Manicured Reality
I agree,
A rose does smells sweet.
But they are not planted
On urban streets to bloom.
They would not be given that opportunity.
Although weeds are encouraged
To grow between the cracks,
Where broken glass settles.
And tourists are re-routed...
To view a revitalized naturalness!
Beautified without the aid of sunglasses,
Or weeds to spoil the experience.
A manicured reality,
Entices those deluded by the goodness
Of life and all it offers!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You Have Raised These Weeds
I don't make this statement
To have you agree with me...
I make this comment,
Because this is what I see.
You can't raise children to be men and women!
The children of today have been spoiled
By what has been given!
They are nurtured like a plant or a pet
Around the house.
They are fed much nonsense and reflect,
What we have put out!
If it's garbage in our minds and garbage that we eat...
What do you expect to find on the streets?
Pansies and Roses?
Lilacs and Hibiscus?
Pruned trees and bushes...
And manicured lawns we sweat to treat?
If you have not encouraged your 'crops' to grow,
How do you expect your harvest to 'glow'?
You have raised these 'weeds'...
And that's the point I want to make!
You ignored advice from the 'gardener',
And that has been YOUR mistake!
Those choking 'vines' that grew from your home
That have driven you to heartbreak...
Have been your responsibility,
And it now shows upon your face!
And now you want them to leave you alone?
These 'creatures' are yours...
Reflecting what you have condoned!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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Flowers Of Tomorrow
Forget unkind words and deeds
For life is a ground of weeds
Where you have to sow the seeds
Of happiness to get rid of weeds
With the weeds of pain and sorrow
And hope for the flowers for tomorrow
That will bloom evenin narrow
Path of joy to bring you tomorrow
A bright tomorrow where will shine
The sun of joy all for mine
That will spread the joy of wine
To bring joy to thee and mine.
Seema Chowdhury
poem by Seema Chowdhury
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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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Walls of Change
Walls of change..
Built from a broken foundation
A world divided.
To a United Nation.
We all embrace hatred.
It is love that we seek.
Eternal blindness.
From a soul that is weak.
Strengthen my spirit.
Help me fear no fear.
Walk with the Lord.
Self will disappear.
Build up others.
Strength you will find.
You’ll discover yourself.
When you leave you behind.
The meaning of life.
Our actions define.
We can either live for ourselves.
Or by God’s design.
One will bear fruit.
The other will grow weeds.
The harvests we grow.
From our planted seeds.
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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Mosaic, We Abide
weird-weeds & beetles-bad
unkempt, black fouls
time snobs
fingers-a-pointing
darkness-a-reigning
sweet flower blooms
of summer
butterfly lightness
a flutter
sunshine color rainbows
flumes of clouds
flutes of wind
nature strums
such beauty music
heart bleeds for beetles-bad
and weeds a weirding
rejoice for clouds and flumes
of colors and flute winds
we abide by nature
in perfect goodness
excludes none
punishes no one
weeds a tumble
to flutes singing
and clouds drift
to rainbow colors
rains still showering
earth’s thirst
quenched
everything still
colors mix
sounds blend
bad, good, weeds
flowers, beetles
butterflies
all a flutter a chew
all beautiful
whole and always
a beautiful mosaic
we abide.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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Rose
My mother planted roses and seemingly,
They never blossomed.
And twenty years after her death
Amidst grasses, weeds and wildflowers
Grew a white rose,
I am a white rose alone that
My mother never saw or would see-although perhaps
If she went to heaven she
Could possibly look down and
See a white flower blossoming but
Likely, she would not know it was a rose in bloom.
I am that rose that blossomed after
All of the other roses died-
An unexpected ice storm had killed them.
Weeds and wildflowers, were strong enough toSurvive the cold.
Roses are beautiful but delicate-Withering beneath inches of snow.
Amongst every group of living beings
Possibly killed by inclement weather or
Being treated badly and not properly raised or cared for-
Dying with no one trying to save their lives, remains a survivor.
I have been called the white rose, the survivor
Amongst the roses my mother planted,
That had sadly perished-
Today somebody picked me and placed me in a vase upon a table inside their home.
In a few days, my petals shall fall and
I shall be dead, gone, and disposed of.
I am or was a survivor but now I shall perish just as
The other roses in the garden outside-
This only goes to show that nothing lasts forever because of
The spitefulness of others in this cruel world where
Even the strongest and bravest living beings shall
Have their lives snatched away by some malicious other-
Jealousy, thoughtlessness or simply ignorance rules, so that
No matter how strong- nothing or nobody can live forever-
Everybody’s time comes to be amongst the ill- fated departed-
Gone and forever forgotten as a dying rose, its petals wilted and
Scattered in the wind-
Claudia Krizay
poem by Claudia Krizay
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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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The Future Of A Weed
The eternal future of every weed is truly a very bleak one indeed,
And even though they do not believe, they are truly a soul in need.
They are not planted by God and have no divine purpose at all,
Instead they are simply used by the devil to deceive man to fall.
For Satan cunningly plants them all around with one purpose in mind,
It is to grow up with the children of God only to deceive and malign.
But The Lord is gentle in hope that some weeds will come to believe,
For at one point in time we too were lost in the world and deceived.
Jesus pulled me out of the soil of darkness filled with ugly blight,
He then planted me on The Eternal Rock and filled with His Own Light.
He gave to me His Light my friend, so that I could share it with you,
Friend Christ died for the ungodly, which means He died for you too.
Put away your empty laughter, and be filled with the joy of The Lord,
He died to save you I promise, and by God you have not been ignored.
Christ is coming at the end of the harvest to take out all the weeds,
Christians alone will be judged and rewarded for all of their deeds.
The weeds will be tossed into darkness, and will never laugh again,
Only weeping and gnashing of teeth with not even Satan for a friend.
Continue to harden your heart my friend and you will eternally lose,
Imagine, hearing forever the last voice that shared the good news.
(Copyright © 02/2003)
If You Have Been Given The Opportunity
IF you have been given the opportunity,
To be invited to view a bigger picture of life...
That includes you,
But for some reason...
You are no longer tha main topic of it?
Grab a hold onto this opportunity.
You may discover a different world,
You had no idea existed.
And others like yourself,
Finding the useless need...
To adorn rose colored glasses.
Getting a much wider vision of life,
And how the experience of living it...
Can benefit with a more rewarding purpose,
That redefines your identity with clarity!
If...
You have been given that opportunity.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Change In Perspective
A change in perspective
will change a sunshine filled hour
into a melting, hot, and unbearable eternity.
A change in perspective
will change a meadow of flowers
into a plot of weeds.
A change in perspective
will change a barren wasteland
into a field of opportunity.
A change in perspective
will change a bleak, dark room
into a place of sweet rest.
A change in perspective
is all anyone needs
so go and change.
Make flowers out of weeds.
inspired by Phillip Kenneth Starck, thank you for your comment
poem by Hidden Poet
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Where Corn Don't Grow
(Roger Murrah/Mark Alan Springer)
As we sat on the front porch
Of that old grey house where I was born and raised
Starin' at the dusty fields
Where my daddy worked hard every day
I think it kinda hurt him when I said Daddy
There's a lot that I don't know
But don't you ever dream about a life
Where corn don't grow
He just sat there silent
Staring at his favorite coffee cup
I saw a storm of mixed emotion in his eyes
When he looked up
He said Son I know at your age
Seems like this ol' world is turning slow
And you think you'll find the answer to it all
Where corn don't grow
Hard times are real
There's dusty fields
No matter where you go
You may change your mind
'Cause the weeds are high
Where corn don't grow
I remember feeling guilty
When Daddy turned and walked back in the house
I was only seventeen back then
But I thought that I knew more than I know now
I can't say he didn't warn me
This city life's a hard row to hoe
Ain't it funny how a dream can turn around
Where corn don't grow
Hard times are real
There's dusty fields
No matter where you go
And you may change your mind
'Cause the weeds are high
Where corn don't grow
You may change your mind
Oh the weeds are high
Where corn don't grow
song performed by by Travis Tritt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Letting The Grass Grow
i tried to make this garden clean
from weeds and beetles
i keep it away from worms
only flowers are welcome here
and you know it
things went wrong and you know them
all too well
a broken heart unable to heal itself
a broken self, shattered thoughts
un-assembled un-repaired for years
the expected auto-resolution did not arrive
expectations falling like
domino chips
got tired finally about gardening
the flowers are not that beautiful enough
to appease this grieving mind
got bored with pain
ennui reigning
these benumbing times
too careless
and hurting still
finally, i let the grass grow
the weeds conquer
the beetles breeding like hell
the worms
turning into butterflies
time buds now a flowering.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Lose the Battle
I stand forlorn on the edge of the farm,
Where grow the young plants of deeds,
I see growing, springing the sown corn,
Amid the sticky poisonous trailing weeds.
Yellow sick, pale and frail is the crop,
But the weeds too healthy, too green,
They grow as the demonial desires do,
How should I weed, make the farm clean?
Though they are poisonous yet sweet,
More delicious than the daintier food,
That is why we deceive and we cheat,
And brood them, brood them brood.
To weed them I resolve again and again,
They ripen soon unguarded, unattended,
Without the sunshine and without the rain,
And at last I lose the battle unammended.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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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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Song
And when our streets are green again
When metalled roads are green
And girls walk barefoot through the weeds
Of Regent Street, Saint Martin's Lane
And children hide in factories
Where burdock blooms and vetch and rust,
And elms and oaks and chestnut trees
Are tall again and hope is lost
When up the Strand the foxes glide
And hedgehogs sniff and wildcats yell
And golden orioles come back
To flash through Barnes and Clerkenwell
When governments and industries
Lie choked by weeds in fertile rain
For sure the few who stay alive
Will laugh and grow to love again
poem by John Mcgrath
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The Disgarded Garden
Their once was a young man who wanted to become a Gardner. There once was a young Rose Tree that wanted a Gardener. They met each other one summer day and began what seemed to be a beautiful relationship. The Gardner was attentive of his garden along with his Rose Tree and the Rose Tree was so happy that its tender branches grew and it bloomed continuously for the Gardner so he’d always be happy.
As time went by the Rose Tree noticed that Gardner wouldn’t tend to her as much as he once did. And when he did he would cut away harshly at the Rose Tree. The Rose Tree being a simple plant who did not need much attention still bloomed for the Gardner. It seemed the more she tried, the more the Gardner would cut away and the tree was now nestled in the ground. Why could this be? He had a bountiful garden that any Gardner would have loved to have. What more could anyone want thought the Rose Tree.
Now in an abandoned garden the Rose Tree grows back its branches, with very thick thorn’s to protect it self. As time goes by one day, out of nowhere appears a Gardener who has silently admired the Rose Tree from outside the garden gates and begins to nurture the Rose Tree in her garden. He tenderly and sympathetically pulls away all the weeds and brush from the Rose Tree so the air, rain & sunshine can reach her again. Allowing her the opportunity to grow back as she once was; vibrant, strong, colorful and to be simply, herself.
This is something the Rose Tree had long forgotten and is very grateful for the loving words of encouragement and kindness that her new Gardner has shown. She longingly awaits for his visits and when the Gardner comes to see her she bloom’s for him and relaxes underneath his beautifully kind smile. My darling Gardner, I am glad fate has brought you to walk along the path leading to the once lost garden and Rose Tree.
poem by Sarah Barron
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Flowers and Pages
Flower petals saved
Between holy pages
Dryed and faded, both are
Deep words of life,
Love simply stated.
Memories and hopes
Together combine, ever to
Transcend places and time...
- Life is not a simple dream,
There is so very much
Beyond what is felt, heard and seen...
- Lifes paradox is of such:
So full of beauty
At the start,
So worn and weary
At the finish;
Boundless knowledge
Cannot free the heart,
Endless effort
Cannot still the days
That continue to diminish.
- Perhaps tis truly the other way around,
Only with relaxed acceptance
Through the real beauty of age
And understanding
Can love of life
Ever fully be found.
Humanity,
Wrong from the beginning
Of sin;
Redemption right
To the very end...
For what truly is the meaning
Of the mysterious messages
Life to us does send?
(Tacit translation
Terra-incognita
Revenant revelation unto
Beautiful buena-vista.)
Life, like the beauty of the flower,
So gradually fades
Like the slowly disappearing wonder
In a sunset,
Nearly imperceptable end of days.
- Will our lives be found
Only to end
Like the sun,
Burning down the Western horizon
Blazing so beautiful and bright,
until finally captured and killed
by the darkness of night...
Shall the flowering Garden bloom again?
Will that beautiful sun ever return?
(some seeds planted
only grow after all the weeds
have been thoroughly burned)
Yet for now
the weeds still thrive,
And the flowers are barely able
to remain alive.
So, how shall our lives be found saved,
preserved eternally
between some sacred pages?
(the Words there upon print
to the flowers beauty and reason
do give quiet hint)
Who the answer knows?
One and the same:
The books Author,
The lover and saviour
Of the true beauty, that is the Rose.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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