You, My Love Are The One
You, my love are the one
whom I had dreamt about
for many years while shedding many tears
that in my awakening was always gone,
but now you know me inside out.
You are a warm welcoming for a wanderer
who had roamed the deserted desert
and in the acrid wastes
suddenly I came upon
an oasis with water and trees
and some greenery
where with humility and openness
like in the first primal deed
you with sincerity loved me,
creating a little Eden of our own
a place where all worries are gone
and every little seed,
every word and deed
sprout out in abundance
to flower and bare fruit.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Word and the Deed
THE Word was first, says the revelation:
Justice is older than error or strife;
The Word preceded the Incarnation
As symbol and type of law and life.
And always so are the mighty changes:
The word must be sown in the heart like seed;
Men's hands must tend it, their lives defend it,
Till it burst into flower as a deathless Deed.
The primal truth neither dies nor slumbers,
But lives as the test of the common right,
That the laws proclaimed by the sworded numbers
May stand arraigned in the people's sight.
The Word is great, and no Deed is greater,
When both are of God, to follow or lead;
But, alas, for the truth when the Word comes later,
With questioned steps, to sustain the Deed.
Not the noblest acts can be true solutions;
The soul must be sated before the eye,
Else the passionate glory of revolutions
Shall pass like the flames that flash and die.
But forever the gain when the heart's convictions,
Rooted in nature the masses lead;
The cries of rebellion are benedictions
When the Word has flowered in a perfect Deed.
poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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A Dream Of Evolution....
shall a seed be
a seed forever?
do you not dream
someday that it shall
be planted
so that it can sprout
and grow
and then finally see
its flower
and fruit?
must the flower and fruit
be just the same
like the rest of the histories of
the other seeds
of their own form and kind?
must i hope
for an evolution
a seed turning
into a bee
a bee into
a butterfly into wind
into star?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Apple Seed
Spring is here
love it so dear.
Being an apple seed,
and doing my good deed.
Keeping the doctor away,
for many years this tree will stay.
Just waiting for picking time
and watching workers as they climb.
Seed to apple so sweet
working so hard what a feat.
Apple cider to apple pie,
selling apples for people to buy.
Being an apple seed
and doing my good deed.
Being picked off this tree
from this place I will flee.
wrote 4-30-07
The Confirmation
Yes, yours, my love, is the right human face.
I in my mind had waited for this long,
Seeing the false and searching for the true,
Then found you as a traveller finds a place
Of welcome suddenly amid the wrong
Valleys and rocks and twisting roads. But you,
What shall I call you? A fountain in a waste,
A well of water in a country dry,
Or anything that's honest and good, an eye
That makes the whole world seem bright. Your open heart,
Simple with giving, gives the primal deed,
The first good world, the blossom, the blowing seed,
The hearth, the steadfast land, the wandering sea.
Not beautiful or rare in every part.
But like yourself, as they were meant to be.
poem by Edwin Muir
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One's Soft Silver String!
The well is full
but it not overflows
a draining mechanism
Keeps it Leveled
the seed of the desert
stored inside the chest
sleep, does not germinate
but is ready to sprout
Awaits the the well leak!
lost love, bad memories
their defenses, pain
perfectly filed and labeled
with all sorts of excuses
The desert awaits for ruling
The body sick the killer mind
the lack of love for inhumanity
false kisses, false words
so kindly treasured by impunity
Await the excuses ending
Oh! So many waits and
i need a flood of water
One seed to sprout
before someone touch one's soft silver string
poem by Mirna Morgan
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See off the worries
The deed on your accord may turn bad.
Curse not; the doing gave you pleasure.
The deed thrust on you may turn good.
Regret not the doing, the end in mind.
If the deed out of the will harmed
Ask pardon and repent till the end.
Then you will have beaten your worries.
03.01.12003
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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A Lay Of Old Time
One morning of the first sad Fall,
Poor Adam and his bride
Sat in the shade of Eden's wall--
But on the outer side.
She, blushing in her fig-leaf suit
For the chaste garb of old;
He, sighing o'er his bitter fruit
For Eden's drupes of gold.
Behind them, smiling in the morn,
Their forfeit garden lay,
Before them, wild with rock and thorn,
The desert stretched away.
They heard the air above them fanned,
A light step on the sward,
And lo! they saw before them stand
The angel of the Lord!
'Arise,' he said, 'why look behind,
When hope is all before,
And patient hand and willing mind,
Your loss may yet restore?
'I leave with you a spell whose power
Can make the desert glad,
And call around you fruit and flower
As fair as Eden had.
'I clothe your hands with power to lift
The curse from off your soil;
Your very doom shall seem a gift,
Your loss a gain through Toil.
'Go, cheerful as yon humming-bees,
To labor as to play.'
White glimmering over Eden's trees
The angel passed away.
The pilgrims of the world went forth
Obedient to the word,
And found where'er they tilled the earth
A garden of the Lord!
The thorn-tree cast its evil fruit
And blushed with plum and pear,
And seeded grass and trodden root
Grew sweet beneath their care.
We share our primal parents' fate,
And, in our turn and day,
Look back on Eden's sworded gate
As sad and lost as they.
But still for us his native skies
The pitying Angel leaves,
And leads through Toil to Paradise
New Adams and new Eves!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Deserted Island
This island is deserted
It is very hot
like the desert
with tons of sand
only theres trees
the trees sway in the breeze
like a cool wind blowing through the village
the water matches the sky here
It's clear blue
you can see everything right down to the sand
under the forever going ocean
there's coral and bright colored fish
it's as warm as
the hot sand under my feet and the summer sun
the isolation is unbelievable
it is unspeakable
the only movement is of the ocean and the trees
there is only me
this island is deserted
poem by Kristen Otto
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The Lord's Harvest of Plenty
What a truly awesome thought indeed,
That throughout your day you live among seed.
Not the seeds that one would find in the ground,
These are not seen, but in the heart they are found.
These seeds are planted by the children of God,
As they simply follow the path The Savior has trod.
Your life as a Christian is not merely good deeds,
As your faithful witness could plant one of these seeds.
Or your life may be busy with a seed you don't know,
And your faithful witness is helping that little seed grow.
Planting and watering, as a Christian, is all we afford,
While all of the growth of that seed comes from the Lord.
After a little growth it is no longer a seed,
But a new vibrant Christian prepared for a deed.
The deed that has been prepared, I'm sure that you know,
Is to plant some new seed and to help water and help grow.
Once they have grown, they are cut with God's sickle of love,
And taken by The Lord to their Father's Home up above.
Whether the numbers are few or they are many,
You can be part of The Lord's Harvest of Plenty.
(Copyright © 08/2002)
Adelaida
She's a flower in the desert
thirsting for the living water;
Her petals start to fall
with the burning sun scorching her,
the cruel sands hurting
while the wind is merely blowing.
You could see she's all alone -
a flower in the desert.
You could see her tears flowing,
making her alive -
for all those years she tried
to hide the pain she felt inside.
She never knew her tears,
sweet tears is making her alive.
Of how strong she was,
she never knew.
She watched herself as petals fell and flew -
even her broken heart fell...
but her contrite spirit cried in mighty prayer
to Him that's waiting for her prayer.
It rained. In the desert, it rained.
The once dying flower has blossomed.
With her face towards the heavens,
her thirst was quenched.
For out of her humble prayer
came the living water...
springing up unto everlasting life.
2June2011
Batac
For our investigator, Adelaida.
poem by Jessel Jane Tevar
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Good Deeds
The right deed is a good deed,
Feathers are reclined on since birth.
One saying carries new meaning
For those who listen and create deeds.
A man’s heart implores goodness from the soul,
This is beautiful when his wishes are met.
The deed of the heart is a greater deed,
It is a highest deed, full of promise.
You are higher than this of course,
The cushions we sit on are relaxing
Due to your tallness and weight,
This is a secret of the soul.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Waters of an Oasis
It's clearer than purified water
much expensive than processed water
sweeter than honey jelly
healthier than rain water.
It's scarce than ocean water
plenty than lake water
quenching than well's water
energizing than falls' waters.
Oasis fruits are sweeter
its grass are healthier
its breezes are more lulling
and a unique captivating topography.
Oasis love is more loving.
Oasis air is more fresh
oasis life is worth living
oasis care is more caring
oasis death is more victorious.
poem by Fate Mcfate
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Peeping a window
Peeping a window
Part 1
From inside you peep out
from outside you peep in;
to see the desired scene
keeping you unseen.
Part 2
Me and my friend were peeping
Through the same window
Having heartful bliss getting
a glimpse of her or her shadow
He did not know my deed
I did not know his deed
One day we got exposed
later window was closed
For him I gave up my desire
for me he sacrificed his longing
Our first seed of love was buried
before growing to seedling.
poem by S.D. Tiwari
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Fell Deed
a fell deed this night,
in the silent dark,
a dagger flashes,
and blood flows.
a fell deed this night,
done in candlelight,
the knife does fall,
as the victim tumbles.
a fell deed this night,
only a slight,
to the killer,
who doth run.
a fell deed this night,
running he be,
through the slight light,
a corner he turns.
a fell deed this night,
a bang a shot,
a gun doth drop,
a killer killed.
a fell deed this night,
a new killer laughs,
an evil sound.
a fell deed this night.
poem by Baden Ronie
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The Story of My Flower
Born a lovely flower
Watered with fresh water during rainy seasons
Sprinkled with just enough during the droughts
The flower lived to blossom
With scented petals and green leaves
in a pot so large to take all it could bear.
One sunny day
the pot with the flower was shifted
shifted to a completely new location
where it was deprived of the sunlight
and the abundance of water.
Necessary it was
A new start in a life supposedly so complete.
Time went by
Nevertheless, the flower continued blooming
The petals now larger
The scent even more appealing
The flower survived even without the bare necessities.
The now sensitive flower
Soon attracted the eyes of predators
A simple glance to start with
Then became a soft touch
Followed by multiples of rough care.
Soon the flower started to lose its shape and form
Being given insufficient supply of water
Inappropriate fertilizers
And most of all the wrong attention.
At last it withered
After long hours of torture
Long days of loneliness
and years of abundance
it turned yellow, then brown
Finally, what remained was just a lifeless stem
standing in an old dirty pot.
poem by Alexandra Isnard
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Why A Deed Done To Do
A deed to do that has been done,
Is best left to be discovered...
Than to await to get approval,
By those who will debate...
Why a deed done to do,
With a doing...
To disapprove of the doer.
As the deed done goes undiscussed,
Not to be mentioned.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Camel's Dream
When he deserted me
I deserted water
When I deserted the water,
it lost its shine crying.
Trees were growing dark in their places
in the woods; that evening he came to take me
with him clearing the thick glow of the sunset hues
then came he to make a path a kind of road
At the end of the road
I became the back he can ride
deserting many things I so long have to long for
while I look at the village
through those green trees
with my deep eyes
I saw him waiving at me
to bid me goodbye.
I was already entering the desert
and a portion of his road became the whole
the entire road for me.
For the borders of the nation he ruled
were the horizons of the four directions,
the sand hills I walk on with him on my back
were always the initial spot I had departed.
Numerous mornings and evenings met
on the rooftops of the sandhills where the
next morning and the sun crossed.
Originally what he wanted from me
was some amount of water he could use,
always in the shape of the water
I obeyed him.
At the same speed as the sunlight speedy
falls on the ground, stars fell.
With the power of the star-falls
the water soaked itself down to the ground
and then to
the roots of the sands.
Whenever his forehead shined
with full of heavenly words
and thirstied,
I dug up the roots of the sands
where the water gathers and kept it
in my body.
When the sun rose,
everything except the sands were
under the power of the sun;
when the wind blew,
everything along with the sands were
under the windy flows.
There I took out the water from my body
and washed his dry face.
When he loved me
I had a large amount of waters.
When he was communicating with someone
in heavens,
I listened to the music the sands were making.
Many trees were there with no shadows,
and the worlds I look through those trees were
always moving forward.
Through those trees the wind blew.
The thicket-bushes were weeping
and there came about some animals
who loved the bushes, and the one
who rides on my back
lets things to be ruled ruled
lets things to die dead.
He stands the trees and the animals
that resemble each other on their spots
then he passes by.
In the mean time he took out the water
from my body numerous times
and drank it to cleanse his body.
His songs made the sand hills
create echoes to echo
to ring through the regions afar.
When he finally changed the desert into the sea,
at its open entrance
I began to grow old all alone.
Though I wanted to serve him on the sea
he walked away from me
onto the sea.
Many years have gone by
and come along and
for me not to serve him on the sea
meant to go back to the desert, and
the sea had turned into the desert back again.
At its entrance to the sea,
I could not become a small boat for him.
All day long, I was lonely;
all night long, lonesome for days.
When he left me, I deserted the water,
I deserted again the act of deserting
and by deserting it, I no longer was left
to exist.
poem by by unknown author (22 June 2003), translated by Sangnam Nam
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The italians are wise before the deed; the germans in the deed; the french after the deed.
Don't Hold Back
To think and think inside your head
is not right.
Words must be said.
For silence will not complete the deed
nor will it plant the seed
in another to make them think.
To speak your thoughts and have them heard
is always better than a silent word.
So say it aloud whatever it may be.
Then watch for the eyes to open and see
a brand new way to think.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Universal Prayer
Give the people sweet relieve,
We need fresh water, Bread, Flour,
Medicine, Shelter,
Knowledge and Nutrition!
Put down our arms,
hold out our hands,
Deliver Alms to the Poor!
Give us Rain, Rain, OH, Sweet Blessing from the Sky!
OH limitless universal mind!
Pure light of consciousness!
Passing through and beyond all!
Purify our vision!
Enable our eyes to recognize your truth and beauty!
Liberate our senses!
Allow us to sense the Liberating union of all!
Give us the strength of awareness to act
in pure thoughtless mindful generosity!
Wash the world with thoughts of kindness!
May those thoughts sprout and bare your fruit
in every word action and deed!
Give us the courage to live actively by the dormant truth!
Wash away the fear! Wash away the fear!
With thoughts of kindness
bless us with your charitable tears!
Teach us the forgotten art of life and death
so every mind may bloom
a diamond rose corolla with infinite petals
of ever expanding clarity!
poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
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