A Good Poke In The Eye
I salute you
post-modern
shards splinters
poking eyes
that will not see
piercing throats
carrying no voice
shattering eardrums
in ears unused
waves of thoughts
permeate space
wavelengths in spectrums
speaking shouting
to all people minds
in their own language
Who has consciously
chosen to tune out?
Looked into the sun
burned out their own eyeballs?
closed throat
gorges upon pig fat
translated into self
absorbed fetishes
through your food
your tastes apparent
are written an indictment
proclaiming inhuman indifference
so very much conscious you are
your personal needs desires
gluttony deadly sins
grow into skeletons
forget not
time passing
cry pain past
awaits all in judgement
open a second of time
let it watered grow
sunlight birthright
flowers awakening
speculate
upon future blooms
grown
in garden of mind
in garden of creative nurturing mind
weeds
ripped out
burned?
buried under turned over soil?
reflect upon purpose fruitful vine
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Related quotes
Fixed As If Cemented
Those who remain with wishes,
To see things as they would choose to view them.
And not how things are.
Since things are the way they have been...
Unchanged and unbending.
Fixed as if cemented.
There is nothing to say,
To those like that.
Those who disbelieve,
Things are not as they are seen.
But 'should' be the way they would 'like'?
That is alright.
Do not frustrate in argument with them.
Your time...
Not theirs,
Is to mellow like fine wine.
Know this!
Others who have had these 'things'...
Just as they are and wish to leave them that way.
Defend their points of view.
Despite what it is you do.
Whether you condone what is done or not.
And it is difficult to get that across to some people.
But not for the few!
Who have chosen their own lives to live.
And have chosen to do the best they can...
To assist,
With any apparent awakening...
Some stand by and expect.
However,
If things as they are as observed are accepted...
By those affected.
And they wish things to be just the way they are?
'Left-a-lone! '
It is better to leave what is seen that way.
ALONE!
Turn away from it and live one's own life.
Frustration free and nurturing one's peace of mind!
Unless?
There is always an 'unless' involved.
Unless...
One has desires to remain in darkness!
And argue about the prospects,
Of a light that could shine...
Between two ears already known closed.
Optimistic people love the concept of options!
Although,
Some narrow minds will never open that wide!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Early Prose: The Fifth Dimension
The reason for the expedition had lost its meaning. Everyone was now interested in what they were seeing about them other than that for which we had originally come. The expression on all of their faces seemed to tell the story plain enough but, there was evident a certain degree of conscience which prevailed in them which appeared to override their own personal desires. This I noticed with anticipated concern for after all, if it were not for training prior the expedition all would have been lost on reaching this point. They would have become irrational like the things they were witnessing taking place before their very eyes.
I looked at them once again and could have easily read their minds but managed to resist the temptation for if I had done so, would have fallen into the same threshold they had. It was just like walking through a dream relating to your own sub-conscious mingled with your conscious deep integrated personal desires and screened in your mind with harsh realism. Anyone who had experienced this before and was able to be disillusioned, as I had been, stood the chance of escaping its hypnotic hold on the mind, those who didn't were doomed.
Once in its spell they could witness everything in terms of personal desires; things that happened to them in the past and things that 'would happen' to them in the future. The effect of this threshold could also be moulded into the way you wanted things to happen which was the main factor that once caught you could not get out. Without my help and understanding they would never have been able to re-materialize from a world of irrational feelings and capabilities where time and space were their servants and each one's desires their master as the Fifth Dimension.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Note: This is a work of fiction written over 35 years ago although the subject matter herein may not be for some people as in the case of dreams or maybe even paranormal experiences.
poem by George Krokos
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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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Be The Garden Not The Gardener
the thoughts growing in your mind
are thorns
you are the one growing them in your mind
let no thought grow there
let yourself be not the grower of these thoughts they are the thorns
let your mind be just the garden
let Him spread the seeds and let these seeds grow like
some clouds seeded in the skies
let Him grow the thoughts in you
you see them
they are the red roses
because you are the garden
you are not the gardener
you have never been and you are never the good one
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Killing Love (Stream XX)
Love like gentle petals unfurls,
A tender plant killed by harsh words.
A flower that needs much nurturing
For then it will blossom, grow.
But we, we two,
Having this great gift
Did fritter it away.
Spend thrifts we were,
Misers to its needs.
Gave it no bread.
Fed it no water.
Let the weeds of indifference grow
Choking it with strangling vines.
So that it died in the desert of our neglect.
Killed it stone dead with unkind thoughts
Withered it with cold looks
That chilled and froze the heart.
Turned caresses to sharp words
And used our tongues as swords.
The passion that once burned
Tuned to hot anger.
Destroyed and consumed it.
Now it lies between us ashes.
And we both desolate,
Go our separate ways.
poem by Paul Brookes
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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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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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With Dogs
If you lie down with dogs
you’ll get fleas
Granddaddy said
and the stink’ll stick to you
and people’ll know
and you sat
next to him
in the garden
on that old seat
he made
out of cast off wood
and he said
keep to your own kind son
don’t get out
of your depth
with that dross
and he stared up
at the sky
and you saw
his cool blue eyes
take in more
than you did
from the cloud shapes
to the passing
overhead birds
and you said
it’s easy to get involved
with that type
they haven’t got
the same degree
of choosiness
and he looked at you
and said
boy if they ain’t choosy
they ain’t bothered
and if they ain’t bothered
they ain’t worth
being with
and he pointed to flowers
growing near by
and said
I grew them from seeds
and cared for them
but those weeds
they don’t get cared for
or loved
but they still grow
because they ain’t bothered
and he looked up
at the sky again
and at the darkening clouds
carrying heavy rain.
poem by Terry Collett
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Loves Floral Garden
We may be running circles 'round in time-
And spending moments with one another 'neath the moon-
But it defines the magic that we create while together...
In Springtimes Garden of Ethereal Blooms;
Oh, the gentle majesty of fragrant aroma's...
That peak in the warming sprintime eves-
And the tender love we give unto one another unconditionally-
And all the warmth that we two receive;
It all makes for a tender nurturing relationship...
Borne 'neath New Beginnings Springtime show...
'Neath the awesome splendour of the ebons twinkling gems-
In a Floral Garden-Our love to grow;
We are watered with the Sprintimes gentle rains-
And fertilized with promises of true love to always be...
'Neath the sun and moon we grow forever in love-
Wrapped in the Floral Gardens of Eternity;
poem by Theodora Onken
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Letting The Grass Grow
i tried to make this garden clean
from weeds and beetles
i keep it away from worms
only flowers are welcome here
and you know it
things went wrong and you know them
all too well
a broken heart unable to heal itself
a broken self, shattered thoughts
un-assembled un-repaired for years
the expected auto-resolution did not arrive
expectations falling like
domino chips
got tired finally about gardening
the flowers are not that beautiful enough
to appease this grieving mind
got bored with pain
ennui reigning
these benumbing times
too careless
and hurting still
finally, i let the grass grow
the weeds conquer
the beetles breeding like hell
the worms
turning into butterflies
time buds now a flowering.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Cutting The Heads
how many heads have my thoughts
grown? aplenty, and you say
thumbs down, you do not like the way
these thoughts are going,
i give you the power to cut all of them
extract my eyes so i cannot see
chop my ears so i cannot hear
but give my power back to grow
them all again
these time faces that you cannot
remember
thoughts that bloom like flowers
long eradicated by your
time,
let me have the seeds of thoughts
that will grow moments again
about a new
beginning
sprouts of my requests
no longer begging
for mercy.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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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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Odysseus to Telemachus
My dear Telemachus,
The Trojan War
is over now; I don't recall who won it.
The Greeks, no doubt, for only they would leave
so many dead so far from their own homeland.
But still, my homeward way has proved too long.
While we were wasting time there, old Poseidon,
it almost seems, stretched and extended space.
I don't know where I am or what this place
can be. It would appear some filthy island,
with bushes, buildings, and great grunting pigs.
A garden choked with weeds; some queen or other.
Grass and huge stones . . . Telemachus, my son!
To a wanderer the faces of all islands
resemble one another. And the mind
trips, numbering waves; eyes, sore from sea horizons,
run; and the flesh of water stuffs the ears.
I can't remember how the war came out;
even how old you are--I can't remember.
Grow up, then, my Telemachus, grow strong.
Only the gods know if we'll see each other
again. You've long since ceased to be that babe
before whom I reined in the plowing bullocks.
Had it not been for Palamedes' trick
we two would still be living in one household.
But maybe he was right; away from me
you are quite safe from all Oedipal passions,
and your dreams, my Telemachus, are blameless.
poem by Joseph Brodsky
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Watching For Shapes
Written by ricky & marty wilde
Influences now are things that are all around me
Changing shape as they move around in an open mind
Coloured in by the images I find
Im just watching for shapes that grow
Im just watching for shapes that grow
(watching for shapes that grow)
Like electric sparks they danced by an open mirror
Closing doors never looking round but its not goodbye
Theyll be there till Im taken out I know
Im just watching for shapes that grow
Im just watching for shapes that grow
(watching for shapes that grow)
In my mind theres a space thats full of painted pictures
Things I did that I went through, but cant recall
Now and then theres a flash of the unknown
Im just watching for shapes that grow
Im just watching for shapes that grow
(watching for shapes that grow)
(watching for shapes that grow)
(watching for shapes that grow)
song performed by by Kim Wilde
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Note That You Must Read When You Wake Up
before i embark on another trip today
i depart from the usual
silence, there is something inside me that wants
to
say something, like a note that i have written last night
which i put
inside my pocket and if by chance my tongue cannot get away
from its sealed
lips, i may just take that note and put it beside your table while
you are
still asleep, and if i had to, if i shall not forget, I'll put
a rose beside it,
the one that i pick from your garden, still fresh with dew on its
petals,
it is like, i only give what i take from you, a rose from your garden,
and a note from me, that despite all those stormy days,
i think, and this you must treasure like all the flowers that grow
in your garden, that which you water and nurture,
that it is my fault, that even if you cannot forgive me,
as i pack my bag, to give your flowers more space, and for you to be at peace, i, too, shall take a deep breath, saying
i still love you.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sonnet- God's The Weed-puller
Despite my sweat and toil with pen and hoe;
My rose-filled garden grows recurrent weeds;
God plans to give me roses all the more;
A small reward for my good thoughts and deeds.
This time, God picks the weeds in His own style;
Each one by Hand with intact roots and stem;
And burns them all thoroughly in a pile;
And plans to give to me the diadem.
The ways of God are strange but never fail;
With woeful hearts, He pines for righteous souls;
I need not fight hereafter by e-mail;
God is plugging the Rodent, Snake, Fox holes.
No more, my garden can grow lethal weeds;
God will provide His honest people's needs.
poem by John Celes
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855-7019
Ive discovered for myself this time
The start of everything to me
Is to know our love is older than the sea
But dont let another flame inside
Your fire-proof heart
cause Im not your full-time lover
And its tearing me apart
Ive been hangin on this line too long
855-7019
Dont you ever answer
855-7019
Dont you hear the word
Search for a sign , baby
She was the past and the future
I just got burned
855-7019
Is a private number
I know in your mind that you think
Its a crime, but I had to call
First and last , there will
Never be a past or a future
If you kill my phone
Baby lifts her eyes
And Im a slave to all the lies
And Im forever lost
I believe in you and me
Together and it keeps this love alive
855-7019
Dont you ever answer
855-7019
Dont you hear the word
Search for the sign , baby
She was the past and the future
I just got burned
I have suffered for my sins today
With the pain of love
Before the dawning comes
The darker is the night
Im born to be the one to share your life
That shows I dont need no operator
I dont want no one to know
How much I need you
855-7019
Dont you ever answer
I know in your mind that you think
Its a crime , but I had to call
First and the last , there will
Never be a past or a future
If you kill my phone
Baby lifts her eyes and Im a slave to all the lies
And Im forever lost
I believe in you and me together
And it keeps this love alive
song performed by by Bee Gees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Burned In
Come fool.
Where we create.
Follow me your life.
Set in World demise.
Lots to define.
Follow the bodies there.
Living in the past.
Said so as cold as the wind.
Cut through life.
Blind fool.
We overkill.
Chopped at the throat.
Set in burned in rot away.
Set in burned in killed away.
Burned in life of hell.
Have to survive.
Without fears of grave.
Lives left to die.
Where to? Says the mind.
You're first to die.
Set in burned in rot away.
Set in burned in killed away.
Time hurting make the change.
Time hurting waste away.
Inferior certain display.
Falls, sent to be convincing.
Be strong your alive.
Be strong to see them die.
To see them die.
Come fool we create.
Set in world demise.
song performed by by Obituary
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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