Four Trees—upon a solitary Acre
742
Four Trees—upon a solitary Acre—
Without Design
Or Order, or Apparent Action—
Maintain—
The Sun—upon a Morning meets them—
The Wind—
No nearer Neighbor—have they—
But God—
The Acre gives them—Place—
They—Him—Attention of Passer by—
Of Shadow, or of Squirrel, haply—
Or Boy—
What Deed is Theirs unto the General Nature—
What Plan
They severally—retard—or further—
Unknown—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Related quotes
Hero's Acre
Brave Mary Magdalene of Magdala
She stood by Jesus' side after
The treacherous disciples had fled!
She was there when he died on
The cross.Oh Mary! She did not
Cross question and interrogate
The son of God when He demonstrated
How feeble death in reality is!
But don't mention her in
The presence of the pen
Pushers of Hero's Acre!
They will glare at you and
Claim the fame for themselves
Mother Theresa Of The gutters
She worked like a slave in the slum
Woe unto the robbers of Hero's Acre
The credit they say is theirs!
Her name they're content to
Bury in the mud of the gutter
The lesser known Blanche Moyilwa
Was executed by her mother and father
She would not trade her faith for
the known superstitions!
Afterward they claimed her saint's
Powers for themselves and you will
Hear the bosses of Hero's Acre mention
Her name in dark angry undertones
Why is Hero's Acre everywhere manned
By those who worship the power mongers
And not those who worked themselves
To death for the common good of humanity?
And is the world challenged to smell
The putrid dung of gender discrimination
Again? And what are you fighting to do to
Correct the glaring imbalances in Hero's Acre?
poem by Ngaka Motaung
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God's-Acre
I like that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls
The burial-ground God's-Acre! It is just;
It consecrates each grave within its walls,
And breathes a benison o'er the sleeping dust.
God's-Acre! Yes, that blessed name imparts
Comfort to those, who in the grave have sown
The seed that they had garnered in their hearts,
Their bread of life, alas! no more their own.
Into its furrows shall we all be cast,
In the sure faith, that we shall rise again
At the great harvest, when the archangel's blast
Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff and grain.
Then shall the good stand in immortal bloom,
In the fair gardens of that second birth;
And each bright blossom mingle its perfume
With that of flowers, which never bloomed on earth.
With thy rude ploughahare, Death, turn up the sod,
And spread the furrow for the seed we sow;
This is the field and Acre of our God,
This is the place where human harvests grow!
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Meat is an inefficient way to eat. An acre of land can yield 20,000 pounds of potatoes, but that same acre would only graze enough cows to get 165 pounds of meat.
quote by Alexandra Paul
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Squirrel Said
The Squirrel said.
'Attention all! '
He stands tall.
On a wooden fence,
in suspense.
Their Squirrel Head,
Their squirrel said,
'My nuts are gone,
My nuts are gone! '
Did you check under your bed?
Another squirrel joking said,
'Of course I did! ' the squirrel said,
'I am the Squirrel head'.
Maybe you forgot you've ate,
Autumn now, it's not too late,
Just look for more, Squirrel Head,
An elderly wise squirrel said.
Shadowland (Love Poem)
Trees whisper with a lazy-leafed murmur,
Starlight strange in this shadow-land stark,
At night window-watching, wanting, wishing,
Empty black winding road, without you.
Wind moans soft and branches knock,
Ceiling alive with my shadow nightmare,
An acre of bed, listless, lonely, longing,
Soft white sheets unruffled, without you.
Rain rattles like a rasping smoker’s cough,
Spot-lit droplets make snail shadowed walls
Staring solo awake, alone, alert, alas,
Boredom-struck insomniac, without you.
poem by Ian Beckett
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Retard Girl
Retard girl makes us sick
Retard, poke her with a stick
Well she walks funny, kind of like a pig
Gotta hate that retard girl
See the retard girl walking in her school
In the same dress from fourth grade
See the retard girl cross-eyed in the schoolyard
Looking for the friend she made
Retard girl
Retard girl
Retard girl
Dont forget her face
Now shines the moon among the lake of fire
Shes sucking dick out in the yard
Well she walks funny, kind of like a pig
Gotta hate that retard girl
Hear the retard girl do one for me
She dont think like the others do
See the retard girl squirming in the mud
Throw her in the trash can, see what she does
Retard girl
Retard girl
Retard girl
Dont forget her face
I ask her mother, whyd you implode
Well, her heads so big it just might explode
And she walks funny, kind of like a pig
Gotta hate that retard girl
Hit her
See the retard girl staring at the sun
What does she see
See the retard girl stare at everyone
I hope she doesnt see me
Retard girl
Retard girl
Retard girl
Dont forget her face
Retard girl
Retard girl
Retard girl
Dont throw her away
song performed by by Hole
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Home Acre
Is this your home-acre
Dark beauty of mine,
Cold winds and rash words
And long hurts and harsh wine,
Caught fast in disasters
That seldom relent,
Am I your un-maker
My sweet discontent?
Is this your home-acre
This bleak, loveless tor,
Where promises are lost in
The dreams on your shore,
Where all that you hoped for
And wished for your own
Was left in harsh soil with
The seeds that I’d sown?
6 September 1979
poem by David Lewis Paget
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~~It was May, The Summer of my 12th Year~~
My fathers' field
acre upon acre of hay
barren in May
from winters blight
perfect for me to play
~~
Flat land
as far as I could see
except for one huge pine tree
a young boy, idealistic still
I thought this tree was grown for me
~~
I climbed the tree most every day
climbing right to the very top
branches formed a perfect seat
magically sitting there
time would stop
~~
Wind would blow, branches creaked
the tree and I swaying with the breeze
protected in my tree
ignorant of life's confusion...
its little ambiguities
~~
Now I wonder, as I sit
in these my twilight days
if only I could travel back
to that my 12th year in May
to hear the wind, smell the pine
and feel the boughs as they sway
~~
I would love to whisper one more time
to my very special tree
thank you so for keeping me safe
and all the memories
but most of all for the excitement
and the passion for feeling free
poem by Peter Shea
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God and man
Although God may be known,
apart from the way we do
in worlds, planets unknown
even if we do not mean to,
we judge Him as we find Him in our own
but He knows us from our design, the plan,
knows everything that is thrown
in to a mere body, mind and soul, into man
but more intimately He knows every thought,
sees every single deed
whether good or bad, sought or unsought
and if we live to a creed or however we proceed
but who can tell me why we are born
into a world that is torn apart, into a place of scorn?
poem by Gert Strydom
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An Oregon Message
When we first moved here, pulled
the trees in around us, curled
our backs to the wind, no one
had ever hit the moon—no one.
Now our trees are safer than the stars,
and only other people's neglect
is our precious and abiding shell,
pierced by meteors, radar, and the telephone.
From our snug place we shout
religiously for attention, in order to hide:
only silence or evasion will bring
dangerous notice, the hovering hawk
of the state, or the sudden quiet stare
and fatal estimate of an alerted neighbor.
This message we smuggle out in
its plain cover, to be opened
quietly: Friends everywhere—
we are alive! Those moon rockets
have missed millions of secret
places! Best wishes.
Burn this.
poem by William Stafford
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Morning And Evening
The morning comes, the trees are in life
As they sway to the body of song such as wind;
Leafless everywhere, the season is fun,
Dangerous is this state of affairs.
The evening rests in peace as the sun is a star
Of strength and happiness, the full action
Of our job and profession, always in time.
The whole business of the week is done,
As the leaves of the trees wend their way down.
The brothers of the winds are like sisters
As their fairness is exceptional
Much too much, and farther it travels
And further the time unwinds.
The morning is again in action
After the nocturnal suffering of a night
In action, the thoughts of the day are upon us.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Annishell
Annishell annishell
Annishell leave
Leaving your armor your tresses your grief
Grief for the farmer a dollarless seed
Leasing and borrow an acre to feed
Annishell annishell
Annishell leave
Leaf to a farmer the falling to heed
Grief for the farmer an acre to feed
Leach on your armor I trespass your seed
poem by Jr. Phelps Frederic Pond
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Yes, You....
the whole night
the dog that they tied on the pole
exposed to the rain
and trembling in the cold
was barking too hard
it did not rest to call attention
for help
no neighbor came to save it
and transfer it
to a sheltered place
afraid that it may bite
as dogs are
by their nature
the following morning
the neighbors are complaining
and they ask you
about it
you are blind to all these
you are deaf
you have no dog to own
you want to be angry
you have no time
yet you have nowhere to go
and does not want to speak
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Grand Plan
Supple as time the constant pace
Death has no legacy
Searching for strength
Plans can be roots
Grace is there in sublime simplicity
Design a testimony of such intricacy
Meditation sees across the meadow
No religion can paint the picture
Goldfinches in the erudite wind
Communion of shadow and morning
Awake into your choices
Awake into a marvelous place
Awake into what you see
Outside of yourself is a real world
Joy is a deep sea deeper than you
Even my cat reflects the stars
Love shines with every sun
Awake into the grand plan
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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Good And Evil.
Good thoughts, 'tis said, are no more than good dreams
Save they be into action put, and that
On opportunity depends. Alas!
If place and power cohered, what good were done
Which else, a babe still-born, has no way here,
But in the womb of good intention fails,
The heart's abortion! Ay, and thuswise too,
Full many a foul intent in that it has
No power or place of action is debarred
A monstrous birth. So nature haply does
In some mysterious way we do not know
Still hold the balance 'tween the good and ill
Of thought in action here, and we become
(In spite of our own selves full oft indeed)
Dispensers of a higher equity
Than the bare law of reason would allow.
poem by Robert Crawford
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God's Gift - Nature...........
When the beautiful morning comes
The rays of rising sun kiss her
When the garden of nature open its heart
The garden of flowers hugs her to welcome
When the trees dance to tune of wind
The birds singing to the nature's choir
When the gentleness of nature is filled pleasure
Then the earth get wet with weather
When the nature forgets its vastness
Then the God shows her how big her place on earth
Let us thank God for his creation and given us
eyes to see lovely gift - Nature
poem by Ravi Sathasivam
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The Whispering Wind
Don’t you love the sound of the wind
As it whispers through the trees?
A delicate swish some times
And at others it’s quite a furious breeze
We need it to pollinate plants and such
What would we do without wind?
Picking up seeds and pollen
And off to unknown places it sends
It cools things down when it’s stifling hot
Blows the dust off of dirty ‘ole things
There’s a refreshing cool breeze off the ocean
Ah yes, many wonderful things the wind brings
And then there’s the amazing sport
That needs wind in order to send
Balloons flying up into the sky
In order for them to transcend
So when we think about how important
The whispering wind is to us all
Think about being in a balloon without it
For down to the ground it would fall!
poem by Marilyn Lott
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Lilydale
[ music: robert buck/lyric: natalie merchant ]
Come as we go far away
From the noise of the street
Walk a path so narrow
To a place where we feel at ease
Some think it is haunting
To be drawn to the cemetery ground
As we
Theres a stillness here
Thankful found
Childs pose angelic
A stone lamb at her feet
Part the matted overgrowth
To read the carven elegy
Some think it so haunting
To be drawn to the cemetery ground
As we
Theres a stillness here
Thankful found
Born in new albion
Of rice family elite
Wed to myron bilowe
Thrice with sons
Blessed was she
Some think it so haunting
To be drawn to the cemetery ground
As we
Gods acre is a fenced in
Hollow ground
Here soon to rise up
Amelia tender and sweet
Her last words spoke
All is well
All is peace
Some think it so haunting
To be drawn to the cemetery ground
As we
Gods acre is a fenced in
Hollow ground
song performed by by 10000 Maniacs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I, the Unknown Soldier
The sun burnt down ferociously
when he stumbled
and on an unknown passer I laid my hand
giving my orders, on the way to His crucifixion.
The bloodthirsty crowd and I showered
our curses, slander and humiliation on Him
but His eyes cut into my very soul and He was silent
stoical with unsurpassable love
and when I took the big hammer, drilling nails through Him
planting the cross with comrades in a hole and hanging Him,
thunderbolts were unleashed, nature lost its laws
and I a soldier, a mere human was caught
to a deed crying to high heaven
where I crucified God Himself and He pardoned me.
[Reference: Ek, die onbekende soldaat (I, the Unknown Soldier) by Ernst van Heerden.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Us
I was wrapped in black
fur and white fur and
you undid me and then
you placed me in gold light
and then you crowned me,
while snow fell outside
the door in diagonal darts.
While a ten-inch snow
came down like stars
in small calcium fragments,
we were in our own bodies
(that room that will bury us)
and you were in my body
(that room that will outlive us)
and at first I rubbed your
feet dry with a towel
because I was your slave
and then you called me princess.
Princess!
Oh then
I stood up in my gold skin
and I beat down the psalms
and I beat down the clothes
and you undid the bridle
and you undid the reins
and I undid the buttons,
the bones, the confusions,
the New England postcards,
the January ten o'clock night,
and we rose up like wheat,
acre after acre of gold,
and we harvested,
we harvested.
Anonymous submission.
poem by Anne Sexton
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