Plowed, Planted, And Weeded
the human mind
is but a field...
it has to be plowed,
planted and weeded..
it needs sunlight and rain.
if the gardener is attentive,
the crop will be good.
if we let it lay untended,
it becomes a field of death!
the crop that we raise
is the food of the future...
plowed, planted, and weeded!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Related quotes
I have marched in many a battle host, but I have also planted seeds and reaped the harvest with my own hands. And I have learned there is greater honor in a field well plowed than in a field steeped in blood.
quote by Lloyd Alexander
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Farmer's Value
The worker in the field plays a vital role
Without him to operate the tractors and combines
The crop will not be quickly harvested
Without workers in the field
Supply will diminish; demand will go through the roof
The human will then be carnivorous
Relying solely on the animal for food
Meanwhile, the animal eats the crop
That the worker does not harvest
I appreciate and praise the hard worker
For he is harvesting the crop I consume.
poem by Nick Leary
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Working Poor!
the working poor
are like seeds planted
in a field....
if you plant enough,
you can cull the weaker ones,
and have a good crop
to do the job...
this is the mentality
that we have to change!
and it begins
with putting names
to each and every face!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Buckwheat may be planted later than any similar crop, and often does well on old meadows or waste land that can be broken after the more exacting crops are planted.
quote by David F. Houston
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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For the Gulf States, perhaps no forage crop of which the available seed supply is relatively abundant exceeds the velvet bean in potential value. This legume possesses also the ability to make a crop when planted relatively late.
quote by David F. Houston
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One, Two, One... For You
the dust in the empty pockets
of the poor man,
walking home from work.
the plowed field just planted,
at the feet of sun and rain.
the simple house built by hand,
lifetimes written into the walls.
the last touch, the last kiss,
the moment never forgotten....
hearts wrapped in hearts,
live and die as one...
one set of footprints,
one name on the stone.
one set of wings,
one fire, one clap of thunder.
two words spoken, two empty vases.
one heart, one hawk flying,
two hands times two,
one dream!
two sparrows part,
one nest, and one tree!
two sides, two faces...
one memory!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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You are not a man until you have plowed a field.
Summer Was A Bummer
(hank coochran/dean dillon)
Hello mary ann
Cant tell you how good it is to see you again
Hows your mother and your brother
Have you still got that ol dog?
Well Im not so fine, tell me what was college like in caroline
Sure you really want to know
Well heres the way without you goes
Summer was a bummer
A no good for nothing fall and the winter brought a lot of snow
We had a bumper crop planted & it all got washed away in the floods worst
Weather ever
Without you around there wasnt any love to grow
Youre kiddin me, youre really moving back here finally
Well thats great, the same place
Do you know what youre numbers gonna be?
How bout tonight?
Right nows just fine with me, right nows just right
You know I still do, even when I didnt hear from you all last year
Summer was a bummer
And a no good for nothing fall & the winter brought a lot of snow
But we got a bumper crop planted & granted I dont know a whole lot about
The
Weather
But one thing I do know, with you back around
A whole lotta loves gonna grow
Hello mary ann
song performed by by Wade Hayes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Fallow Field
I have kept this fallow field
When I must be a horseman,
A keeper of wills and minds
With no shadows, no designs.
Their hooves are planted
In the field so young in taste.
A fool clasps its mind
When evil shadows must be;
It must be the stallions
That bring joy to the very heart.
I am burdened by the boaster
Of this fallow field.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Planting African Marigolds (Cavatina Sequence)
Under the summer sun's harsh glare I hoed
and I weeded,
to and fro I planted the seed in rows,
flowers I needed
to like their mother grow almost waist high
but unheeded
of all my efforts not a single one
appeared as the soil turned to stone.
Some more seeds I harvested from dried buds
as spring came on,
some the weavers might as their food devour,
they may be gone
with the whispering churning rampant wind
but some alone
would burst through the earth, would no season mar,
like blazing flaming yellow and red stars.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Like A Willow Tree
Planted in a fertile field,
Placed in abundant waters,
And like a willow tree;
But it became a spreading vine of low stature!
And began to put forth sprouts in the name of love and care,
For, it is now planted! !
And it will flourish.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Garden in my inner square
I planted a vegetable garden
in the inner square opposite a mural
and next to it there are flowers that only in the morning hour
spread their cups and spiral up against every side,
where it finds a holding place and grow hillock on hillock
over every thing with purple flowers that only last a short time.
I planted a vegetable garden
in the inner square opposite a mural,
where mountains tooth out blue in the background
and field after field of purple lavender bushes stand at the front
and there’s a shop owner sending his servants on bicycles around
and at the bottom in fruitful red sand
a vegetable garden was planted by me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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You Must Dropp The Seed
i am the field, plowed fertile field
near the river
some dogs are buried within me
some snakes live here
i know their wishes and desire
somehow i wait for you as the rain
and you as the sower
of the seeds
pour some sweat of your brow
and let your arms swing
let the seeds
fall
that is all i want
that is all that i am waiting for
just dropp the seed
and i will let them grow
then you can leave
i will take care of the snakes
and i will always remember all the dogs sleeping here
now you must leave
the seeds shall grow spontaneously as i watch the seasons change
t
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Notebook and The Pen
Register the birth.
Now register the death.
All unfinished business
ends with the breath.
Ends. But then again begins
as we all come back for more.
Even though we long forgot
what it is we come back for.
Only while the breath continues
to feed the brain
and work the sinews,
can we put an end to pain
and stop it coming back again.
Keep a record of what's needed
to be done (or else undone) :
to be planted (to be weeded)
to be finished (or begun) .
poem by Brian Taylor
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Fabric of Thought
When misdeeds are found to crop,
In the backyards of those...
Who have planted their own sorrows.
What good is a forgiveness given?
When revelations of deceit...
Are much closer than what's believed.
Or told,
Just to keep deceptions done.
To secretly perform...
An ensurance of defeat,
With intentions to undo...
A neighbor's quiet sleep!
When misdeeds are found to crop,
In the backyards of those...
Who have planted their own sorrows.
In such distrusting hidden ways.
What good is a forgiveness given?
When revelations of deceit...
Are much closer than what's believed.
Or told to keep deceptions done.
To secretly perform...
An ensurance of defeat,
With intentions to undo...
A neighbor's quiet sleep!
One soundly is led to believe...
A way of life lived,
Leaves and gives a respected ease.
Secured in a tight knit fit of safety!
Only to exposing,
A fabric of thought...
Woven and quilted into mindsets.
And taught by those insecure!
And supressing...
A denied contempt for themselves.
That is...
Cloaked!
Within a stitching of hypocrisies!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Revelation...
i am...
something more
than my regrets,
something less,
than my dreams.
more of a carpenter
than a sculptor,
more of a farmer
than a savior.
dented, bruised, dusty,
and often busted.
i know the darkness
as well as the light,
sometimes better!
peaceful, but not a pushover,
will fight when cornered.
know about your jails,
and the prison of self.
been a drunkard, been a healer,
a mad lover, an unholy priest.
i've plowed the earth,
plowed the body,
built fires in the rain.
i am...
forgiveness, redemption,
passion, and spirit.
i am what i am,
and that is enough!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Heaps Of Rubble
Heaps of rubble,
Like the high places of the forest;
But you will be weeded like a field.
He or she who say i know Him but does not keep His Laws is a lair!
And the truth is not in him or her;
But the high places of the forest will bear the witness.
Revealing,
Differently,
Distinguishes,
Sons and daughters;
Compared to chemotherapy,
But only Yahweh can foretell future events.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The Monkeys
and after he cut the grasses
plowed the farm and planted
it all with corn
the monkeys simply watch
and keep on playing
on the branches of the trees,
and when
the corn grew and showed
their big ears and
golden hair,
there and then the monkeys
came and made their claim.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Who Will Teach?
have you ever
built a house,
plowed a field,
cut firewood,
caught a fish,
and cooked it over
your own fire?
have your children?
what happens when
it all falls down,
and we have to start over?
who knows how to survive?
and who will teach others?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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You Ask Me If I Miss The Place
you ask me if i miss
home, and i did not answer you
i go out the door and see
a line of corn growing
along the field
that i plowed
the rooster cocks
a long call
and up there
the hawk
circles us
beside a
dark cloud
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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