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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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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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
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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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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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Caring For My Garden
Negative thoughts are not,
allowed in my garden.
I clear weeds as I go,
Sprinkle positive thoughts,
Sew new seeds daily,
I am the gardner,
Caring for my garden.
poem by Heather Burns
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Sorrow Seeks...
Sorrow Seeks...
Sorrow seeks...
Like the roots of weeds
And as the roots grow deeper
the weight descends
Like gnarled hands grasping at your throat
Choking out the beauty within
A dandelion with a face that glows of golden sun
But within the soil it's roots grow so deep
With one pluck you think it is gone for good
Only to return stronger than before
Sorrow seeks...
Like the roots of weeds
4 April 2008
The Garden
I found a garden in the shaded woods,
My nose led me to the aromatic magic it produced.
Every plant struggled for a ray of sun.
Then my work had begun,
I did all by hand.
The rich loam held promise,
That my toil was not in vain.
I climbed high and low.
To allow sunshine, air and rain.
Whos garden I pondered,
Then thought with a sigh.
Mine is not to reason why.
I left some beautiful weeds,
For they deserved some of this good deed.
Regal the roses,
And lowly the weed.
Beauty is but in the eye of the beholder.
Life is short for you and I.
And so for natures downtrodden.
Mother nature never has a blind eye.
So the garden flourished from spring to fall.
With the help of the sun air and rain.
And with the sweat of my brow,
And my backs aged pain.
Solitare Rose
A Solitary Rose 'tis growing...
In a Garden filled to the full with weeds...
With velvet soft petals of 'deep' red...
Today, that red Rose simply bleeds;
'Tis not the thorns of her stems...
Nor the lack of mother nurture nor care...
Its more the torments O' time...eons...
That bleeds out the Rose in despair;
For their 'tis n'er a good outcome...!
For people who practice to do deliberate wrong...! !
Only hope for the flowers that give joy to the Earth...!
For 'tis to this Earthly sod that they truly belong;
June 7,2010
The Essence
poem by Theodora Onken
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Name The Rose
Name The Rose.
All those bloody roses I’m, weeding my garden and
around the house, but they keep coming through.
The slightest cracks in pavements and up they come
ruining the best laid walkway. Unstoppable blowing
a raspberry to any guard who tries to challenge them.
On the track where I walk blue weeds try to break
through and get a bit of sun light, but gory roses
have stolen, occupied all the best air and land. It has
happened before, will happen again, they eventually
will be cut down, but history mostly written by roses,
will call it a calamity and tell us not to forget. For a few
years lesser blue weeds can be free and pursue their
freedom, but they must never forget roses scents can
overwhelm the strongest mind.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Mysteries of The Kingdom
Some mysteries of The Kingdom were, given in parables for us to infer,
Some secrets of The Kingdom of God, while still upon this earthly sod.
Parables spoken by Jesus Christ, to demonstrate Truths of Eternal Life,
Hidden from the hearts and eyes; where God’s Truths are just despised.
Christ spoke of the faithful sower, planting seed for the Eternal Grower,
Then Jesus Christ went on to say, that not all seed fell in the same way,
Some fell onto the walking path, and soon destroyed, by Satan’s wrath.
Some seed fell upon the rocky soil, and with no root, soon would spoil.
Some seed fell within thorny soil, and was unfruitful because of the toil.
But in good soil some was sown, and an abundance of fruit was grown.
The Kingdom, Christ went on to say, was just like a field in another way,
Where there was good seed sown, weeds around that wheat had grown.
For the enemy had sown in the field, weeds where the crop would yield,
But to not uproot what was good, he let the weeds grow as they would.
The weeds would remain until harvest, but not to be treated as the rest,
The weeds are bundled to be burned, saving the wheat as they learned.
And in the garden is the mustard seed, with a Truth that we could heed,
Small and unimpressive in size, but, from it the largest plant would rise.
Christ spoke of yeast and its effect, in The Kingdom through the Elect,
Just as it is mixed in the dough, with the Spirit, growth begins to show.
The Kingdom’s like hidden treasure, filling the finder with such pleasure,
That he hides it again and is glad, to buy the field, spending all he had.
Like a fine pearl found by a merchant; all his property, would be spent,
To buy this one pearl of such worth, one which he found, here on earth.
The Kingdom of Heaven’s like a net, of a fisherman and all of his catch,
When it’s full and pulled to shore, it had good fish but it also had more,
The good, put into baskets to keep; the bad thrown back into the deep.
This, just like the end of this Age, with the deep being an eternal grave,
When angels gather souls of men, the righteous and those condemned,
The condemned, to fires below, while the righteous, to Heaven they go.
All these parables spoken of, illustrate The Kingdom of Heaven above,
And by Jesus Christ, are given to us, who in Him have placed our trust.
(Copyright ©01/2008)
Anticipating Not
They move ahead with certainty, what they plan will come to be,
Making plans with an expectation, waiting with sure anticipation,
That the plans which they sow, just like a tree, shall surely grow,
But, without Christ, for sure, the plans they make will not endure.
Nations also make their plans too, with expectations, this is true,
However, the plans they long to see, are not sown with certainty,
Because the Decrees of The Lord, by many nations, go ignored,
So those darker plans of men, God Himself will surely condemn.
Many a people and nations too, plot out a plan that they pursue,
As they pursue their every desire, of other men they may inquire,
Never looking into God’s Ways, for they seek only man’s praise,
In man’s ways they put their trust, in beings who return unto dust.
Many plans which we see today, are put in place by men of clay,
Their plans fail before they begin, for they are inundated with sin,
And these men are like the grass, promoting ways that won’t last,
The dark plans that they create, The Righteous Lord will frustrate.
Man made plans oppose The Lord, and their ways aren’t ignored,
By a Sovereign Righteous God, reigning over all this earthly sod,
In the plans many contemplate, Judgment they do not anticipate,
So plans are ended by the Lord, as Judgment by God is poured.
The Lord’s Spirit will not contend, with man’s evil ways in the end,
Man’s foolishness, in God’s eyes, is thought by many to be wise,
Man’s godless ways and thought, will bring man’s plan to naught,
As the only plan that shall endure, is the Eternal plan of The Lord.
(Copyright ©12/2009)
The Garden
A Garden contemplation suits,
And may instruction yield,
Sweeter than all the flow'rs and fruits
With which the spot is filled.
Eden was Adam's dwelling place,
While blest with innocence;
But sin o'erwhelmed him with disgrace,
And drove the rebel thence.
Oft as the garden-walk we tread,
We should bemoan his fall;
The trespass of our legal head
In ruin plunged us all.
The garden of Gethsemane,
The second Adam saw,
Oppressed with woe, to set us free
From the avenging law.
How stupid we, who can forget,
With gardens in our sight,
His agonies and bloody sweat,
In that tremendous night.
His church as a fair garden stands,
Which walls of love enclose;
Each tree is planted by his hand,
And by his blessing grows.
Believing hearts are gardens too,
For grace has sown its seeds;
Where once, by nature, nothing grew
But thorns and worthless weeds.
Such themes to those who Jesus love,
May constant joys afford;
And make a barren desert prove
The garden of the Lord.
poem by John Newton
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Sonnet: Why is my Medical Practice Dull?
I wonder why my practice ne’er picks up!
I’ve tried to correct lapses on my side;
My practice always stays my woeful cup;
Each eve, I muse while on my scooter-ride!
I ponder why but it is of no use;
The profit made is not a sum worthwhile;
My precious time improves my soaring muse;
Will God not see my prayerful plea-file?
And yet, my mind is steadfast as a rock;
I can’t discern the plans God has for me;
I cannot bear the ways people can mock;
How can I fleece the men of poverty?
Perhaps, my clinic is a place to pray!
God leads His righteous souls in strange a way!
poem by John Celes
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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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The Orange Rose
A yellow rose struggles to breathe
Among high weeds and dry earth
A broken board bangs against the house
Dirt and debris lays on a broken tile
The house shudders, remembers its old worth
It's hard to remember the friendly smile
The children's laughter, the family love
This was the cherished dream, the ideal
Home Sweet Home shone from above
Roses bloomed in a manicured garden
New again time becomes a wheel
In the yard a new rose blooms
Orange and violent consuming the weeds
It spreads to the house like a clinging vine
Leaving black leaves in its wake
Seeing its destruction as a new seed
poem by Patricia Williams
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The Weeds or The Wheat
When all of creation, for eternity, bow at The Lord's feet,
Will you be separated and gathered with the weeds or the wheat?
Those who believe and are saved, whom The Lord calls the wheat,
Will humbly and thankfully cast all their reward at His feet.
While all of those who continued in their own willful deeds,
The Lord will separate from the wheat and mark them as weeds.
While the weeds, who were deceived by the evil one into unbelief,
Will suffer for their choice throughout all eternity with no relief.
The wheat will be gathered by The Lord and brought into His barn,
Taken to their home in Heaven where they will face no more harm.
However, all of the weeds will be bundled and tossed into the fire,
Cast into eternal darkness, although this is not The Lord's desire.
The Lord's will is not eternal damnation for any man or nation,
But that all men will truly believe and accept His gift of Salvation.
The patience of The Lord is truly a mystery and something to cherish,
For in His unparalleled love for the world He wants no one to perish.
As people in the world, that He created, truly get colder and colder,
Christians He set apart for a purpose should get bolder and bolder.
The Christian's boldness should be filled with His eternal desire,
To share The Good News with all and so snatch them from the fire.
(Copyright © 06/2002)
A man o' words, and no o' deeds, is like a garden fu' o' weeds.
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A man of words, but no deeds, is like a garden full of weeds.
A man of words and not of deeds is like a garden full of weeds.