Winterer
Would this tropical seed grow in this rich soil
And become a Wintergreen one day
Or it may be winterkilled some day?
When I was watering to the rose bush in the morning
I deeply thought of myself.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Related quotes
Rose Bush's Life
have you ever seen a rose bush
grow over a period of time
well it gets bigger and
a lot more complected,
as it grows and expands
it starts as a seed
and with the right care and time
it develops into a bush
but with the wrong amount the bush is not heathy
and may die
that’s the same with a baby
we start as a egg in our mothers tummy
with the right amount of care and 9mounts
we sprout into the world
young, healthy and a able body baby
but if we are not taken care of properly then
we may not live
a rose bush sprouts many different roses
during it’s life time
as if they are sections of there life
generations
of there life time
our lives look and act
like a rose bush
also it starts with one seed
you
then we sprout up and
make our own lives
with a family and
that spouts other things off of us
husband, wife, kids, and grand kids
our lives are like a
rose bushes life
for a rose bushes
are our lives
poem by Mrs. Cynosure
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A Sower Went out to Sow
It sprang up at once because the soil was not deep,
and when the sun rose it was scorched, and it withered for lack of roots.
Some seed fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked it.
But some seed fell on rich soil, and produced fruit, a hundred or sixty or thirtyfold.'
for the Lord speaks
in parables
in the same manner that
we
who try to become poets
shall too
speak in
metaphors
sometimes
to please you
i shall only
speak
those words that
you want to hear
and not the
truth
thereof
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Lord's Harvest of Plenty
What a truly awesome thought indeed,
That throughout your day you live among seed.
Not the seeds that one would find in the ground,
These are not seen, but in the heart they are found.
These seeds are planted by the children of God,
As they simply follow the path The Savior has trod.
Your life as a Christian is not merely good deeds,
As your faithful witness could plant one of these seeds.
Or your life may be busy with a seed you don't know,
And your faithful witness is helping that little seed grow.
Planting and watering, as a Christian, is all we afford,
While all of the growth of that seed comes from the Lord.
After a little growth it is no longer a seed,
But a new vibrant Christian prepared for a deed.
The deed that has been prepared, I'm sure that you know,
Is to plant some new seed and to help water and help grow.
Once they have grown, they are cut with God's sickle of love,
And taken by The Lord to their Father's Home up above.
Whether the numbers are few or they are many,
You can be part of The Lord's Harvest of Plenty.
(Copyright © 08/2002)
A Transition
This is my cell, this cold stone tomb,
It's my heart's home, this rotting womb!
Planted seed, baby rose,
Help me heal and help me grow.
Watered seed, budding rose,
Build me up, flesh and bone.
Flowering seed, blooming rose,
Teach me things that i don't know.
Flower of Passion, flaming Rose,
Burn down these walls around my soul.
poem by Floyd Zimmerman
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Such a Rose In The Heart Of Rose
Such a Rose In The Heart Of Rose) it
blooms in my heart that rose(upon
me that grows, no matter where I leave
my heart dear(it loves on me to grow.
Bound up in thorns my love, I lay on beds
of them forever waiting to grow, with you
dear, as I bend to smell, that one red rose.
My heart is your rose, it climbs, and beats
when pricked, by the thorn, to be carried up
to every rose on the bush.My rose, your heart,
it blooms in love, each beat lifts to crown the
the heart, as the sun heats them both, to feed
each root that folds my heart back into the rose.
Such a Rose In The Heart Of Rose;
poem by Is It Poetry
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Mona Lisas & Mad Hatters
And now I know
Spanish harlem arent just
Pretty words to say
I thought I knew
But now I know
That rose trees never grow
In new york city
Until youve seen
This trash can dream come true
Stand at the edge
Have people run you through
I thank the lord
Theres people out there like you
I thank the lord
Theres people out there like you
While mona lisas and mad hatters
Sons of bankers sons of lawyers
Turn around and say
Good morning to the night
For unless they see the sky
But the cant and that is why
They know not if its
Dark outside or light
This broadways got
Got a lot of songs to sing and
If I knew the tunes
I might join in
Ill go my way alone
Grow my own
My own seed shall be sown
In new york city
Subways no way
For this good man to go down
Rich man can ride
And the hobo he can drown
I thank the lord
For the people I have found
I thank the lord
For the people I have found
While mona lisas and mad hatters
Sons of bankers sons of lawyers
Turn around and say
Good morning to the night
For unless they see the sky
But the cant and that is why
They know not if its
Dark outside or light
And now I know
Spanish harlem arent just
Pretty words to say
I thought I knew
But now I know
That rose trees never grow
In new york city
Subways no way
For this good man to go down
Rich man can ride
And the hobo he can drown
I thank the lord
For the people I have found
I thank the lord
For the people I have found
While mona lisas and mad hatters
Sons of bankers sons of lawyers
Turn around and say
Good morning to the night
For unless they see the sky
But the cant and that is why
They know not if its
Dark outside or light
They know not if its
Dark outside or light
song performed by by Indigo Girls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Rose in the heart of rose
A Rose In The Heart Of Rose
it blooms in my heart
that rose upon me that grows,
no matter where I leave my heart
dear it loves on me to grow.
Bound up in thorns my love,
I lay on beds of them forever
waiting to grow, with you
dear, as I bend to smell, that one red rose.
My heart is your rose,
it climbs, and beats
when pricked, by the thorn,
to be carried up
to every rose on the bush.
My rose, your heart,
it blooms in love, each beat lifts to
crown the the heart, as the sun heats them
both, to feed each root that folds
my heart back into the rose.
Such a Rose In The Heart Of Rose
poem by Anees Akbar
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Just a rose.
I'm a rose, but a damaged rose. The winds have torn my peddles and my color has faded. I've broken my stem through these uncontrolable storms, But a rose that has been picked and fiddled with. A rose who has learned to grow it's thorns, but a rose without it's bush.A rose that still has yet to say 'I've survived' this grassless dirt spreaded field.I'm a rose, just a damaged faded rose.
poem by Ashley Derenda
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Seed, Qou Vadis?
seed falling on the ground
brought by a night bird
wet by the rain of dusk
you have no choice
but to crack your hard covering
and then grow
some roots and leaves
in time's blessing
some flowers
then fruits
then the silence of the wilting
follows
to be back into a seed again
eaten by this night bird
and thrown back
to a distant soil
seed,
you must begin
your cycle again
for what choice do you have?
the night bird does not
even know
and the soil simply receives you
and the rain of the dusk
simply wets you
and they do not even know
what & why
they are doing all these
this is the cycle
of the seed of life
and wilting and death
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Seed
The seed of the soil
Sown by the palms of man
To an opportune terrain
For the endowment of dowry
To the daughters of the soil
To hail the seed of man
Perpetuation of seeds of legacy
Genesis of offspring
Heirloom to human flux
As parts a divine truth - seed the vital force
Of the timelessness of being
poem by Dilantha Gunawardana
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A Rose-Bud By My Early Walk
A Rose-Bud By My Early Walk
A rose-bud, by my early walk
Adown a corn-enclosèd bawk,
Sae gently bent its thorny stalk,
All on a dewy morning.
Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled,
In a' its crimson glory spread,
And drooping rich the dewy head,
It scents the early morning.
Within the bush her covert nest
A little linnet fondly prest;
The dew sat chilly on her breast,
Sae early in the morning.
She soon shall see her tender brood,
The pride, the pleasure o' the wood,
Amang the fresh green leaves bedew'd,
Awauk the early morning.
So thou, dear bird, young Jeany fair,
On trembling string or vocal air,
Shall sweetly pay the tender care
That tents thy early morning!
So thou, sweet rose-bud, young and gay,
Shalt beauteous blaze upon the day,
And bless the parent's evening ray
That watch'd thy early morning!
poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Soils
The soil was baked very hard and the seed bounced off
I would not listen to God and would only scoff
It was unreceptive and unrepentant ground
And no time or place for God's Word was to be found
Littered with many stones and exposing no ground
Full of crevasses but little soil was to be found
The seed fell into a crack germinating there
It grew quickly but shrivelled under the suns glare
Covered with weeds and leaving so very little soil
My life all mixed up and full of care and turmoil
The Word of God tried hard to germinate and grow
But the cares and worries of this world choked it so
The soil was prepared and I readily received
God's Word was spoken and as I heard and believed
It sprang up in my heart over many a year
And blossomed and bloomed as I saw the fruit appear
Based on the parable of the Sower (Matthew 13: 1-23)
Soil Is A Soul Of Life
Soil what is soil Lord?
soil is life seed
soil is a living organism
soil is a loom
from which you were made
dust you were dust you will be
Soil what is soil Scientist?
soil is a critical
part
of an ecosystem
soil provides
important nutrients
for plants in
an ecosystem
soil helps
anchor
plants
to keep
plants
in place
soil absorbs
holds water
for plants
soil absorbs
holds water
for animals
lakes rivers
to use
soil provides
a home
for many species
lots of living
organisms
soil
regenerates life
dust you were dust you will be
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Subject to fate
A good seed may fall on a rock and dry.
A weak seed may fall on soil and grow.
A hale plant might brake; a weak one may live.
Might and merit are subject to one's fate.
23.01.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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In the Shadow
In the shadow
I live in the shadow
the shadow of the mountain
Vesuvius.
the days are warm
The soil is fertile
I grow olives and I grow
rich.
Long ago the mountain rumbled
spewing lava, pumice stone
Pliny told us of the horror
Pompeians dying in their homes.
the days are warm
The soil is fertile
I grow olives and I grow
old..
Life in good in greater Naples
We live in an expensive home
every now and then a rumble
vulcan working at his forge
poem by John F. McCullagh
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To The Teachers Of America
TEACHERS of teachers! Yours the task,
Noblest that noble minds can ask,
High up Aonia's murmurous mount,
To watch, to guard the sacred fount
That feeds the streams below;
To guide the hurrying flood that fills
A thousand silvery rippling rills
In ever-widening flow.
Rich is the harvest from the fields
That bounteous Nature kindly yields,
But fairer growths enrich the soil
Ploughed deep by thought's unwearied toil
In Learning's broad domain.
And where the leaves, the flowers, the fruits,
Without your watering at the roots,
To fill each branching vein ?
Welcome! the Author's firmest friends,
Your voice the surest Godspeed lends.
Of you the growing mind demands
The patient care, the guiding hands,
Through all the mists of morn.
And knowing well the future's need,
Your prescient wisdom sows the seed
To flower in years unborn.
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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Mizrayim
Remember and never forget how i deeply love you,
And like the fruit of your womb;
Remeber and never forget how we deeply made love with our nakedness!
Yes, in the rich and spacious land of beautiful roses;
But, the laws were written for our learning.
Mizrayim my love,
Always love me deeply like the first time;
And remember and never forget how i really care for you,
For, i am who i am and you are you are who you are on this sweet muse of love.
True love had now connected us together so,
Do remember and never forget how i failfully taught you the way;
For this rich and spacious land of the beautiful roses recorded that history.
Visit my vineyard of love and let me crown you my love,
For ui was sent to you to love you and to direct you;
And i will take you to the land of love flowing with milk and honey,
For you are all that i need on this sweet muse of love.
Oh Mount Horeb! !
And from within the bush of love;
With Shanghai Blues to take up your body to the bay of love!
But, remember and never forget how we deeply made love with our nakedness.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Tropical Depression
I thought some time in the sun
Would help me get over you
But I could tell from day one
This is a place meant for two
Now here I sit on the beach
Watching the tide ebb and flow
I booked my room for a week
But now Im ready to go
Im in a tropical depression
Ive got the blue water blues
Cant shake this loving you obsession
Cant stand this sand in my shoes
This forgetting you vacation
Is just a fools holiday
If I cant get over you
This tropical depressions gonna
Blow me away
This should be paradise
Heaven down by the sea without you here by my side
It feels like hell to me
Chorus
If I cant get over you
This tropical depressions gonna
Blow me away
If I cant get over you
This tropical depressions gonna
Blow me away
song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Grow in Idaho
I write this unsolicited letter to a kind farmer
Who smiles in state of Idaho.
I would like to join you and shed my sweat on your precious soil.
If there is any possibility at least appear in my hope of dreams
And I would like to grow as a stretchy tuber under your rich soil to feed the hunger.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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On Uninspiring Labor
Another morning of meandering
Through emptiness and the nothing forces
Which magnetize my nonsense panderings
And magnify my lack of resources:
My mental nourishment, my life-stream's flow
That, right now, is in drought, thus preventing
My fertile thought harvests the will to grow.
For what reason hinders my inventing
Further irrigation of the parched land,
Thirsty for the tapping of the well-spring?
What repels the iron-rich soil in hand
From being ripe for future prospering?
I dig and toil at the dirt with no spade,
My hands buried in the hole I have made.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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