Old Horticulturist and the disturbed flowers
I know that you all have special likings and regards to the young gardener
Because he pours water day & night.
Behind the scene I am the Master
Who designed the garden,
But not shown any gratitude these proud flowers for my generosity.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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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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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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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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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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Two Nations and One Religion
The gardener knows of our illicit love!
I never forget the Garden of Eden
Where the Man & Woman
Displayed the real politics of love!
This love is the one and only Religion
In simply pronounce as Humanity!
(For the poetess Sandra Dodd in gratitude!)
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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The poem of no return
She walks in a trace
The trace swept by feet
A young water pours down
The drops by the road
She’s drinking drinking
The well of living thirst
A young rain pours down
The drops into hands
She’s watching watching
The mirror of the water
A young river flows
By willows asleep
She’s sleeping sleeping
‘Neath unfaithful sky
She walks in a trace
The trace swept by feet
Each step a trace
Sky entangled web
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Undergoing Treatment
We are undergoing treatment
Watching others in the news
Studying our worst reviews
They say well get over it
Disappear like dinosaurs
To the sound of sole applause
Designed to make us special
If you see me walking in the garden
Dont ever ask me for an autograph
If you ever catch me in the arcade
Dont even stop me for a photograph
We are undergoing treatment
Till our ethic fits the scene
Layed out in q magazine
They crave our conformity
Mediocre to the bone
Terrified testosterone
But why do we still face the music
If you see me walking in the garden
Dont ever ask me..
Now and then you get the strangest notion
That theres something missing
But it keeps you guessing
Wild ambition can you really blame us?
Can you entertain us?
Can you give a little more?
(chorus)
We are undergoing treatment
Will the doctors ever cure
These delusions of grandeur?
song performed by by Duran Duran
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Do You Know Who I Am?
Do you know who I am.
I am the angry wind that storms the night.
I am the rain that pours.
I am the storm of the night.
I am your future.
Not your distant past.
I am the rush of the fast.
I am the evil one that fills you hart.
I am the one who will not part.
I am the one who captured you from the start.
I will never let you go.
To me you shall bow.
I am your master.
I'd be who you must obey.
I am depression.
Your only lord and master.
I will leave you.
When you come to your end.
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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Thankfulness is the beginning of gratitude. Gratitude is the completion of thankfulness. Thankfulness may consist merely of words. Gratitude is shown in acts.
quote by Henri Frederic Amiel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Your Own Special Way
Go far enough and you will reach,
A place where the sea runs underneath.
We'll see our shadow, high in the sky,
Dying away in the night.
I've sailed the world for seven years,
And left all i love behind in tears.
Oh, won't you come here, wherever you are,
I've been all alone long enough.
You, you have your own special way,
Of holding my hand keep it way 'bove the water,
Don't ever let go - oh no, no, no.
You, you have your own special way,
Of turning the world so it's facing
The way that i'm going. don't ever
Don't ever stop.
Whose seen the wind not you or i,
But when the ship moves she's passing by.
Between you and me i really don't think,
She knows where she's going at all.
You, you have your own special way,
Of carrying me twice round the world
Never closer to home than the day,
The day i started.
You, you have your own special way,
Hold onto my hand keep it way 'bove the water,
Don't ever let go no, no, no.
What mean the dreams night after night.
The man in the moon's a blinding light.
Won't you come out whoever you are,
You've followed me quiet long enough.
You, you have your own special way,
Of holding my hand, don't ever let go.
You, you have your own special way,
Of turning the world so it's facing
The way that i'm going, don't ever,
Don't ever leave me.
song performed by by Genesis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Rose
A ROSE, as fair as ever saw the North,
Grew in a little garden all alone;
A sweeter flower did Nature ne'er put forth,
Nor fairer garden yet was never known:
The maidens danced about it morn and noon,
And learned bards of it their ditties made;
The nimble fairies by the pale-faced moon
Water'd the root and kiss'd her pretty shade.
But well-a-day!--the gardener careless grew;
The maids and fairies both were kept away,
And in a drought the caterpillars threw
Themselves upon the bud and every spray.
God shield the stock! If heaven send no supplies,
The fairest blossom of the garden dies.
poem by William Browne
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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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~Green~
The Ivy grows
It climbs the wall
As if reaching
For sunbeams
Of gentle Ole' Sol
Nuture O' nature
Garden Green
Chlorophil
Watered and
Fertilized
Exquisitly alive
Still
Hibiscus garden
Near the water
Fall
Dancing moisture
Dropps
Rainbow colour
Neath' Ole' Sol
Magnifience 'tis
Reigning O'er
Garden's Divine
Special touch
Divinity
God's very own
Design
poem by Theodora Onken
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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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My Garden
My garden is a special place
Where morning blows its breeze
And sun dries the morning mists.
Where different plants and shrubs
Soothe the sight with flowers and buds.
My garden is a special place
Where busy bees fly and kiss
The beauty of flowers their nectar sipped
Where butterflies fly high and low
Attracting passers on the go.
My garden is a special place
Where I laid my worries and grief
Where I spend hours of peace
Where I hum with total bliss
Where I go and my stress ceased.
poem by Rose de Ramar
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Do your duty
Gardeners, two there are, a pair,
One doesn't perform and is unfair,
The other is duty bound and full of care,
Both work for their master for their fare.
The non-performer is a flatterer,
He eulogizes and praises his master,
The other person, the gardener—
He is simple and knows not to palter.
To the committed man the master shifts,
The other from employment he lifts,
Let us execute our duty without rifts,
The Lord God on us will shower His gifts.
poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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Pumping Water At The Old Well....
since there is no electricity
you pump water from the well,
it is still dark, and the chickens are still on the trees,
you sweat it out so you can have water in this village
memories keep flashing scene by scene
when you were once a young boy doing errands for mama
when you were ordered to take the morning bath
but you simply ignored it and climbed instead the balimbing tree
the branch gave way and there you fell
mama was hysterical as you lost consciousness
your memory stopped right there and then
you were always a disobedient boy and now a man
it seems that there is still no difference to speak of
and you remember someone wise enough to say that the child has always been the father of man
you pump more water and now you know what this really means.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Special Gift
Freewill offerings and special gift,
Stone walls and spiritual bodies! !
But it disappeared before their eyes.
Flesh and blood,
I understand your works and where you live;
But out of Ham came the harm of your lover!
And like the gazelle or the deer.
You must not eat it! !
Pour the blood out on thr ground like water;
And plant your seeds with care and water them with love.
A special gift,
And like the vegetable garden next to you;
But if everyone in a community decided to practice honesty,
There would be no theft in that area.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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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 world is a garden of philosophy. God is the gardener. Man is the visitor. And any tree that does not bear fruits of philosophy either does not belong to that garden or is yet to be grown.
quote by Kedar Joshi
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