonged
with the flowers that grew.
She'd planted the flowers.
God planted the weed.
The garden was perfect.
No bouquet did she need.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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The garden is my weeping heart
There is no fertilizer at all
But they grow without any quarrels.
Flowers in different colors
And varieties of fragrance.
I have no fence and restrictions too.
Birds, bees, butterflies and hornets idle.
Some trespassers with strong hands,
Sometimes very cruel.
Please do not pluck in that way as it's painful
And let the flowers wither.
One day I have to abandon the garden
As my soul takes wings.
But you find another gardener there.
* Spring comes and goes, yet comes again.
What a wonderful shuttle the nature is?
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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The Despot
1 The garden mould was damp and chill,
2 Winter had had his brutal will
3 Since over all the year's content
4 His devastating legions went.
5 Then Spring's bright banners came: there woke
6 Millions of little growing folk
7 Who thrilled to know the winter done,
8 Gave thanks, and strove towards the sun.
9 Not so the elect; reserved, and slow
10 To trust a stranger-sun and grow,
11 They hesitated, cowered and hid
12 Waiting to see what others did.
13 Yet even they, a little, grew,
14 Put out prim leaves to day and dew,
15 And lifted level formal heads
16 In their appointed garden beds.
17 The gardener came: he coldly loved
18 The flowers that lived as he approved,
19 That duly, decorously grew
20 As he, the despot, meant them to.
21 He saw the wildlings flower more brave
22 And bright than any cultured slave;
23 Yet, since he had not set them there,
24 He hated them for being fair.
25 So he uprooted, one by one
26 The free things that had loved the sun,
27 The happy, eager, fruitful seeds
28 That had not known that they were weeds.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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More things grow in the garden than the gardener sows.
In This Garden
In this garden
In this beautiful garden
The flowers and the grass
The stones and the water
The sculptures and all art
Sing a song
A song of beauty
A song of harmony
A song of hope
The wind whistles gently
Is it to the east?
Or is it to the west?
I don’t know and I don’t need to know
All is so beautiful
Hush…
Hush humanity
Hush…
I can feel the scent on y nostrils
The scent of the flowers
The sound of the water nearby welcoming
Peace
In this garden
In this beautiful garden
With beautiful flowers
Where art lives
Hush
Play the music
Let the flowers live the music
Let the drums be heard
Let the music come to life
Play the music
Let it be heard here today
In this garden
In this beautiful garden
With very beautiful flowers
Where art comes to life
poem by Jack Shaka
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My Garden
I guard my gardener
Who is me, and just me.
Opening a lawn is
To grow grass with seeds alone.
My thinking is safely
Being thought by the roots
And the plants seem to be
A lot of pleasure then.
Hosing is fine this time
As well as watering.
My garden skills are best
But is my gardening
Any good, or all bad?
poem by Naveed Akram
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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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Do Not Go To The Garden Of Flowers
Do not go to the garden of flowers!
Do not go to the garden of flowers!
O Friend! go not there;
In your body is the garden of flowers.
Take your seat on the thousand petals of the lotus,
and there gaze on the Infinite Beauty.