About Us
there are rains
on the days of our lives
and we try to grow flowers
on our fertile grounds
the weeds are there
but they never outgrow
what good seeds
we have put there
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Fertile Ground
Some lives fall on fertile ground
and grow and grow and grow.
Some lives fall on stony ground
and fail to grow at all.
We are like the seeds of flowers
we need a base to grow,
to spread our roots
and watch our seedlings grow.
11 April 2009
poem by David Harris
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Little deeds are like little seeds, they grow to flowers or to weeds.
quote by Daniel D. Palmer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Seeds
in the fertile fields of our beings
tiny seeds are sown
and they always grow
and become flowers
they also exude scent
and display bright colors
to the sun
and they wilt before
we know it
simply because we are too busy
we could have given
these seeds enough time
to see how they become
themselves
so beautifully that we could
have adored them
even in a single moment
a very brief moment
yet we didn't and now we are sad
in this regret
this reminiscing
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Planted A Seed
I Planted A Seed
Written by: Wilfred Mellers, Monday, April 26,2010 @ 1: 22 AM
I planted seeds and watched them grow
Each day I fertilized, pesticide, and watered the seeds
Weeds couldn’t strangle my seeds I made sure
They flourished in fertile soil gaining strength by the day
I tended my garden daily without fail
At night I made sure comforted they were
Kept them safe from the elements to flourish
Strong they grew so proud I was of my seedlings
Exquisite blossoms grew from the seeds I sow
Blessed was I my garden full of life and magnificence
Gracious flowers from seeds bloomed respectfully there
Rare colors of light bloom in my plot
Flourished flowers came and went in seasons due
Now fully mature they need tending no more
Their colors now turn a pale winter blue
Scornful now my flowers turn a shadowy brown
Fields I no longer tend dry from disuse
Efforts made gallantly on unappreciative ears they are falling
Ostracized be by flowers lacking in devotion
Buds turned left the farmer to burn in summers heat
One seedling still cares and is always there
Never far fledged the one daffodil looms
In shadows bloomed now to a spectacular delight
In sorrowed fields once a daffodil is now in full bloom
In loving care suffered they not from abandonment
Tender the care giving for the farmer was driven
Success was a must for crooked the journey was laid
Apples of my eyes for I planted seeds and watch them grow
poem by Wilfred Mellers
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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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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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You Must Dropp The Seed
i am the field, plowed fertile field
near the river
some dogs are buried within me
some snakes live here
i know their wishes and desire
somehow i wait for you as the rain
and you as the sower
of the seeds
pour some sweat of your brow
and let your arms swing
let the seeds
fall
that is all i want
that is all that i am waiting for
just dropp the seed
and i will let them grow
then you can leave
i will take care of the snakes
and i will always remember all the dogs sleeping here
now you must leave
the seeds shall grow spontaneously as i watch the seasons change
t
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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Allowing Things To Happen
too early
without breakfast yet
one indulges in poetry and
peruses on some windows of
philosophizing
perhaps
seeking for cure
or just plain grabbing
of justification
for what we have not done
and failed to do
before the sun rises
rays of light already stand-by
the window frames
left by the moon
on last night's
drunkenness
of wisdom's
nocturnal rendezvous
there are not butterflies
but there will be
as soon
as we decide for their
fluttering existences
well there are no flowers yet
but soon
there will be
only because
we allow them to grow
at least
in the fertile grounds of the
heart
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Survival Kit
the grass accepts death
of all it has, leaves and roots
its color blends with
the dust and parched mud
cracking surfaces
it also knows to preserve
its species
burying resilient seeds on
the cracks
and when it rains it begins
to grow buds
roots and all and the whole
ground is green again
meanwhile on cracked grounds
where once the pond was
the whiskers of the catfish begin
to wriggle
shedding off mud around its skin
the fish begins to swim
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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When people die
When people die
They are planted like seeds
That will grow
When the spring rains come
But we never do
The rains can not raise us
We just lay there rotting
Smelling of decay flesh
But on the anniversary of our death
We bloom again in the mind
And some recall the time
That we walked within our skin.
poem by David E. Patton
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For We Are The Trees Bearing So Much Fruits
For we are trees
That bear so many fruits
We are lucky
Our seeds fall of fertile grounds
Our branches grafted
On healthy trunks
Our fruits are ripe
Everyone gathers
We have no right to ask them
Who they are
Their names do not matter
Not even their character
We cannot refuse giving
Them all
Lest we perish
And die....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A worry to matuare
I told him not to mature
As I was immature
I saw the future
As I was unsure
It may grow with age
Let it not confine to cage
No anger or rage
New print on page
Water the seeds
Fertile it with feeds
It may grow
With fine flow
You may notice
Without any advice
It is matured now
Can you say how?
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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On the open plain (Catena Rondo)
Some flowers rise up bright from tiny seeds,
blooms appear with heads searching for the sun;
on this earth so it's been since time begun,
some flowers rise up bright from tiny seeds,
blooms appear with heads searching for the sun
they rejoice over a day that is new
are fresh with the glistening morning dew;
blooms appear with heads searching for the sun
they rejoice over a day that is new
as bees and butterflies flutter along
birds do sing the happiest kind of song
they rejoice over a day that is new,
as bees and butterflies flutter along
wild deer graze at the soft tender green grass
while they in massive herds do slowly pass
as bees and butterflies flutter along
wild deer graze at the soft tender green grass
some flowers rise up bright from tiny seeds
grow to strength in a world full of big weeds,
wild deer graze at the soft tender green grass,
some flowers rise up bright from tiny seeds,
blooms appear with heads searching for the sun;
on this earth so it's been since time begun,
some flowers rise up bright from tiny seeds.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Paying Tribute To Depression
you grow seeds of sorrow
on the earthen pots
i don't know if you grow them for me
so i may see what buds what flowers
have sorrows
days and years
they have become trees of your depression
i have seen how you thank
each leaf and twig
for all the poems spread to the winds
of change to the fields of time
filling in each space each furrow
each empty interstices in your marrow
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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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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High Price
Jerry Jerry your lifestyles hairy
how do your dope plants grow?
In cramped ceiling, under a naked bulb, my lady,
from little seeds all in a row.
Jerry Jerry your rather smelly
how are your dope plants sold?
By bountiful bagful, or in single rolls, to tally
Waitangi gold, is a trip, for joint discerning bold.
Jerry Jerry do you live in fear
do you feel hunted, with pouncing, policemen near?
The boys in blue, dance a merry, merry tune.
What’s a bust, may come yearly, like June?
Jerry Jerry one day all grow old
will you feel regret, for lives, you’ve sold?
I’ve been living high, flying in narcotic, sky seat.
Life’s been so very sweet, living with prepaid, heat.
Jerry Jerry a future comes, your days done,
there’s no place for you, under our sun?
There’s always a place, man in selective, supplying know.
There’re other trips, after poppy seeds, to sow.
Jerry Jerry it’s time now, you must go
tell of other pastures, you now will hoe?
Man’s full of lust, greed, ever fertile seed,
a high paying price, is charge for need.
No matter where man chance may roam.
A place is found, I’m right at home.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Wonderful Seeds
What does sprout from seeds?
The flowers might, but do not war with deeds.
Then a darling panting comes from the breathing space,
Wonders adjust the expenses of the body, and this is the case.
The seeds of wonderful nature collide with the wind
To sprint in the sand and loam, all agog, all dinned.
Such surprise! Such a soil of wonderment!
The seeds from seeds are springing into flowers and abandonment.
poem by Naveed Akram
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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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