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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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The Weed

There was an old woman
that planted a garden.
And in the garden
there grew a weed.
The weed grew next to
a beautiful flower.

The flower had grown
from a tiny seed.
The weed was strong
and would not bend.
The wind did blow
and it did send

the seeds from the flower
into the air.
They circled around
and landed where
the weed was growing
next to the flower.

Soon the weed was
surrounded by flowers.
It loved where it was
and looked by the hours
at all of the beautiful
colorful flowers.

The old woman who planted
the garden one day
decided that she would
make a bouquet.
She went to the garden
to cut the flowers.

But when she got there
down came the showers.
The raindrops that fell
made the weed shine
which made the old woman
change her mind.

She left them alone
in her garden and knew
that the weed belonged
with the flowers that grew.
She'd planted the flowers.
God planted the weed.

The garden was perfect.
No bouquet did she need.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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The Seeds Of War

When the seeds of war are sown,
hardly is it ever known
who has planted it
and what for?
Was it about
blood and gore?

When the seeds of war take root
it's hidden reasons make us mute.
Why was it planted
and by whom?
Was its purpose
doom and gloom?

When the seeds of war are grown
never is it ever shown
how it is planted
in men's mind?
How it's made them
all so blind.

When the seeds of war do thrive
many will not be alive.
They'll be planted
in false graves.
These seeds propel
how the world behaves.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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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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GOD The Farmer

(4/14/12)

We live to love - we love to live
There is so much we have to give.
For every seed that GOD has planted
Another life has been granted.

Every seed on this earth
Will create a brand new birth.
He is the farmer - the giver of life
The crops he plants will suffice.

He planted the stars that shine at night
Gave us the sun - hot and bright.
He gave us water to quench our thirst
And gave us this water to cleanse the earth.

He planted seeds of knowledge in our brains
So if we had to - we could make the change.
He planted the seeds in the female wombs
So that life would not end to soon.

These are some of the things this farmer has given
He has made this life worth living.

poem by Louis Rams
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Plant the Seeds

We, who feel the awakening tme
approaching on its own
must try to plant the seeds of truth
for those who've never known
that time is of the essence.
The earth will no longer wait
for fools who fail to wake up
before it is too late.

The seeds that must be planted
must grow within your being.
They must make you understand that
understanding your power is freeing.
No longer will you be made to think
that this is all there is.
You are a multi-dimensional power
with the ability to become a wiz
at creating anything you want.
Too long you've been kept in fear.
Nowhere else in this universe
does fear exist, only when you're here.

So you must look within and listen
for everything that's in you.
So one by one the seeds we plant
will show you how you grew.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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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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A Mothers Love

Never be judgmental
Never be full of greed
Always be humble
Always remember those in need
Give of yourself without expectations
Never do for others for self-gratification

Always be true to yourself and others
You will see life in beautiful colors
Life is a gift....never to be taken for granted
Seeds of life we all have planted

Of all the gifts we were given
The gift of Love is the greatest
Love is free
Love is to be given unconditionally

You have already planted your seeds
I watch as you blossom and bloom everyday
I love you more than words can say
Each of you are special in your own way

Never be judgmental
Never be full of greed
Always be humble
Always remember others in need

poem by Susan K Hahn
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The harvest

Some sowed seeds of cabage.
They got the leaves as harvest..
Some grafted buds of oleander.
They got flowers as harvest.
Some planted ginger for rhizome,
And some, cinnamon for bark.
So are banana grown for fruits,
And cardamom, for seeds.
Some plants for wood or shades.
Planting is not for only seeds.
Loving is not for only progeny.
It includes sights, pursuits, chats,
Romance, embraces and indulgence,
Recollections and remembrance.
Pining and sorrow are by-products.
Each is a piece of harvest of love.
03.07.2000.Madras

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Little Tree

A very faithful farmer,
Planted a small seed,
Where in a distant field,
It grew into a tree.

This tree had leaves of laughter,
As it rustled in the wind,
Its sound of many whispers,
Were voices of many friends.

Its branches were far reaching,
Its limbs, like little hands,
That touched the lives of many,
As it grew upon the land.

Its flowers bloomed in sunshine,
-They were countless little smiles,
That offered joy to others,
If but only for a while.

For the Farmer who was helping,
His little tree grow tall,
Knew of a better orchard,
The best one of them all.

Se he placed His hands around the tree,
And lifted it with care,
He took it to an orchard,
Where He himself was near.

The tree had all the sunshine,
Its leaves were there to stay,
Its flowers bloomed in happiness,
Every single day.

The Farmer loved the little tree,
Far more than people knew,
Now it lives forever,
In our hearts and Heaven too.

-In loving memory of Charles McMichael

poem by Jean Penner
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Blossom for ever

All the buds set not to flowers;
All the flowers set not to seeds;
So are the seeds not to seedlings.
Yet there is a joy in every function,
By which trees get exhilaration.
Still in blossom rests our love.
Yet it reverberates in me by its move
And generates lustre to your skin.
Let the blossom stay, if not be for seeding.
09.01.2000, Palakkd

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The seeds of the garden

I grew a garden with seeds brought from some. I alone know from where I got those seeds.
I do not know to which gardens have gone
The seeds of mine for growing plants of theirs.
13.10.2012

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Little Seeds

The little seeds that were planted
within our childhood spring
make us what we are today
and sometimes make our words sing.
The little seeds that germinated
as years passed and we grew
while in our youth they budded
before our experiences made them flower.
The little seeds of our childhood spring
that blossomed in our adult summer
to radiate even more brightly
in our autumn years.

poem by David Harris
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Gone To Seed

“If you plant honesty, you’ll reap trust”
Aye, the seeds of doubt have been planted,
But such doubts are a must,
If wisdom’s to be granted…..

Seeds of valor, seeds of passion,
Seeds of equanimity;
Seeds that suit every fashion,
Of learning and acuity.

Leaders who sow such seeds of doubt,
Are welcome and accounted,
Than those who’d love to flaunt,
Are ones that are so vaunted.

Where honesty is a truthful story,
Tests one’s heart and mind;
Now enough’s been said of this allegory,
Dear readers: this truth you can find!

Copyright © SC
10th July 2007
Mumbai.

poem by Subroto Chatterjee
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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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Fallow Souls

These fields are fallow now
where we once sowed our seeds
and the trees bloomed in spring
with the grass below them green.

Should we let the summer's kiss
shrive the husks and the seeds
so our lives are as fallow now
as summer without the rain?

I am back, blossom and fruit
here to watch you grow again
where I was blown on the wind
alone and withering with no soil

The winter turns cold again,
now white with frozen calluses.
Our river still runs swift and strong
always waiting for the next harvest.

poem by Poet Dragon
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Let The Old Know

Roots die hard for shoots.
Shoots yield to flowers.
Flowers succumb to seeds.
Seeds die to give seedlings.
They are happy to do.
The old may know of this.

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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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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An Old-Fashioned Garden

Strange, is it not? She was making her garden,
Planting the old-fashioned flowers that day—
Bleeding-hearts tender and bachelors-buttons—
Spreading the seeds in the old-fashioned way.

Just in the old fashioned way, too, our quarrel
Grew until, angrily, she set me free—
Planting, indeed, bleeding hearts for the two of us,—
Ordaining bachelor’s buttons for me.

Envoi

Strange, was it not? But seeds planted in anger
Sour in the earth and, ere long, a decay
Withered the bleeding hearts, blighted the buttons,
And—we were wed—in the old-fashioned way.

poem by Ellis Parker Butler
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Planting African Marigolds (Cavatina Sequence)

Under the summer sun's harsh glare I hoed
and I weeded,
to and fro I planted the seed in rows,
flowers I needed
to like their mother grow almost waist high
but unheeded
of all my efforts not a single one
appeared as the soil turned to stone.

Some more seeds I harvested from dried buds
as spring came on,
some the weavers might as their food devour,
they may be gone
with the whispering churning rampant wind
but some alone
would burst through the earth, would no season mar,
like blazing flaming yellow and red stars.

poem by Gert Strydom
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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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