I had the sudden thought “...and I’m the thing he doesn’t mind losing”
It was a little tornado of thought that I quickly put inside a mason jar and placed on a wooden shelf in my living room.
I sat on the couch across from it observing it and watching it stir.
“What a thought”
How destructive it could be to let that little storm out. It could grow and it’s winds could slowly start to peel off the walls and start to take down the roof.
So, I closed my eyes, cupped my hands and I thought of your smile–warm and tender. When I opened my eyes, a seedling had grown over my left palms.
I contemplated putting it in glass encasement, to watch it from afar, but instead I decided to take it outside and plant it near the middle of my front garden.
“This is what I want to cultivate” a flourishing sprout of life; a garden of plenitude.
tiny fragile bud
clean prune cultivate nurture—
precious child blossoms
© 2020 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved.
4/1942020 - Poetry form: haiku - © 2020 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved.
Learning is a journey of understanding, acceptance and the ability to holistically process various informations feed. It is like exploration to unknown, using spirits, vibes and subtle form of wisdom. An act of learning is a stimuli of consciousness which will guide one, what one needs to choose in the circumstances one is involve with. The ultimate objective of learning is to adopt common denominator of all the conceptions cultivating the state of mind for harmony what directs one to stay human.
To be precise it is a process of dynamic evolving.
Theme: Why to learn?
You left me for better pastures,
You did't realize I too was fertile,
You just did not know how to cultivate me.
You are just a pastoralist looking for greener places.
In the poem pastoralist refers to as Romeo
I belong to the Earth
The Earth not to me
It'll swallow me up
when it's time
Or maybe it'll share
with the sea.
We don't cultivate our Mother,
She plants us like seeds
Provides us with a nice clean bed and always pulls the weeds.
Not all the seedlings grow into what she would want them to be
So we're harvested and mother tries again.
Love your mother
You can't begin
The fertile weighs less than the barren
Exquisite fruits crumble placid stones
The farmer induces their own famine
Seeds may be perpetually sown
The costs of a cultivated spirit
are greater than its untilled counter,
yet produces a boundless harvest.
How do the fields fare, neighbor?
"He who cannot draw on three thousand years is living hand to mouth" -Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Living in the dark, yet afraid of the shadows;
cast forth from the stars of a mystic scintillant soul
Knowledge illuminates the scholar's glass window;
scorches the brush of the ignoramus's finite goals
Remember, however, all fields exist as fractals;
pursue to infinity and perceive the worm's crawl
Brothers and sisters, united in life's shackles;
the universe's fixed physical laws constrain all
Though collectively, mankind strives for heaven's lenses;
forever advancing Hegel's romantic world essence