On the 25th...
i am repeating
what usual things i have done
and will always be doing
there is always a room for
my silence
how i keep it always as a seed
growing
and just that
forever.... a seed
its fruits are nowhere to be
found
it has never even bloomed
a seed in my mind
like cancer
restrained, controlled,
well kept
now this silence
takes its toll at the count of
ten thousand and five hundred
solitudes.
i take my cup
drink the wine and i am praying
that let it not be taken
Thy will be done.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Seed And The Tree
Who can say for sure as to what came first: the seed or the tree?
If the seed came first where did it come from if not from the tree?
But then if the tree came first where did it come from except from a seed!
So then you'll have to re-ask again that question of the origin of the seed.
An endless circle with no logical conclusion soon appears
until one looks beyond the seed and the tree that it bears.
Although the seed comes from the tree and the tree from the seed
each one grows in the ground of mother Earth which both does feed.
The Earth is the womb of everything living and supports all we know
and then becomes the tomb back into which all forms one day must go.
The underlying essence of all nature is of consciousness-energy-intelligence
that includes and sustains all things despite our ever incessant belligerence.
Has anyone ever heard it said that God is in the form of the world
and so all within it carries a divine spark from which it has swirled.
God is the infinite eternal seed of all existence and can be experienced like this:
usually as an overwhelming love within us and as all power, knowledge and bliss.
So the seed and tree came from the Earth which itself has come from and exists in God
and to enquire where God has come from is useless if we haven't transcended this sod.
The limited mind of man has to merge into that unlimited universal mind of the Creator
only then can we know the original cause or final end of everything and of their Maker.
---------------------
Note:
This should remind one of the other similar paradox being that of 'the chicken and the egg'.
poem by George Krokos
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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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If you know how many acres you have sown of each kind of corn, inquire how much the acre the soil of that land takes for sowing, and count the number of quarters of seed, and you shall know the return of seed, and what ought to be over.
quote by Robert Grosseteste
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Interactive
I write some lines and you read each word
A word excites you and you take it up to
Seed your fields where you grow your own
Shrubbery of words with tendrils climbing
I look at your garden of words and there is
This word growing into a flower attracting
Me I pick it up this sensual flower and I
Seed it in the lines of my mind now another
Bunch of words like ripe grapes I take one
Swallow it and savor the taste of its sweetness
More lines of words in my throat sliding
Through the lining of my esophagus so smooth
Going straight inside the veins leading to my heart
Sweet, so sweet I could have written the usual
Lines of “ I love you, I miss you” but I couldn’t
There is this roadblock, this writer’s block
The lines stopped, the words are stunted
I stutter, I retreat to my eyes, to see
The face of this woman I love, her eyes
Are gentle, she smiles at me, and waits
For this beautiful silence that gives her life
You stand there, looking for a hint, another
Word to seed the lines waiting to be written.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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That Is Perhaps What Poetry Is All About
a seed thrown on the ground
beside a bush, it grows and you do not notice.
it is sad to say, neglect does not bother.
time is its ally, and it begins to feel its roots
and leaves.it dreams of fruits.
the seed is now a tree, and it summons children
to play, to climb its branches and to reap its fruits.
that is its only joy. To give.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Seed
Seed
Not perishable
Seed
The ultimate substratum
Of the whole creation.
You are the root cause
Of the entire creation.
You are all pervasive
And in all formed.
You are my seed
You are my root
You are with me
I'm in you.
O my seed
I have no
Other need.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Explore your potential and earn the heart of the world
Village mud road
Afternoon and the hot sun
A buffalo in its own slow pace
On its back a half naked boy
Sweat droplets twinkling
Seated and enjoying a mango
Making all efforts to extract
The entire flesh upto the seed
A clean and white seed
Now in his hand
Aiming to hit a crow
Sitting on a milestone
Innocently glancing left and right
Threw the seed at his full speed
Thank God, the crow flew unhurt
The seed finding its way
To a mud-ridden drain
With its drowning deep
Bubbles appearing
Pronouncing the end of
A mango fruit
But it was only a beginning
The seed fighting all odds
Sprouted establishing
In the stinking waste water drain
Growing steadily
To a sapling first
Then to a big tree
Now standing tall
With branches in all directions
Bearing sweet fruits
Now being exported and
Earning foreign exchange
Apparently a useless seed
Had this potential
Which when rightly exploited
Earned global recognition
Explore your potential and
Earn the heart of the world
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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A Dream Of Evolution....
shall a seed be
a seed forever?
do you not dream
someday that it shall
be planted
so that it can sprout
and grow
and then finally see
its flower
and fruit?
must the flower and fruit
be just the same
like the rest of the histories of
the other seeds
of their own form and kind?
must i hope
for an evolution
a seed turning
into a bee
a bee into
a butterfly into wind
into star?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Seed
In the spring
when the air has warmed.
I
planted a seed
a tiny seed.
I
along with my faith
to Mother Earth entrusted it.
I
hoped she would
nourish and coax the blossom
hidden within that seed so small.
To
spring forth in the summertime
with
its beauty its fragrance.
That all may behold and enjoy.
Until
autumn time
when back it returns
to a seed to sleep
to wait.
To be reborn.
poem by Kurt Hearth
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One Hundred Thousand Marching
One hundred thousand marching
One hundred thousand men
One hundred thousand heading
To a place and a time when
One hundred thousand dying
One hundred thousand cold
One hundred thousand praying
Forever young and never old
One hundred thousand lives were lost
One hundred thousand felt the pain
One hundred thousand maimed and slaughtered
And yet those armies march again.
poem by David Keig
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Swallowing The Seed
swallowing the seed
fear begins to grow
the seed sprouts inside
his belly and roots begin
to travel inside his prostate
down to his bottom
unto his feet
immobilizing him
the seed begins to have
buds and leaves
and twigs and
huge trunks
his eyes shrink on the barks
his nose all gone
there are no signs of the original man
he swallowed the seed of life
that no one dared.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Total Eclipse!
Time unto time
A door's closing
A seasons change
The end of ones pristine
Time unto time
A door's opening
An' season's anew
Yet one shall be missed
Moment by moment
Account of count
Thine pages of living proof
Moment by moment
count thy count
For your reminisce remains
Eclipse after eclipse
Toll upon toll
Always there for the need
Eclipse after eclipse
Toll upon toll
Always the planting of seed
Brother unto brother
Closer than blood
And a promise never unbroken
Brother unto brother
You are my blood
an' forever a part of me
poem by Geoff Warden
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The Seed
The wind carried the seed
Into the air to who knows where
Across the weeds, floated the seed
Until to rest on the earth, which laid bare.
And then cried the seed upon the rise
Someday I, I will be a tree,
Liken my brothers, who will be like me
And I will grow to touch the sky.
The seed again journeyed upon the wind
Over the grass and wooded paths
Above the trees, cousins to him
Past the flowers who were his friends.
While he dreamed someday; he too would have many limbs.
The seed finally lighted upon the ground
From where he chose, so his mighty roots would grow
God will water me and give me light, he cried
He will also destroy my enemies and help me rise,
But then arrived a bird, who ate the seed.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Widower is hopeless
A widow is the pod shed seed.
A widower is the seed spilled pod.
Seed can remain; pod disintegrates.
A widower is the most unfortunate.
07.03.2002, Pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Trust Me
Trust in me, baby, give me time, gimme time, um gimme time.
I heard somebody say, oh, "the older the grape,
Sweeter the wine, sweeter the wine."
Oh, my love is like a seed, baby, just needs time to grow,
It's growing stronger day by day, yeah,
That's the price you've got to pay.
Trust in me, baby, give me time, gimme time, please, a little more time.
Takes a road runner just a little bit uh-longer, dear,
Oh, to make up my mind, i gotta make up my mind.
Oh, my love is like a seed, baby, just needs time to grow,
It's growing stronger day by day,
That's the price that we both got to pay.
I gotta know, know that i'm ready, oh ready to settle down,
'cause i think too much of your loving, baby,
Yeah, i don't wanna mess your life around!
So if you love me like you tell me that you're doing, dear,
You shouldn't mind paying the price, any price, any price.
Love is supposed to be that special kind of thing,
Make anybody want to sacrifice.
Oh, my love is like a seed, baby, just needs time to grow,
It's growing stronger day by day,
That's the price we both gotta pay.
Trust in me baby, trust in me baby,
Trust in my love, in my heart.
Keep the faith, baby, keep the faith in me, dear, in my arms, in my love.
Don't turn your face away from me, dear, oh you leave a lost girl,
Oh, don't turn your love away, no no no no no no no,
You gotta believe in me, baby, yeah, trust me dear, oh...
song performed by by Janis Joplin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Do Not Worry
do not worry
the seed of love will just find its way
to grow and upon itself
take its journey towards bliss
for like any seed on earth
it always finds itself to the glorious
face of the sun and shakes its hands
and be a part of its
embrace
from it a tree comes out
some fruits that ripen
for you to simply pick up
and eat
and without any question
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)
The Seed
A seed
A bird had swallowed
While in fruit,
Had fallen in some rocky land
As Bird-droppings,
And sprouted into
A lovely tree,
With massive trunk
And boughs with verdant leaves,
And luscious fruits
As birds built nests
And wayfarers had shade from scorching sun!
A seed
A farmer sowed
In fertile land,
Ploughed by oxen
And sweat of brow
’neath scorching sun,
Did sprout also:
But ceased to grow
And withered
As the rains had failed
That year!
Although in both the cases
Seeds seemed similar,
Why did the farmer’s toil
Didn’t fructify?
Perhaps,
The bird had gulped
The best of fruits with seed
That grew despite the rocky soil!
Perhaps, the farmer’s work
Remained by God
Unblessed!
Man’s selfishness
At times ruins his labor great!
The heart of man matters!
Each seed
That’s sowed on earth
Grows by Heaven’s decree!
poem by John Celes
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Nails At The Crucifixion Hammered Into Jesus' Heel
God pronounced relentless battle between Satan
and the woman's seed between your seed her seed Genesis 3: 15.
in life battle Satan would 'bruise him on the heel.'
nails at the crucifixion hammered into Jesus' heel
Satan bruises his heel
God so ordered it
the salvation of man
could only be brought
by the death of Christ
even the spiritual seed
of our blessed Lord
are often heel bruised
we suffer persecution
temptation from Satan
the promised seed suffers but no destructive blow
'When the fullness of the time came, God sent
forth His Son, born of a woman, born under the Law' Galatians 4: 4.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Sins Of Our Fathers
It's a seed planted
By the history of our forefathers
That is in you and I my brothers
Yes! You too my sisters
Are plaqued by the same seed
The same seed that assumed
A place of comfort
In the garden of my father's father's father,
Further and farther from root level
It found its way through the bark to us the branches
And now as we grow leaves
And new buds from us emerge
The seed find its way to our children and so I pray,
Let us children be not held accountable
For the sins of our fathers
We suffer from self doubt and self inadequacy
We ask ourselves the same question
That others before us asked
Who am I to make it,
When in my family no one did?
The question is in you
The question is in me
Yes! You can trace it back to the seed
The same seed that history
Planted in our forefather's garden
To us poverty is congenital
And mediocrity congenial
But how can I believe in myself
When even my father doubt me?
I guess it all begins with me
As a man thinketh, so is he
So hear me father I pray
Let us children be not held accountable
For the sins of our fathers
poem by BiggRich Shuping
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