Garden of Life
A garden of life is again a garden that I desire,
It grows from a point and a line that I concoct,
The real line is here, the garden is upon us.
What can May bring towards the end of the day?
It is summer evening, gardener of the week is absent
To feel fellowship with flowers and with plants and with trees.
Why do the seasons give in? What do you do in the night?
The day felt a picture too bold for the night, which was kind,
I like it when heat has ridden past the day.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Our Marriage Is Our Garden
Our marriage is our garden.
I want our garden to be beautiful.
With lush green grass,
With fragrant and colourful flowers.
A place of solace.
A place of peace.
A place of love.
Our garden must be watered.
Not watered too much.
As that would saturate the ground.
Not watered too little.
As that would leave the plants wilted.
And our grass barren.
But regularly.
So the flowers can stand tall
It must be weeded.
It must be maintained.
It must be loved.
We will plant seeds in our garden.
For new life makes any garden more beautiful and diverse.
We can harvest the fruit trees, but our harvest is limited
If we eat all the fruit too quick,
Then we must wait until the next harvest to eat again.
If we don't pick the fruit when it is right, it will spoil.
Our harvest is for our family.
If I eat all the fruit myself, then they will starve.
If we eat too much we will get sick.
If we eat what we are supposed to, then we will be healthy.
If we do not monitor the fruit,
Then someone might eat more than their share.
If we do not stand guard in our garden,
A thief might come into the garden to steal our fruit.
The fruit for our family.
For their garden must be barren and their crops have spoiled.
Our garden will stand the test of all seasons.
As all gardens do.
Another garden will also experience the same seasons.
Just at different times.
All gardens face rain.
All gardens get sun.
It is the rain that nourishes the garden and helps it's life to grow.
But our garden must be maintained regularly.
Only artificial things require no maintenance.
The artificial has no life.
It is fake, it is plastic.
Our garden needs to be real.
So life may grow and continue to grow.
So one day our children can enjoy a garden of their own.
For them and their children.
May their garden be overflowing with life and love.
And be the most beautiful garden in the world.
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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Quite Naturally for M 'lady Tai Chi Italy
My garden is a wilderness.
Devoid of all formality
but full of beauty nonetheless.
There everything grows naturally.
Self seeded plants grow where they please
with trees and shrubs placed randomly.
A haunt of butterflies and bees
and fairies too quite probably.
I do not choose to interfere
with what nature decides to do
She knows what plants will flourish here
but always subject to review.
She is a master gardener
superior to any man.
It is entirely up to her
to carry out her master plan.
There’s nothing that I need to do.
Nature supplies the maintenance.
As seasons change so does the view.
Always kept in perfect balance.
The only thing which I supply
are garden seats of weathered wood.
Chosen to blend in carefully
as I intended that they should.
Somewhere to sit and meditate
or if you choose, to read or write.
And sometimes if the hour grows late.
Enjoy the quiet of the night.
My garden is a wilderness
devoid of all formality.
Not the result of laziness
I leave it how it wants to be
26-Sep-08
http: //.blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Garden of my soul
Garden of my soul
~
In the garden of my soul
sewn into eternity
a love flowers brightly
with the sweetest amore
and you the gardener
the rain and the sun
bring life and beauty
what more could I ask
than to be here forever
with you beside me
in the garden of my soul
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Seek not the gardener in the flesh
Two maidens walk throughout the forest unknown
Darkened shadows gloom and each fights off
The demons of her insecurities, they stumble across
What seems like naught less than a garden, for all of
The flowers grow in rows creating the impression of design.
One of the maidens claimed that no gardener would come this
Far into the unknown just to create a garden of such wonders.
The other could not comprehend that such a beauty could of
Come across within a conscious will for it’s existence pure.
They each argued in turn and learnt
From each nothing more than the cementation
Of opinion in ignorance towards the other
Yet they agree to test in empirical measures
What force treasures this Garden of wonder.
So they waited and they waited so patiently,
For they had set up fences, and awaiting defenceless they saw nothing.
They heard nothing but the wind as it carried
Upon its song the seeds of springfull joy,
Still the flowers continued to bloom
But no gardener appeared in the form
The un believer was willing to accept.
She that sees the garden knows true the beauty of her surroundings
She knows that it does not need to be measured
For it is a treasure as it is a pleasure in itself,
Yet still her companion points to the weeds that grow,
She point to the dying trees burnt as embers glow.
She can not listen as her friend explains that each is a cycle within the
Medicine wheel, each weed is as worthy of our praise as are the flowers
That catch and dance in Apollo’s radiance.
As the seasons turn we learn
As we grow every second
We are making anew the mould,
Before the kiln of silence awaits.
Seek not the gardener in the flesh
But know that it is he who breathes fresh breathe anew
Into every living being
The gardener unseen is as real as the emotions within which we swim.
poem by David Lacey
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The Privacy Of The Home
there is a party
but i am not going
i choose
staying inside the house
not watching tv
but just thinking and
lying low
listening to the silence
of the four walls, and then
i take the exit
outside i go
into the garden at night
under the trees
the scents of some
flowers pervading
and then i take a seat
on a big stone
and feel the hardness
of the earth
i am soft in the middle
of this garden
i like it
this private dwelling
just the trees and the
flowers
in the middle of the night
when everyone is
gone.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When You Define A Thing
when you define
a thing, you limit it,
it is like fencing
your garden
the garden becomes
a set of exclusive
flowers, and anything
not like it becomes
a weed, and anything
that moves
becomes a pest
it is not that you
do not define, we do
it sometimes
only to understand
the limits of
understanding,
but we must be open
to other possibilities
of a garden,
a garden of stones
a garden of sand
of mud, of water
a fountain, a garden
of winds, of clouds
a garden of memories
like a poem
for instance, a garden
of words,
words with arms open
to the magic
of further creation
words still trying
to define themselves
in the garden
of the unknown
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My Childhood Garden
my childhood garden
my childhood garden
lush and green
it was so happy it made me scream
my joy and hopes
and all my mopes
my childhood garden
my childhood garden
with the ups and downs
when i jumped i could not touch the ground
with my purle ponys
it made it homey
my childhood garden
my childhood garden
flying high
with the little lies
the grass fine
up in the sky my kite
my childhood garden
my childhood garden
now in the past
i now know that it can never last
now as i get taller
it was differnt when i was smaller
my childhood garden
poem by Danielle Eager
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The Gardener
The gardener does not love to talk,
He makes me keep the gravel walk;
And when he puts his tools away,
He locks the door and takes the key.
Away behind the currant row
Where no one else but cook may go,
Far in the plots, I see him dig
Old and serious, brown and big.
He digs the flowers, green, red and blue,
Nor wishes to be spoken to.
He digs the flowers and cuts the hay,
And never seems to want to play.
Silly gardener! summer goes,
And winter comes with pinching toes,
When in the garden bare and brown
You must lay your barrow down.
Well now, and while the summer stays
To profit by these garden days
O how much wiser you would be
To play at Indian wars with me!
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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In the Garden, With My Father
It is spring.
As in my garden, I stand.
In the garden -
My father is there;
... though long since gone...
He IS there.
I tend to the weeds,
The veggies and flowers...
He is there.
I never understood him
(as I should have, could have) ...
Until now,
Here, in the garden.
Where I, like he, work the soil.
I've come just recently
(these last few years)
To enjoy and love my garden so.
- I am not as surprised afterall, as I would have thought,
To find him here.
Here, in the garden.
He loved his garden very much.......
I - at that early age of restless youth - had no use
For such slow moving things.
But now, I see, and myself move, at a much slower pace.
Therefore, it is him I am here and now able to see,
In the garden.
Watching it all grow, so peacefully.
It is somewhat sad, that now,
When I can no longer tell him,
I understand.
For I have come to find... I love the garden too,
Just as much as he;
And we both always will.
My father - standing in the garden -
I now know.
After all these long years.
And I've missed him so;
But, how wonderful to find,
He IS here...
In the garden, our garden,
Always, with me.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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Hanging Garden
Creatures kissing in the rain
Shapeless in the dark again
In the hanging garden
Please don't speak
In the hanging garden
No one sleeps
In the hanging garden
In the hanging garden
Catching haloes on the moon
Gives my hands the shapes of angels
In the heat of the night
The animals scream
In the heat of the night
Walking into a dream . . .
Fall fall fall fall
Into the walls
Jump jump out of time
Fall fall fall fall
Out of the sky
Cover my face as the animals cry
In the hanging garden
In the hanging garden
Creatures kissing in the rain
Shapeless in the dark again
In a hanging garden
Change the past
In a hanging garden
Wearing furs
And masks
Fall fall fall fall
Into the walls
Jump jump out of time
Fall fall fall fall
Out of the sky
Cover my face as the animals die
In the hanging garden
As the animals die
Cover my face as the animals die
In the hanging garden
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Garden
The Garden
By: Adam M. Snow
The garden blooms to your delight;
to and from this very night.
When you are but one;
this garden blooms until you're done.
Keep that in mind but out of sight;
this garden is full of roses so white.
Open up and let shine the sun;
for Springtime has only begun.
Show off your garden so bright;
for there is no need to fight.
Now go on, no need to run;
when you're in your garden my son.
poem by Adam M. Snow
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Life's Garden
We all grow up in this Garden called Life,
There are many inner and outer strifes,
In the silence, in the silence,
In this beautiful Garden called Life!
There are weeds and pests in this Garden called Life,
They are know as ignorance, greed, and vice.
In the silence, in the silence,
In this beautiful Garden called Life.
Every garden needs sunshine and rain,
In this garden you will find joy and pain.
In this silence, in the silence,
In this beautiful Garden called Life!
Plant sparsely, your harvest will be a pittance,
Plant bountifully, your harvest will be munificence,
In this silence, in the silence,
In this beautiful Garden called Life!
Did you plant deeds of joy, love and peace?
Or did you drop seeds of hatred, conflict, and gloom?
The world will know by the plants' bloom.
In the silence, in the silence,
In this beautiful Garden called Life!
poem by Anna B. Kurzweil
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Culture Flowers
We’re all lashed
to Cultural Helms
besodden
ingrained eyes
narrowed to squinty plane
seeing;
not seeing
only mine;
and not mine
blind.
Culture is the Gardener's Death
who’s kind to only one flower;
other's bloom in the garden darkened
by blindness over-powered.
Strain some may
against the mast
yet they most times
cultivate only their own gardens;
time and the past
cause other flowers
to bloom and wither
before our very countenance.
Tempted we may be
by soul's desire
to look beyond the garden walls:
But few cannot,
but lift the spade
and plow the same furrows,
which etch our brow
contain our lives
until our death
we having known
only one garden flower:
grown beautifully
in straight
and narrow furrows.
A few sometimes
smell other blooms
thereby open up
genius
which is
simply
being willing
to sip and know
Not Like We-Ness.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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A Song of Her Garden
She builds her pleasant garden
Where the winds are not so strong
The sun sometimes relenting
Becomes her companion
The garden spreads its arms to her
Thick shoulders, fragile hands
The creepers and the vines that bear
Her flowers from many lands
There is shade upon her shadow
And a path of leaves and stones
That were inlaid imperceptibly
Through years of life alone
There's a trickle of river water
Breaking on a precipice
An ornately painted corner
Where she sees the light of bliss
Papaya trees and lemon trees
That the hurricanes forgot
The garden is her mirror
It reflects her, then does not
Wind chimes in the moonlight
Songbirds awake till dawn
She cultivates the seasons,
Leaves the garden to be born.
poem by Frank Bana
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Less’er Love, And A Rose, In My Garden
I am gardener…. I prune, sheer… at times
…at times I have lesser love
And in less is more, very much more
…………….and there is this garden
..the garden, ours by the Grace of the Life Force, supreme God
..there is this Rose, and those Roses there… all chose a place to be
I, the Gardner choose the blooms from which Rose goes to the glass next my bed
I love this Rose, and less but similar those other
….they decide when to bloom
In sping late winter their souls weep, as I sheer, as I must
In spring and summer and early winter we rejoice as they bloom abundantly
…..every night one bloom from The Rose that’ad also chosen me
in the glass of water next my bed read to me, and comfort me
the delicate-, bewitching fragrance the bookmark for tomorrow night
I love that Rose as my chosen
I am gardener…. I prune, sheer… at times
…..only one Rose reads to me… I a lesser Gardener
Lesser, cause I’m only able t’love one Rose…..this Rose here
….those Roses there, some’r lessor Roses, some’r superior Roses, are my friends
Lesser in texture, shape and fiber and fragrance
Some superior in texture, or shape and or fiber and or fragrance
Friends equal in dimension with the Rose, but less in love than the Rose
…..every night one bloom from The Rose, that’s chosen me
in the glass of water next my bed read to me, and comfort me
the delicate-, bewitching fragrance the bookmark for tomorrow night
I love that Rose as my chosen
I, the gardener…. I prune, sheer…. at times
These other Roses who chose my garden
...so valuable in a muchness o’ Friendship,
…the quality their love much the same as that The Rose
Different the lesser my love, even though my caring equals that towards The Rose
We are blessed, those of us in the garden
…the magnificence of this garden in my life is the sumtotal of you all in my garden
I drink your fragrance intoxicated with love
I love The Rose, and my friends these other Roses in the garden Bless this love
poem by Johan Fourie
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In the spring garden
In the spring garden
~
In the spring garden
Birds sing and chatter
While flowers raise their heads
To greet the morning sun
A garden filled with colour bright
A garden which now fills with life
The bee and the butterfly hover
From flower to flower gathering nectar
Seeding the flowers blossom
Throughout the spring garden
The dew glistens upon the grass
While the wind gently rolls in the tree
All the world slowly waking
Soon to this bounty of great beauty
Every hue from natures pallet
Is here free for all to see
In the spring garden
poem by Matthew Holloway
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My Garden Fair
Flowers are blooming in
my garden fair. Their
sweet perfume fills the
air. My Garden fair is
beautiful to see., with all
its glory surrounding me.
My garden fair is romantic
and bright, and so redeeming
in sunlight where song birds
nestle in the trees, and sing
with each flowing breeze.
My garden fair is a glorious
sight, that I rush to greet
at twilight my garden fair is
most supreme with such lovely
enchanting scenes.
poem by Dr. Janice Marie Murrell
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Stepping Out Queen Part 2
It seems like it must have been something that I said
Something that somebody must have done
This is a song
Its got a whole lot of soul
When I seen you by the way before
In new york city
I think it was on eighth street, right?
Or was it in san francisco, whatever
Always put the first one first
And the second one, second
Come in the garden and look at the flowers
Thats what you were saying, right?
Come in my garden and look at the flowers
We can just sit and talk for hours and hours
Come in my garden, come in my garden
Come in my garden
Come in my, come in my, come in my garden
Come in my, come in my, come in my garden
Come in my garden, come in my garden
Look at the flowers, we can just sit and talk
And feel
As the sun come over the valley
As the sun come over the valley
I believe
I like the way
I like your face from the left side
As you go
As you go stepping out queen
Stepping out queen
Its just a windfall away, its just a windfall away
Its a windfall away
As you, as you, as you, as you go, as you go
Stepping out queen
Let me see you step out
Come on!
As you go steppin out queen
You can promenade
You can promenade
When you step
With a little bit of hip action
You go steppin out queen
Just a little bit of hip for the trip
As you go
Steppin out queen
I said give me a little bit of shoulder slide
Come on
Da, dada, do dodo, do dodo, do dodo, do doooo
Come on baby I just wanna reach out
I wanna reach out and touch you
I dont wanna talk
Do do do do do do do do do do do do do..
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Trees
The tree has branches so full of life’s teaching,
Anyone stays inside this house of wood.
My trees are in my garden of roses,
They are full of beauty, my garden tries hard
To learn and grow like humans and animals.
Your knowledge survives, my garden lives on
As it deserves to, my harder gardening is a concept.
Trees increase us in numbers, plants normally learn
Outright, their infinity is greater than ours.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Loves On The Line
Tell me baby
Have we lost everything that we had before
What do you do in the day
When I walk out the door
I can see you made up your mind
And I know our loves on the line
Loves on the line, our loves on the line
Loves on the line, our loves on the line
Loves on the line, our loves on the line
With each passing day
I gotta watch more and more what I say to you
I can feel your eyes looking through me
As I sit at the table at dinnertime
I can feel our loves on the line
Loves on the line, our loves on the line
Loves on the line, our loves on the line
Loves on the line, our loves on the line
I watch our kids
Growin up, going to school
Is there anything else for us now
Are we both just fools
Wasting our precious time
At night we lay in bed
But its like youre not even there
Theres something real bad
Going wrong somewhere
Last night I heard you cry
And I know our loves on the line
Loves on the line, our loves on the line
Loves on the line, our loves on the line
Loves on the line, our loves on the line
Loves on the line
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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