Airborn Seeds
seeds fall
out of the bosom
of the air,
the seed
of each
unique
snowflake
born,
born from
the bosom
of mother nature,
the milk
of her
winter
nurturing
woven landscape,
the seed
are the snowflakes
born from
the cloud-folds
of her garments shaken,
soon to be shaken,
'Over the woodlands brown and bare'.
Quoted line from ‘Snowflakes’ by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Winter Nurturing
unique snowflake born
from bosom of mother nature
milk of winter nurturing
poem by Terence George Craddock
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A Seeds A Star/tree Medley
Were a people black as is your night
Born to spread ammas eternal light
Which since time began
Has been to bring truth to every man
Our ancestors have since long ago
Passed their wisdom down so we to know
For here lies the key
That will help unfold the mistery
A seeds a star
A seeds a stars a seed
A stars a seed
A stars a seeds a star
In myself I do contain
The elements of sun and rain
First a seed with roots that swell
I gradually burst through my shell
Pushing down into the ground
The root of me is homeward bound
A trunk, a leaf and there I am
A miracle of least by far
Tree - you are the longest living one we know
The largest of all plants and still you grow
Tree - within your branches theres such history
So much of what were searching for to know
Every fifty years we celebrate
Po tolo, our star, as it rotates
Though infinitely small
It is still the heaviest of them all
(background)
A seeds a star
A seeds a stars a seed
A stars a seed
A stars a seeds a star
A seeds a star
A seeds a stars a seed
A stars a seed
A stars a seeds a star
(background-simultaneous)
Ye lolo de ye
Lolo ye kesse de ye
Kesse ye lolo de ye
Lolo ye kesse de ye
Kesse ye lolo de ye
Lolo ye kesse de ye
Kesse ye lolo de ye
Lolo ye kesse de ye
And some believe antennas are their leaves
That spans beyond our galaxy
Theyve been, they are and probably will be
Who are the mediocrity
song performed by by Stevie Wonder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Snowflake Birth
seeds birth born
fall out of the bosom
of chill swirling air
poem by Terence George Craddock
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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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Return To Nature
Suppose I am one who has a big ego I did have big plans once I do recall
But egos are a thing that inspire in us the need for success and are part of human nature after all
And now that my ego is a bit deflated and others I don't feel need to impress
Something perhaps that came with the realization that my life never has been a success.
Still I am one who finds solace in Nature and Nature the only God of which I know
I've always marvelled at her strength and beauty and still my admiration for her only grow
I had a church God when I was years younger but I gave my unseen church God away
And I returned again to Mother Nature and in her bosom I will rest one day.
The free born birds that sing in Nature's garden each species is distinctive by their song
And the fox that hunts for rabbits in the paddocks these creatures all to Nature's World belong
And the wedge tailed eagle soaring in the calm sky a very large and fearless bird of prey
Too is a part of Mother Nature's World and in Nature's bosom this bird's bones too will lay.
The swallows fly to warm climes in Winter and return home to greet the warmth of Spring
And chase insects o'er the valley where they first saw daylight and as they fly one hear them chirp and sing
How they can find their way to a far Country in late Fall and in the Spring find their way home again
Is something for which scientists can offer theories yet somehow seems beyond them to explain.
The World is quieter in Mother Nature's World for man made noise to Nature doesn't belong
On sunlit tree beside the rippling waters the thrush in Spring is singing all day long
And Nature she presides o'er all her Seasons and she has seen so many Seasons come and go
Her flowers of Spring and Summer and her brown leaves of Autumn and her hills of Winter wear white hats of snow.
I do not worship false Gods any longer and I returned to Nature years ago
And though Mother Nature has so much to teach us so little about her I seem to know
Yet I feel happy to walk in her garden and along the bank of her quiet water way
'Twas an act of Nature brought me to this World and I'll return to her bosom one day.
poem by Francis Duggan
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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 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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Help Us Continue Our Legacy
As I ripe I get dropped
From the tall tree
That was supporting me all through
I was a flower
Later blossomed
Got fertilized
Turned a unripe fruit
Kept hanging till the time I became a fruit
My thin skin becoming dark blue
My flesh over my big seed turning violet
I did not what happened to my mother tree
Unkind she proved as
She allowed me to fall her height
I suffered as my skin got ruptured
Exposing my violet inside
Staining the ground where I reached
As I looked around
I realized that I am not alone
As many of my brothers or sisters
Were also seen on the ground
After the fall I could not move
As the ousted flesh of mine
Made me stuck to the spot of my fall
My mother was just looking at me
With no attempt seen from her
To comfort me or to attend my wound
As our mother was a road side tree
We, fruits, were lying immobile on the road
Pedestrians, cyclists, two wheelers and cars
Ran over many of us
Coloring the path way violet
And also crushing our soft seed beyond recognition
I wonder whether we are born just to be
Smashed like that or we are born
To be consumed by others
For the purposes of propagation of our order
I have a request to people who walk over us
Kindly bend down pick us up
Blow air over the exposed flesh to remove adhered dust or sand
Put into your mouth
Enjoy the taste of a wonderful fruit
After ensuring you have eaten the entire flesh over the seed
Spit the same on soil
Where it will sprout and become a tree
Thus helping us continue our legacy
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Born Cantata
Born to enjoy nature
Born to swim in the body of Elora Gorge
With a life jacket of course
Born to sing songs to people and Mother nature
Born to try different foods
Born to be living among different cultures
Born to shine
Bor to write how I feel from inside out
Born to have my own style of clothes
Born to dream about cars on fire one night
Born to dream about tricycle the second night
Born to wear a bandana
Born to dream about indian ladies wearing sahris and Muslin wearing Jihrads that cover their face
Why do they hide their beautiful faces?
Is it because they are trying to hide their identity
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Taken In My Act
Born of fornication,
Born of adultery,
Taken in the very act of love to teach mankind.
Of men looking like trees and,
The leaven of King Herod;
Come from the tomb and live among the living.
Of women looking like fruits and,
Above the reach of man in a high mountain;
But do come out from the dead and live among human.
To understand this parable needs a thought,
To understand this poem needs a muse,
For the seed you plant is the very harvest you do expect;
Like things seen and heard in times of war.
What type of man are you?
What kind of woman are you?
For a seed is shaken by the wind;
And many are born in fornication and adultery already.
I am taken in my act and you are taken in your acts too,
But there are many stories of man on this earth;
And one day, we all need to be put in order!
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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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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Were I Born With
Were I born with the gift of poesy I'd write of the beauty I see
The unrivalled beauty of Nature that is everywhere around me
I'd pen my songs to Mother Nature I've loved her since I was a boy
From her people are always learning and lessons from her I enjoy,
I belong to the Goddess of Nature and she is the one I adore
Each day my love for her grows greater I love her now as never before
I feel humans belong to Nature and to her we'll return one day
In the coolness of her dark earthy bosom our remains are destined to lay
So many have great love for Nature and they love her far more than I
They fight to save her trees from deevelopers and they will fight for her until the day that they die
To them she is the one true Goddess yet people like her Seasons come and go
But she is the one who lives forever and her rivers to her oceans flow
were I born with the gift of poesy of Nature I surely would write
her sights and sounds and the scents of her perfume to the senses a source of delight.
poem by Francis Duggan
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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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Brephos
Although it is easy for one to think, it is not always easy for one to write
Not all thoughts can be expressed into words, nor should they. Rousseau said in his solitary walks or was it his confessions? That his most beautiful thoughts died in him as quick as he thought them and how he at the time wished he had a pen in hand to write them all down. Those thoughts are dead, but perhaps those same thoughts are born in others written down somewhere in all of infinite time. Some thoughts like some lives are not meant to be born. The seed of this thought, watered by my serene tears, germinates in my soul as I write this letter. Still I can't find the words to express its beauty, its paradox, its mystery. The seed germinates but no plant is born, no flower blooms. For every child that isn't born, for every thought trapped in the moral order nature's thought; the ineffable, the unborn, the unknown, I hope one day you find expression and tell the world what you are and what beauty really is—To eloquence that never speaks, to thought that never thinks, to life that never lives, in my heart you speak, think and live.
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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My Fairest Love-Song
(Copyright (c) 2007, Kenneth Scott, All Rights Reserved)
31 August 2007
She is my fairest love-song,
the melody that comforts me
with the delicate beauty of her sweet embrace
and gentle rose-petal kisses. She is my most-exquisite bliss,
the overwhelming ecstasy between her two torso-sized love-breasts
deeply yearning for me, constantly, repeatedly,
her massive nurse-bosom undulating passionately
as my virile pillar and rivers of love-seed remain buried deep inside
her nurturing breast-valley. She smiles lovingly,
and I am at peace, her gentle soul always receiving me
faithfully, her love for me as vast as
oceans of serenity, her mountainous mother-bosom
blissfully embracing the full length of me, drinking every last dropp of me
with lifelong dedication and amorous elation.
She is my celebration of romantic love fulfilled,
of erotic desires satisfied with completeness.
She will always be
my fairest love-song.
poem by Kenneth Scott
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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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Those Born Of My Seed
With tears i write this haltingly
i cannot see i cannot breathe
while those that are born of my seed
are far from me.
I want to touch i want to see
the hands the hair the honesties
that unlike flickered memories last
moths in a flame and floating past
are hosts and hosts of glorious gold
the tales the sights the thoughts untold
the did you did i stories when
you hold onto the moments then
you smile and laugh and closely say
i am happy that you are that way.
With grief i write this haltingly
i cannot cry i cannot feel
while those that are born of my seed
are not with me.
poem by David Keig
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Infants Give No Clue
Banyan comes from a tiny seed.
Coconut comes from a large seed.
Great men need not be from the kids
Born to great, rich or high class parents.
(16.06.2011)
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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A good question is never answered. It is not a bolt to be tightened into place but a seed to be planted and to bear more seed toward the hope of greening the landscape of idea.
quote by John Anthony Ciardi
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Song Of The Old Mother
I RISE in the dawn, and I kneel and blow
Till the seed of the fire flicker and glow;
And then I must scrub and bake and sweep
Till stars are beginning to blink and peep;
And the young lie long and dream in their bed
Of the matching of ribbons for bosom and head,
And their ~y goes over in idleness,
And they sigh if the wind but lift a tress:
While I must work because I am old,
And the seed of the fire gets feeble and cold.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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