En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Sonnet

Love bends over a yellow stalk of wheat,
Hope shields these grains her seed, sowed, eyes
Corn poppies pearl-black the inset stars discreet,
Worm eaten flowers, caste-up” a moment’s prize!
The sparkling cross pollination of souls and minds
Of hearts cool, hot, tepid, passionate, tears assigned:
These aren’t the sting, swollen, eruptions” she reminds.
Each bursting bloom a blood vessel, newly; entwined:
But gaze not blindly men at women’s true honest preserve
It’s God’s worn-out labour here on mother earth, cherished
The brashest of bees can dance and thrash their verve
And like the kneeling Sheppard raise all... the perished.
As the yolk of a flower is but a set, weed!
So he the father must chaff-out the wheat from the seed.

poem by Mark Heathcote
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Parables of Jesus: The Kingdom of Heaven: The Wheat and the Darnel Gospel, Matthew 13: 24-30

Then Jesus told another parable:
‘Kingdom of Heaven- Wheat and the darnel'
Heaven can be compared to that of a man,
Who sowed only good seed in his whole field.

But just when everybody fell asleep,
His enemy had come and sown darnel,
Amongst the wheat and sped away quite fast.

And when the new wheat sprouted very well,
The darnel too appeared amidst the same;
His labourers all went to him and said,
‘Wasn't it good seed that you sowed in your field?

He told them, ‘Some enemy had done this! '
When they asked if they should pull the weeds out,
He told, ‘No, as the wheat would come with it! '

‘Let them both grow until the harvest-time;
And then I will instruct my reapers all,
‘Collect the darnel first; burn the bundles!
Gather the good wheat all into my barn! '

poem by John Celes
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Waiting On The Wheat Harvest

as you sow brothers sisters so you wheat harvest reap
as a grain of wheat dies germinates bears fruit to heap
Jesus will completely clean up threshing floor gather his wheat
chaff he will burn up with unquenchable fire hell suffering heat
an enemy came in over sowed weeds in among seed wheat
reapers harvest collect weeds burn them saving only wheat
Satan demands sifts men as wheat to blow away in sifting wind
Son of man will send angels to gather chosen ones from ill wind
a grain of wheat falls into the ground dies then bears fruit new life
so hate soul temptation in this world safeguard soul for eternal life

poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Flower

Once in a golden hour
I cast to earth a seed.
Up there came a flower,
The people said, a weed.

To and fro they went
Thro' my garden bower,
And muttering discontent
Cursed me and my flower.

Then it grew so tall
It wore a crown of light,
But thieves from o'er the wall
Stole the seed by night.

Sow'd it far and wide
By every town and tower,
Till all the people cried,
"Splendid is the flower!"

Read my little fable:
He that runs may read.
Most can raise the flowers now,
For all have got the seed.

And some are pretty enough,
And some are poor indeed;
And now again the people
Call it but a weed.

poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Humility

The wheat, when rich with grains
Bends its stalks in Gratitude
The weed, though it proudly strains
To raise itself, yields no food.

poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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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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Tri-Colour

Poppies, you try to tell me, glowing there in the wheat;
Poppies! Ah no! You mock me: It's blood, I tell you, it's blood.
It's gleaming wet in the grasses; it's glist'ning warm in the wheat;
It dabbles the ferns and the clover; it brims in an angry flood;
It leaps to the startled heavens; it smothers the sun; it cries
With scarlet voices of triumph from blossom and bough and blade.
See the bright horror of it! It's roaring out of the skies,
And the whole red world is a-welter. . . . Oh God! I'm afraid! I'm afraid!

Cornflowers, you say, just cornflowers, gemming the golden grain;
Ah no! You can't deceive me. Can't I believe my eyes?
Look! It's the dead, my comrades, stark on the dreadful plain,
All in their dark-blue blouses, staring up at the skies.
Comrades of canteen laughter, dumb in the yellow wheat.
See how they sprawl and huddle! See how their brows are white!
Goaded on to the shambles, there in death and defeat. . . .
Father of Pity, hide them! Hasten, O God, Thy night!

Lillies (the light is waning), only lilies you say,
Nestling and softly shining there where the spear-grass waves.
No, my friend, I know better; brighter I see than day:
It's the poor little wooden crosses over their quiet graves.
Oh, how they're gleaming, gleaming! See! Each cross has a crown.
Yes, it's true I am dying; little will be the loss. . . .
Darkness . . . but look! In Heaven a light, and it's shining down. . . .
God's accolade! Lift me up, friends. I'm going to win -- my Cross.

poem by Robert William Service
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Golden Wheat

Remember me when the South wind blow
Golden wheat, where the waves dance in row
Forget the emptiness and cold
Embrace love and the memories you hold

Remember me solemnly gazing for doe
Golden wheat, where waves dance in row
Entwined together on the greens we rolled
Embrace love and the memories you hold

Will you stay with me, as old we grow
Golden wheat, where the wave dance in row
Together we'll erase the world's toll
Embrace love and the memories you hold

South wind lover always know
Golden wheat, where waves dance in row
Bodies come together as if made in a mold
Embrace love and the memories you hold

My pledge to you from Heaven and below
Golden wheat, where waves dance in row
With my last breath our love will still unfold
Embrace love and the memories you hold

When we're gone I hope our descendants know
Golden Wheat, where waves dance in row
Feel the south wind, be it warm or cold
Embrace love and the memories you hold

poem by Rhonda Baker
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Duplicated Dandelion Diversity

what is a dandelion?
upon examination
a mini map mystery
wind reproductive diversity

multiple magnificent
miniaturized flowers
many tiny flight flower arrows
arranged symmetry reality

each tiny flower perceives
forms composite flower head
hundreds of yellow florets
upper layers raised to sky

butter cup yellow bright light
flower heart warms inflorescence
lower layers enlarge spread
curve down bow in symmetry

bright yellow bewitches souls
set off in contrast rich green grass
delights hearts walking grass blades
delights hearts walking green imagery

leaves form a rosette above central taproot
yellow to orange coloured flower heads spread
open in ray stream daytime close sleep night
flower heads mature spherical clocks spy

soon host birth transformations
real flowers wax dandelion blooms
each single flower head floret prepares
each seed stem attached white threads fluffy

cypselae on dandelion clock ticks
matured capitulum await breezes winds
to disperse in wind seed birth rights
hair-like calyx tissue waits above each ovary

each tiny flower has produced a seed
white spectral seed head manifests
design wonder delights child hands
dimensional layers link preflight mystery

seeds produce asexually by apomixes
where without pollination are produced seeds
offspring identical to the parent plants
resulting in offspring identical genetically

mystery mystery raptures in dandelions
strong breezes winds produce dandelion snows
run in fields as expand lift seed parachutes
seed-bearing parachutes create flower destiny

poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Flower of Death

The life is all we have; the death is all we need
It sets in our souls as an unfertilized seed
We know it will root soon, and take over our mind
And its stalk will sprout and wind

Death will take blossom, and it shall never fade it shall stay bright
And oh it shall be a beautiful sight, as it holds its petals into the night
And the leaves shall spread as green as green can be
And if you look close you will see

It's roots shall grow deep in the pot of eternity, in the dirt of the mind
The flower shall shine, so magnificent so kind
It's pollen will fly, will sour
And wait at the front of someone's door

The sun of the next world shall shine and nurture, the rain shall fall
Thanks to that the vines shall grow, and overcome the wall
The minerals of the soul will strengthen the warmth shall grow
This process shall grow, like snow falls, fast at first then slow

For the life is all we have; the death is all we need
It sets in our souls as an unfertilized seed
We know it will root soon, and take over our minds
And its stalk will sprout and wind

For now the flower shall bloom
The darkness shall leave, take the gloom
It shall leave us and we shall follow in the light of what's to be
Only then, we shall see

The flower of forever
As it takes root, you use it as a lever
Lifting you to the flower
And now you shall not cower

For you know this will spread and the flower shall grow shall thrive
And then you will know you are truly alive
As it takes root in your soul, and it shall becomes the power
For this is the blossom, this is the flower

The life is all our have; the death is all we need
It sets in our souls as an unfertilized seed
We know it will root soon, and take over our mind
And its stalk will sprout and wind

Bethany Hill
(This poem is not supposed to make you contemplate death, and I would not like to have people think that it is. It is just meant to show you that you should not fear death yet you should not reach for it but to take it when it is meant to come. Thank you)

poem by Bethany Maxwell
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When An Evening Meal Is Ready

field worker lives with so little today
faith plants a portion of seed each day

who will help water who will weed?
who will guard help grow this seed?

who will help grow this crop wheat?
who will help gather in hot sun heat?

finally when evening meal is laid out neat
who will receive invitation in fellowship eat?

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Vibrant Love Seed

a few kind words love vibrant seed
we choose with care
like wild flowers soft dream sown
we blow love this seed
from palm of our hand everywhere

to fall by flow river banks
among majestic tall inspiring trees
beautiful flowers grow
pollinated in love dance flying bees
bright scent wonder sown

among ruin city wastes
we also sow many diverse choice seeds
among dry dust new hope
wonder grows among hearts honey needs
joy in life new dreams tastes

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Oh!

OH! let the lighting clouds come instantly
from the snowy summit of the Mount Stake
and let the scythe
come into the blonde hair of the wheat scything
and i have put the sedge
on the rainless back of the field
from the cloud
we sowed the field together with my mother
my sister pruned the grass in needy
and suckled there her newly born baby
OH! the endlees winter of 72
OH! come and warm everwhere and us a little bit
let my melancholic love spring up from my bed
I have three ears of wheat
at the large thrashing field of my village
let the rain and the days sunny
spread everywhere their beauty
I do not want too much
let unbind the infertility of the sky
guard and save our winter provisions
for this
I have descended from the mountain
to the blonde hair of the wheat for cropping

poem by Metin Sahin
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In The Poppy Field

Mad Patsy said, he said to me,
That every morning he could see
An angel walking on the sky;
Across the sunny skies of morn
He threw great handfuls far and nigh
Of poppy seed among the corn;
And then, he said, the angels run
To see the poppies in the sun.

A poppy is a devil weed,
I said to him - he disagreed;
He said the devil had no hand
In spreading flowers tall and fair
Through corn and rye and meadow land,
by garth and barrow everywhere:
The devil has not any flower,
But only money in his power.

And then he stretched out in the sun
And rolled upon his back for fun:
He kicked his legs and roared for joy
Because the sun was shining down:
He said he was a little boy
And would not work for any clown:
He ran and laughed behind a bee,
And danced for very ecstasy.

poem by James Stephens
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Mysteries of The Kingdom

Some mysteries of The Kingdom were, given in parables for us to infer,
Some secrets of The Kingdom of God, while still upon this earthly sod.
Parables spoken by Jesus Christ, to demonstrate Truths of Eternal Life,
Hidden from the hearts and eyes; where God’s Truths are just despised.
Christ spoke of the faithful sower, planting seed for the Eternal Grower,
Then Jesus Christ went on to say, that not all seed fell in the same way,
Some fell onto the walking path, and soon destroyed, by Satan’s wrath.
Some seed fell upon the rocky soil, and with no root, soon would spoil.

Some seed fell within thorny soil, and was unfruitful because of the toil.
But in good soil some was sown, and an abundance of fruit was grown.
The Kingdom, Christ went on to say, was just like a field in another way,
Where there was good seed sown, weeds around that wheat had grown.
For the enemy had sown in the field, weeds where the crop would yield,
But to not uproot what was good, he let the weeds grow as they would.
The weeds would remain until harvest, but not to be treated as the rest,
The weeds are bundled to be burned, saving the wheat as they learned.

And in the garden is the mustard seed, with a Truth that we could heed,
Small and unimpressive in size, but, from it the largest plant would rise.
Christ spoke of yeast and its effect, in The Kingdom through the Elect,
Just as it is mixed in the dough, with the Spirit, growth begins to show.
The Kingdom’s like hidden treasure, filling the finder with such pleasure,
That he hides it again and is glad, to buy the field, spending all he had.
Like a fine pearl found by a merchant; all his property, would be spent,
To buy this one pearl of such worth, one which he found, here on earth.

The Kingdom of Heaven’s like a net, of a fisherman and all of his catch,
When it’s full and pulled to shore, it had good fish but it also had more,
The good, put into baskets to keep; the bad thrown back into the deep.
This, just like the end of this Age, with the deep being an eternal grave,
When angels gather souls of men, the righteous and those condemned,
The condemned, to fires below, while the righteous, to Heaven they go.
All these parables spoken of, illustrate The Kingdom of Heaven above,
And by Jesus Christ, are given to us, who in Him have placed our trust.

(Copyright ©01/2008)

poem by Bob Gotti
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The Weed

There was an old woman
that planted a garden.
And in the garden
there grew a weed.
The weed grew next to
a beautiful flower.

The flower had grown
from a tiny seed.
The weed was strong
and would not bend.
The wind did blow
and it did send

the seeds from the flower
into the air.
They circled around
and landed where
the weed was growing
next to the flower.

Soon the weed was
surrounded by flowers.
It loved where it was
and looked by the hours
at all of the beautiful
colorful flowers.

The old woman who planted
the garden one day
decided that she would
make a bouquet.
She went to the garden
to cut the flowers.

But when she got there
down came the showers.
The raindrops that fell
made the weed shine
which made the old woman
change her mind.

She left them alone
in her garden and knew
that the weed belonged
with the flowers that grew.
She'd planted the flowers.
God planted the weed.

The garden was perfect.
No bouquet did she need.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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To the Man After the Harrow

Now leave the check-reins slack,
The seed is flying far today -
The seed like stars against the black
Eternity of April clay.

This seed is potent as the seed
Of knowledge in the Hebrew Book,
So drive your horses in the creed
Of God the Father as a stook.

Forget the men on Brady's Hill.
Forget what Brady's boy may say.
For destiny will not fulfil
Unless you let the harrow play.

Forget the worm's opinion too
Of hooves and pointed harrow-pins,
For you are driving your horses through
The mist where Genesis begins.

poem by Patrick Kavanagh
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Blooming Pleasures

Blooming Pleasures
By Lori Triggs
Copyrighted 2006

My flower was grown with buds
Waiting to bloom by a man.

My flower was deflowered with
Blooms opened fertilized its seed.

My flower was defiled by
My ex love for he forgot to
Love, compassion with attention.

My flower was debloomed and
Felt wilted with no buds.

My flower was grown with
New buds by a new man, who cares,
Gives love, compassion with attention.

My flower was deflowered again
By the new man the first day we met.

My flower sowed its seed
3 times at the Hyatt March 10th,
After being out of the Robert Wood Johnson
Hospital emergency room for Cardiology.

I say my heart works fine,
But I might need a hip or joint replacement.

poem by Lori Triggs
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Faith Flights To Flower Heavens

heart muscles surrounded in a reservoir of blood
pollen call is rainbow pot of gold to El Dorado
vessels of golden one flower air in fertilization
flights seed flowers in colours shapes miraculous

heavens ablaze with colour shape smell lure scent
heaven promise nectar pollen rewards await joy flight
heaven wing tips away thick bee hair pile insulation
heaven journey flights thick pile warm in cold weather

bumble bees fly flight build up electrostatic charge
flowers well grounded pollen lured electrostatically
attracted compelled to bumble bees pile when lands
pollen covered bee enter flower heaven charge pollen

pollen charged priority preferentially attracted to stigma
stigma better grounded than other parts of visit flower
wealth amassed pollen all mother load easy pick treasure
bumble bee pollination gifts life to seed crops wildflowers

Copyright © Terence George Craddock
See also the poems ‘Flights Of Impossibility’ and ‘Pollen Call Is Rainbow Pot Of Gold To El Dorado’.

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Winter Poem

Tonight the wind gnaws with teeth of glass
The jackdaw shivers in caged branches of iron
The stars have talons
There is hunger in the mouth of vole and badger
Silver agonies of breath in the nostril of the fox
Ice on the rabbit’s paw
Tonight has no moon, no food for the pilgrim
The fruit tree is bare, the rose bush a thorn
And the ground is bitter with stones
But the mole sleeps and the hedgehog lies curled in a womb of leaves
And the bean and the wheat seed hug their germs in the earth
And a stream moves under the ice
Tonight there is no moon
But a star opens like a trumpet over the dead
And tonight in a nest of ruins the blessed babe is laid
And the fir tree warms to a bloom of candles
And the child lights his lantern and stares at his tinsel toy
And our hearts and hearths smoulder with live ashes
In the blood of our grief the cold earth is suckled
In our agony the womb convulses its seed
And in the last cry of anguish
The child’s first breath is born

poem by Laurie Lee
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Christmas Landscape

Tonight the wind gnaws
With teeth of glass,
The jackdaw shivers
In caged branches of iron,
The stars have talons.

There is hunger in the mouth
Of vole and badger,
Silver agonies of breath
In the nostril of the fox,
Ice on the rabbit’s paw.

Tonight has no moon,
No food for the pilgrim;
The fruit tree is bare,
The rose bush a thorn
And the ground is bitter with stones.

But the mole sleeps, and the hedgehog
Lies curled in a womb of leaves,
The bean and the wheat-seed
Hug their germs in the earth
And the stream moves under the ice.

Tonight there is no moon,
But a new star opens
Like a silver trumpet over the dead.
Tonight in a nest of ruins
The blessed babe is laid.
And the fir tree warms to a bloom of candles,
And the child lights his lantern,
Stares at his tinselled toy;
And our hearts and hearths
Smoulder with live ashes.

In the blood of our grief
The cold earth is suckled,
In our agony the womb
Convulses its seed;
In the first cry of anguish
The child’s first breath is born.

poem by Laurie Lee
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