It is the seed moon,
the time of sowing.
The roads and skies
have grown quiet.
Sometimes in the stillness
I can feel the earth dreaming.

There are many things I can't do
in these strange times.
But I can plant seeds.
I hold them like prayers
in the palm of my hand,
I notice their shape and size,
the way they catch the light.
Their impossible promise.
I teach my children
to make wishes on them -
and I make wishes too.

I breathe my brightest,
most golden dreams
into these seeds,
dreams wild as sweet violets
on hidden forest floors.

Poppy, nasturtium, sunflower and sage:
bring nectar, food and medicine,
praise the sun.
Corn, squash, tomato and bean:
seeds of hope
for the creatures
and the wild places
and all those yet to come.

May this great pause
be a seed itself
for the beautiful future
which wants and waits to be born.

I think anyone who says
that miracles aren't possible
must not have planted seeds.

It may not be in the deepest soil
Where light and water abound
Yet each tiny seed will strive and toil
To grow in their given ground

Some seeds are sown by loving hands
All buried quite snug and sound
While others fall in rock strewn lands
To claim as their given ground

We hear no cries of pain or delight
As each seed’s place is found
For each one feels their spot is right
To thrive in their given ground

Express your life with joy and might
And may your efforts be crowned
Whether your soil be deep or slight
Grow well in your given ground

Sumer is icumen in
a modern English translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

This is an update of an old classic for those of us who suffer with hay fever and other allergies ...

Sumer is icumen in
Lhude sing achu!
Groweth sed
And bloweth hed
And buyeth med?
Cuccu!

Keywords/Tags: spring, summer, hay fever, seeds, pollen, med, meds, medicine, achoo, stuffy, nose, blowing, ragweed, congestion

A starting - a beginning
A creation fresh and new
This is called incipience
And it all begins with you

For you create the blueprint
Or the pattern in your mind
Incipient seeds of thought
Make a world that you design

Every dawn in silence holds
Wondrous incipient worlds
You decide by choice and work
Which scenes will be unfurled

Watch a tiny seed - in faith
Grow plant and flower and fruit
Wealth must start incipiently
The “Harvest Law” is absolute

So think about incipience
Plant seeds that bring you cheer
Sow only what you want in life
And your prosperity will appear

Cradled by there eyes
as they convulsed me
                  in to oblivion,

with every downfall I was
closer to
              nihility.

Pools of crimson collected in
   my fractured sockets and
my tears
                       drowned within.


They mourned my silence,
       inscribing one last syllable
upon my stomach...
As blood flourished forward from
                                  my dead lips.

Droplets were like rain descending,
as I painted the surrounding
                                           with death.
They were covered also,
for they were close to the cradle
                          when it fell silent.

I kissed each one with claret,
     my mark was upon there façade.

Wild flowers drank upon me,
       seeding them with my last breath.
Where beauty once flourished,
Now blushed roses grow.

I'm a garden of remembrance
to what was,
                    what never shall be.

But my death has sweet aromas to it,
       for all one at a time came to see
What had befallen me.
              Guilt, remorse or curiosity..

To hide a truth, others may fall upon.

But where they expected death,
                                     they saw,
a sight of maroon beauty.

"Curiosity is a  live wire in water,
            with a please read note floating
above it.

           "*You know there going to read it,

And with that, they picked a rose pricking
there finger upon my vengeance.
I could ******* aura that I kissed upon
there last actions
                             so long ago.

There was no scream, just like you can't hear
             a tree fall in a silent forest.

I now feed upon them, for there all here, in
my garden of eternity rotting slowly..
   But there still alive under the surface..
my thorns negating there vocals.

       I'm there cradle and I'm rocking it,
                                      oh so slowly...