Active judge is wind
Busy doing leaves and flowers
Secret helper bees
haiku by Indira Renganathan
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Related quotes
Sonnet: The Wind
What shakes the trees so violently? ’Tis Wind;
What moves the clouds hither/ thither? ’Tis Wind;
What takes the tornado around? ’Tis Wind;
What brings the sandstorm on the earth? ’Tis Wind.
What makes the cool and gentle breeze? ’Tis Wind
What makes the boughs and leaves to dance? ’Tis Wind;
What makes the autumn leaves to fall? ’Tis Wind;
What makes the honey-bees to fly? ’Tis Wind.
What makes pollen reach in showers? ’Tis Wind;
What makes the dust to climb towers? ’Tis Wind;
What spreads the perfume of flowers? ’Tis Wind;
What makes the rain-clouds advance far? ’Tis Wind.
What makes the Wind to blow? ’Tis God;
What makes a Tempest stop? ’ Tis our Lord.
7-18-2001
poem by John Celes
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Active Bees Fly In The Garden
Beautiful flowers in the orchid,
Active bees fly in the garden round and round,
They are humming around each and every flower,
They go around smelling for honey flavor,
Are those flowers Poppy or Rose?
While the bees find lots of flower,
They are happy and dance forever,
They will consume lots of honey,
They will inebriate and buzz
as if consumed wine in a winery!
poem by V.K. Kanniappan
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Gardener, for your broken heart!
She, don't know your song!
Either the secret of your wind, that you commands!
Or the power of the rain, that falls when you dance!
And she don't know about your pains!
But she have the key!
Just as you had!
Then, always is equal share!
And she leaves it aside.Just for a Moment!
be more calm, more garden, more flowers.
but who will be by your side?
when you hold the pen?
Who will guard your kingdom?
she, who left the key? For a secret desire?
No, i think not!
You are some in some many times!
You are the gardener!
poem by Mirna Morgan
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Let's Walk Through This Garden
Come, my beloved, let us walk through this garden
Where lots of bees enchanting with the nature
Life of bees has got the life in the heaven
And placed it on the peach and citrus tree
Let us follow the footprint of those bees
Who has walked miles over the mountain?
The mountain to draw nectar high above the cool plain
Let us go into the fields, my beloved,
For the time of those who left to harvest
Seed of love has sowed into this garden
As the spirit nourishes the grain of joy with love in burden
Let us hear the melodies of the wind touch the wings
Let's sit beside this flower and pursue their exchange of the sweetness of kisses.
Let us go into the next field, my beloved,
Let's us not fill our heart with joy of sadness
Bees are yet to shed tears for those who have already lost their heavies
Under the forced of the whispering wind
Let us tend the bloom of the earth
Let us make the flowers our happiest heaven
Let us relax after the day's toil,
And listen to the murmur of the provoke bees
Rather parting with old acquaintance.
Oh! Let us return to our dwelling, my beloved!
For the wind has caused the yellow leaves to fall;
And shroud the withering flower that whisper elegy to the bees
Come my beloved, come close to me since nature has just wearied
And bidding her enthusiasm farewell.
With quiet and content sorrow
Come close to me beloved; come too closed to me.
Let us speak glory of our heart,
For that is greater than the sorrow of the bees
Lost her heaves in the flower garden
Under the force of the merciless whispering wind.
poem by Kezang Dawa
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Present Compressed By Past and Future!
Once I was so enchanted,
So attracted and absorbed,
Beauty of flower made me
talk to it
I asked what is secret,
of its enchanting smile!
'O, friend', the flower talked to me,
I live in present,
no compression,
by past and future,
No depression of past memories,
No anticipation unborn future,
Busy in my own present,
Living in this instant,
No fear of harm,
no ffeeling of warm,
you look me as whole,
But, I have universe in me as a whole,
The universe works on its own,
Only I am witness for fate of my own!
No compression no depression,
Not even any absessi,
Bees affect me with their nature,
Yet no affective complexes in me!
I am born for some purpose,
Only animal magnetism run through bees and me!
I not get flattered either by your words,
Nor I feel pride or fear,
when bees fly at me,
neither lured by the music of bee's wings,
nor getting frustrated
with irritating bees!
I am born for my purpose,
And may or may not I complete them
my ambition are nil, inhibitions may kill my spirit,
Desirefree and libidofree attitude may be secret of my smile '!
Stunned by flowers reply I felt ashamed,
Man is one who lives not in present,
Because memories of past,
Anticipation of future,
Mistakes of the past and aspirations,
Makes past and future seem infinite,
compress present into an instant,
May be negligible and infinitesimal!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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Busy
I am busy
you are busy
we are busy
but the old woman needs help
to find her way home.
I am busy
you are busy
we are busy
but the dove is too slow
to fly out of the way.
I am busy
you are busy
we are busy
but the children crossing the street
are too many.
I am busy
you are busy
we are busy....
I am busy
you are busy
we are...
busy.
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
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Sonnet: the Drumstick Tree
The drumstick-tree I thought was dead and gone
Is fully clothed by green leaves and flowers;
The bees are active and some fruits are born;
The tree awaits August’s Monsoon showers.
I see the tree growing so fast each morn;
My eyes perceive not the blossoming act;
How well does Nature heal its parts much torn;
Human beings are blind with eyes- the fact.
So, numerous small birds visit the tree,
To eat the flowers that gets dropped nearby;
The tree makes the backyard look so lovely;
Some Millipedes remain and will not die!
The tree looks resurrected, simply great!
God gave a new lease and a newer date.
7-31-2000
poem by John Celes
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Sulking Flowers
Comparing the bees to the wandering males of human species,
Disheartening the waiting souls at the threshold of floral genesis,
For the pollen these bees brought unknowingly,
The generous flowers tip the nectar unconditionally.
Bees are the messengers, not the rapists as human,
Bees are the servants, not the incest driven as human,
Bees are the courier carriers, not the molesters as human,
Bees are innocent, not the illusionists scoundrels as human.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Rivalry only yields fruits.
Plants vie with each other
To give flowers in different colours.
They have to catch eyes of bees.
Bees vie with each other
To imbue force with their breeds.
They have to be early birds.
Flowers are colourful.
Bees are black moors.
A perfect combination.
Woman, mind your face.
Man, mind your force.
25.04.2002, pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Things Clear Only to Me
The Wind swirls around me,
It swirls and shoots up a tree.
It rustles the leaves,
And over the Dryad weaves.
The wind I can see,
And things clear only to me!
Up a branch the Dryad prances,
And with the wind she dances!
Floating, the wind goes,
Up to the roof, and slows.
To the horse weathervane,
And there it ruffles his mane.
Then down I see him turn,
Not a horse, but flying unicorn!
The wind I run after,
To hear hearty laughter.
Behind the large rock I peek,
The laughing one to seek.
There a joke is read to a troll,
from a very old scroll.
I laugh too as I go,
Now the wind swoops low.
Down to the flowers small,
Where I hear tiny fairies call.
I cannot understand the sound,
Like me with grown-ups around.
Then I watch, and sigh,
As the wind lifts a dragon high.
Up there I cannot go,
Only feel the fire blow!
This is when I turn back,
The wind has gone slack.
I no longer see it swirl,
Or the other things in its' curl.
A blazing sun in the sky,
Is left from the dragon's fly.
On the flowers buzz bees,
No fairies below my knees.
I walk past the stone,
It and I are alone.
The horse up on the roof,
Makes no move, he's aloof.
The tree is empty and still,
The Dryad gone, gone until…
Until the wind comes again,
Swooping through this lane.
Then the wind I will see,
And things clear only to me!
poem by Elisabeth Hines
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The Taj Mahal of the still mind
How I suspect ‘busy’ people…
Who said that spirituality
has anything to do with busyness..?
They turn enthusiasm into 'duty';
turn duty into guilt...
How I love those people
who always have time for anyone..
they are like swans:
serenity above; activity below;
never busy; always active;
floating white, serene, unruffled,
like swans; like lotus flowers;
like love.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Apiary
All the flowers get together
as a trade union
and made a complaint
to the Apiarist.
The bees were kept
without their consent
and they grumbled
bees are freelance
and why did you
obstruct their freedom?
Oh! what a lovely pageant
when flowers are unified?
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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We The Busy Ones
we proclaim
we are the busy ones
they call us the
bees
we work all day
extending our arms and legs
to the night
we work till dawn
we too make love
we compose ourselves
arrange our faces
like flowers and leaves
and twigs
we work and work
till we find that
rest....
don't think of death
go find another date
gather the ripe dates
in the desert
have a big plate
savor the taste in your palate.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Frangipanis
With bright arms spreading grabbing
the two frangipanis embrace each other,
reach with their fingers to the sun
in a age old gesture
and sometimes they look wild and disorderly
before their flowers burst out in light turquoise
and the wind spread their fragrance,
then they display flowers new and fresh,
while yellow weavers sing happily in their branches
and bees buzz past their flowers.
poem by Gert Strydom
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African Bee
The African Bee.
Yellow flowers in a ring protected by olive trees
no one knows their name I have to ask a botanist
for their Latin name. The dale side here has many
stone walls, tiny if seen from the moon overgrown
now those small plots of land yielding nothing but
poverty and deep seated resentment. The flowers
are not lilies, I can see that, it will soon be Easter
and the little church will be full of women, while
most men will hang about outside, near the bar,
white and yellow butterfly flies unsteadily around
in the wind and, and bumblebees drink from deep
red poppies. A swarm of killer bees fly by, I do not
speak or move till they are gone. My brother in law
Nené who live in Kinshasa, Congo, tells me that
the bees there live, exclusively, on orchid dew and
they are big as sparrows and can sting an elephant
till it dreams of yesterday, maybe it isn’t true but
I would not like to b stung by them. Now that the ice
on the poles melts will we see a fauna of rare flowers?
if so there must be bees there too and the friendly
bumblebee,
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Judge
Judge is not here to decide
Who is winner and who is loser.
Judge is here to decide
Who is in right point.
No judge is empower to
Pronounced death sentences
No judge has got power
To give life to the lifeless.
Judge can not decide
The synonyms and antonyms
Judge can not say
The right source for right word.
Judge is not judge
So long as the judge is mortal
Judge is judge
If judge is eternal.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Graves
I dreamed one man stood against a thousand,
One man damned as a wrongheaded fool.
One year and another he walked the streets,
And a thousand shrugs and hoots
Met him in the shoulders and mouths he passed.
He died alone.
And only the undertaker came to his funeral.
Flowers grow over his grave anod in the wind,
And over the graves of the thousand, too,
The flowers grow anod in the wind.
Flowers and the wind,
Flowers anod over the graves of the dead,
Petals of red, leaves of yellow, streaks of white,
Masses of purple sagging…
I love you and your great way of forgetting.
poem by Carl Sandburg
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Luck Favours The Commoners
Strong bees target at terminal flowers.
Some miss, some fail, some trail and a few hit.
Weak bees stumble on flowers that lie low.
They hardly miss the targets and get through.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Beauty is for women
Flowers dress themselves in different colours
To attract bees, who are not colourful.
Flowers mind visits of bees, not their colour.
Hence women dress to get spotted.
20.09.2000, Vijayavada
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Soar With The Wind
What caused your hat to fall?
Alas, the wind started it all.
The wind can sometimes be deadly
But what happened to you really?
The wind blowing the leaves
The wind bothering the bees
But look at you, so nice and neat
What would you do with it?
Soar high like the wind
Aim high like the wind
But not too high or you will fall
I do not know if you can endure it all.
I want to ride with the wind
With you, dear, like a helpless weed.
Forever starts here with you
Like a fountain of water, kissing you.
Soar with the wind, be wild and free
Behold, just fly away and breathe.
The wind can sometimes be nice
But not too nice or you will die.
Enjoy its lasting peace
Sooner or later you will see
That it was just a reverie
Full of happiness and glee.
poem by Georgia Leana Benedictos
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