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"sower" poems
#*“Come, all you who are thirsty,     come to the waters; and you who have no money,     come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk     without money and without cost. Why spend money on what is not bread,     and your labor on what does not satisfy? Listen, listen to Me, and eat what is good,     and your soul will delight in the richest of fare. Give ear and come to Me;     listen, that you may live. I will make an everlasting covenant with you,     My faithful love promised to David...” Seek the LORD while He may be found;     call on Him while He is near. Let the wicked forsake their ways     and the unrighteous their thoughts. Let them turn to the LORD, and He will have mercy on them,     and to our God, for He will freely pardon. “For My thoughts are not your thoughts,     neither are your ways My ways,” declares the LORD. “As the heavens are higher than the earth,     so are My ways higher than your ways     and My thoughts than your thoughts. As the rain and the snow     come down from heaven, and do not return to it     without watering the earth and making it bud and flourish,     so that it yields seed for the sower and bread for the eater, so is My word that goes out from My mouth:     It will not return to Me empty, but will accomplish what I desire     and achieve the purpose for which I sent it. You will go out in joy     and be led forth in peace; the mountains and hills     will burst into song before you, and all the trees of the field     will clap their hands. Instead of the thornbush will grow the juniper,     and instead of briers the myrtle will grow. This will be for the LORD’s renown,     for an everlasting sign,     that will endure forever.” ~ New International Version*#
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Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 12:43 PM UTC
alyssa-underwood
Isaiah 55
#*“Come, all you who are thirsty,     come to the waters; and you who have no money,     come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk     without money and without cost. Why spend money on what is not bread,     and your labor on what does not satisfy? Listen, listen to Me, and eat what is good,     and your soul will delight in the richest of fare. Give ear and come to Me;     listen, that you may live. I will make an everlasting covenant with you,     My faithful love promised to David...” Seek the LORD while He may be found;     call on Him while He is near. Let the wicked forsake their ways     and the unrighteous their thoughts. Let them turn to the LORD, and He will have mercy on them,     and to our God, for He will freely pardon. “For My thoughts are not your thoughts,     neither are your ways My ways,” declares the LORD. “As the heavens are higher than the earth,     so are My ways higher than your ways     and My thoughts than your thoughts. As the rain and the snow     come down from heaven, and do not return to it     without watering the earth and making it bud and flourish,     so that it yields seed for the sower and bread for the eater, so is My word that goes out from My mouth:     It will not return to Me empty, but will accomplish what I desire     and achieve the purpose for which I sent it. You will go out in joy     and be led forth in peace; the mountains and hills     will burst into song before you, and all the trees of the field     will clap their hands. Instead of the thornbush will grow the juniper,     and instead of briers the myrtle will grow. This will be for the LORD’s renown,     for an everlasting sign,     that will endure forever.” ~ New International Version*#
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48
He is a link between this and the coming world. He is A pure spring from which all thirsty souls may drink. He is a tree watered by the River of Beauty, bearing Fruit which the hungry heart craves; He is a nightingale, soothing the depressed Spirit with his beautiful melodies; He is a white cloud appearing over the horizon, Ascending and growing until it fills the face of the sky. Then it falls on the flows in the field of Life, Opening their petals to admit the light. He is an angel, send by the goddess to Preach the Deity's gospel; He is a brilliant lamp, unconquered by darkness And inextinguishable by the wind. It is filled with Oil by Istar of Love, and lighted by Apollon of Music. He is a solitary figure, robed in simplicity and Kindness; He sits upon the lap of Nature to draw his Inspiration, and stays up in the silence of the night, Awaiting the descending of the spirit. He is a sower who sows the seeds of his heart in the Prairies of affection, and humanity reaps the Harvest for her nourishment. This is the poet -- whom the people ignore in this life, And who is recognized only when he bids the earthly World farewell and returns to his arbor in heaven. This is the poet -- who asks naught of Humanity but a smile. This is the poet -- whose spirit ascends and Fills the firmament with beautiful sayings; Yet the people deny themselves his radiance. Until when shall the people remain asleep? Until when shall they continue to glorify those Who attain greatness by moments of advantage? How long shall they ignore those who enable Them to see the beauty of their spirit, Symbol of peace and love? Until when shall human beings honor the dead And forget the living, who spend their lives Encircled in misery, and who consume themselves Like burning candles to illuminate the way For the ignorant and lead them into the path of light? Poet, you are the life of this life, and you have Triumphed over the ages of despite their severity. Poet, you will one day rule the hearts, and Therefore, your kingdom has no ending. Poet, examine your crown of thorns; you will Find concealed in it a budding wreath of laurel.
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8.9k
Kahlil Gibran
The Poet VIII
He is a link between this and the coming world. He is A pure spring from which all thirsty souls may drink. He is a tree watered by the River of Beauty, bearing Fruit which the hungry heart craves; He is a nightingale, soothing the depressed Spirit with his beautiful melodies; He is a white cloud appearing over the horizon, Ascending and growing until it fills the face of the sky. Then it falls on the flows in the field of Life, Opening their petals to admit the light. He is an angel, send by the goddess to Preach the Deity's gospel; He is a brilliant lamp, unconquered by darkness And inextinguishable by the wind. It is filled with Oil by Istar of Love, and lighted by Apollon of Music. He is a solitary figure, robed in simplicity and Kindness; He sits upon the lap of Nature to draw his Inspiration, and stays up in the silence of the night, Awaiting the descending of the spirit. He is a sower who sows the seeds of his heart in the Prairies of affection, and humanity reaps the Harvest for her nourishment. This is the poet -- whom the people ignore in this life, And who is recognized only when he bids the earthly World farewell and returns to his arbor in heaven. This is the poet -- who asks naught of Humanity but a smile. This is the poet -- whose spirit ascends and Fills the firmament with beautiful sayings; Yet the people deny themselves his radiance. Until when shall the people remain asleep? Until when shall they continue to glorify those Who attain greatness by moments of advantage? How long shall they ignore those who enable Them to see the beauty of their spirit, Symbol of peace and love? Until when shall human beings honor the dead And forget the living, who spend their lives Encircled in misery, and who consume themselves Like burning candles to illuminate the way For the ignorant and lead them into the path of light? Poet, you are the life of this life, and you have Triumphed over the ages of despite their severity. Poet, you will one day rule the hearts, and Therefore, your kingdom has no ending. Poet, examine your crown of thorns; you will Find concealed in it a budding wreath of laurel.
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48
339 I tend my flowers for thee— Bright Absentee! My Fuchsia’s Coral Seams Rip—while the Sower—dreams— Geraniums—tint—and spot— Low Daisies—dot— My Cactus—splits her Beard To show her throat— Carnations—tip their spice— And Bees—pick up— A Hyacinth—I hid— Puts out a Ruffled Head— And odors fall From flasks—so small— You marvel how they held— Globe Roses—break their satin glake— Upon my Garden floor— Yet—thou—not there— I had as lief they bore No Crimson—more— Thy flower—be gay— Her Lord—away! It ill becometh me— I’ll dwell in Calyx—Gray— How modestly—alway— Thy Daisy— Draped for thee!
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8.2k
Emily Dickinson
I tend my flowers for thee
339 I tend my flowers for thee— Bright Absentee! My Fuchsia’s Coral Seams Rip—while the Sower—dreams— Geraniums—tint—and spot— Low Daisies—dot— My Cactus—splits her Beard To show her throat— Carnations—tip their spice— And Bees—pick up— A Hyacinth—I hid— Puts out a Ruffled Head— And odors fall From flasks—so small— You marvel how they held— Globe Roses—break their satin glake— Upon my Garden floor— Yet—thou—not there— I had as lief they bore No Crimson—more— Thy flower—be gay— Her Lord—away! It ill becometh me— I’ll dwell in Calyx—Gray— How modestly—alway— Thy Daisy— Draped for thee!
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28
As I watch’d the ploughman ploughing, Or the sower sowing in the fields—or the harvester harvesting, I saw there too, O life and death, your analogies: (Life, life is the tillage, and Death is the harvest according.)
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5.6k
Walt Whitman
As I Watch’d The Ploughman Ploughing
As I watch’d the ploughman ploughing, Or the sower sowing in the fields—or the harvester harvesting, I saw there too, O life and death, your analogies: (Life, life is the tillage, and Death is the harvest according.)
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4
There was once a parable, an earthly story portraying a message that would be told in reference of our life: A sower goes out to sow some seeds. However, there were some seeds fell on the wayside, and were swallowed up by the birds. Yet, some seeds fell next to the ricks, but there was not enough earth to keep the growth of the plant- so, when the sun came out the seeds were scorched from the earth with minimum growth, but without the roots to carry on its growth process. Yet, some seeds were placed in the thorns; so, those seeds were choked by its death. The last sower was able to find good land, where seeds would grow to a hundred fold. There is a mission: When God asks us to plant seeds, we are asked to have the oil with us. Without the right concentration, there are concerns of thorns who can choke you up. Because the thorns are sharp and dangerous, only God has the power to devour or to destroy them. A thorn is stubborn, and will continue to process threats of no promise, but the cuts it can process. Some thorns can be hidden, while a red rose blooms beautifully on the branches of a rose bush, there is no reason to believe- the thorn bush wants you to grab the beautiful rose to dig into your skin the anger it holds for you. Hence we have the earth to produce God's mission, but without the oil and concentration, there are only rocks that will go nowhere. Yes, unless you plan to move the rocks out of the way, those things will always remain. Only God has the power to remove the blockages out of our lives to make success in His mission, not our own. Rocks also causes pain. They are heavy, stubborn to move, and are often in the way. When dealing with rocks, their mission is to block the truth blind us for which what is said is to be hypocritical to the naked eye. However, what the rocks do not know, they may block our message from reaping, but God can remove that rock, placing them where they will work better. The rocks are the most stubborn for sending a message when the rock says, "Here I am try to move me," however, if you remove a rock from its place, they too have a purpose, and knocks the whole scenario outta-kilta. The situation is that while seeds could grow, they die off very quickly without roots. The question is: Does it take a brain surgeon to help us decide where to plant seeds? Do we need to express the dangers of rocks and thorns? Where do we lay our hearts? Is our hearts in the thorns, being tangled and sliced- or is our hearts being crushed by rocks? Is our oil being dripped by the holding back of thorns, or are the rocks dying the oil up? Our hearts need to sow where there is promise.
0
Nov 15, 2014
Nov 15, 2014 at 4:24 PM UTC
samuel-lombardo
The Sower
There was once a parable, an earthly story portraying a message that would be told in reference of our life: A sower goes out to sow some seeds. However, there were some seeds fell on the wayside, and were swallowed up by the birds. Yet, some seeds fell next to the ricks, but there was not enough earth to keep the growth of the plant- so, when the sun came out the seeds were scorched from the earth with minimum growth, but without the roots to carry on its growth process. Yet, some seeds were placed in the thorns; so, those seeds were choked by its death. The last sower was able to find good land, where seeds would grow to a hundred fold. There is a mission: When God asks us to plant seeds, we are asked to have the oil with us. Without the right concentration, there are concerns of thorns who can choke you up. Because the thorns are sharp and dangerous, only God has the power to devour or to destroy them. A thorn is stubborn, and will continue to process threats of no promise, but the cuts it can process. Some thorns can be hidden, while a red rose blooms beautifully on the branches of a rose bush, there is no reason to believe- the thorn bush wants you to grab the beautiful rose to dig into your skin the anger it holds for you. Hence we have the earth to produce God's mission, but without the oil and concentration, there are only rocks that will go nowhere. Yes, unless you plan to move the rocks out of the way, those things will always remain. Only God has the power to remove the blockages out of our lives to make success in His mission, not our own. Rocks also causes pain. They are heavy, stubborn to move, and are often in the way. When dealing with rocks, their mission is to block the truth blind us for which what is said is to be hypocritical to the naked eye. However, what the rocks do not know, they may block our message from reaping, but God can remove that rock, placing them where they will work better. The rocks are the most stubborn for sending a message when the rock says, "Here I am try to move me," however, if you remove a rock from its place, they too have a purpose, and knocks the whole scenario outta-kilta. The situation is that while seeds could grow, they die off very quickly without roots. The question is: Does it take a brain surgeon to help us decide where to plant seeds? Do we need to express the dangers of rocks and thorns? Where do we lay our hearts? Is our hearts in the thorns, being tangled and sliced- or is our hearts being crushed by rocks? Is our oil being dripped by the holding back of thorns, or are the rocks dying the oil up? Our hearts need to sow where there is promise.
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77
(Matthew, xiii.3) Ye sons of earth prepare the plough, Break up your fallow ground; The sower is gone forth to sow, And scatter blessings round. The seed that finds a stony soil Shoots forth a hasty blade; But ill repays the sower's toil, Soon wither'd, scorch'd, and dead. The thorny ground is sure to balk All hopes of harvest there; We find a tall and sickly stalk, But not the fruitful ear. The beaten path and highway side, Receive the trust in vain; The watchful birds the spoil divide, And pick up all the grain. But where the Lord of grace and power Has bless'd the happy field, How plenteous is the golden store The deep-wrought furrows yield! Father of mercies, we have need Of thy preparing grace; Let the same Hand that give me seed Provide a fruitful place!
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3.8k
William Cowper
The Sower
(Matthew, xiii.3) Ye sons of earth prepare the plough, Break up your fallow ground; The sower is gone forth to sow, And scatter blessings round. The seed that finds a stony soil Shoots forth a hasty blade; But ill repays the sower's toil, Soon wither'd, scorch'd, and dead. The thorny ground is sure to balk All hopes of harvest there; We find a tall and sickly stalk, But not the fruitful ear. The beaten path and highway side, Receive the trust in vain; The watchful birds the spoil divide, And pick up all the grain. But where the Lord of grace and power Has bless'd the happy field, How plenteous is the golden store The deep-wrought furrows yield! Father of mercies, we have need Of thy preparing grace; Let the same Hand that give me seed Provide a fruitful place!
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25
When will the day bring its pleasure? When will the night bring its rest? Reaper and gleaner and thresher Peer toward the east and the west:-- The Sower He knoweth, and He knoweth best. Meteors flash forth and expire, Northern lights kindle and pale; These are the days of desire, Of eyes looking upward that fail; Vanishing days as a finishing tale. Bows down the crop in its glory Tenfold, fifty-fold, hundred-fold; The millet is ripened and hoary, The wheat ears are ripened to gold:-- Why keep us waiting in dimness and cold? The Lord of the harvest, He knoweth Who knoweth the first and the last: The Sower Who patiently soweth, He scanneth the present and past: He saith, "What thou hast, what remaineth, hold fast." Yet, Lord, o'er Thy toil-wearied weepers The storm-clouds hang muttering and frown: On threshers and gleaners and reapers, O Lord of the harvest, look down; Oh for the harvest, the shout, and the crown! "Not so," saith the Lord of the reapers, The Lord of the first and the last: "O My toilers, My weary, My weepers, What ye have, what remaineth, hold fast. Hide in My heart till the vengeance be past."
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3.8k
Christina Rossetti
Until The Day Break
When will the day bring its pleasure? When will the night bring its rest? Reaper and gleaner and thresher Peer toward the east and the west:-- The Sower He knoweth, and He knoweth best. Meteors flash forth and expire, Northern lights kindle and pale; These are the days of desire, Of eyes looking upward that fail; Vanishing days as a finishing tale. Bows down the crop in its glory Tenfold, fifty-fold, hundred-fold; The millet is ripened and hoary, The wheat ears are ripened to gold:-- Why keep us waiting in dimness and cold? The Lord of the harvest, He knoweth Who knoweth the first and the last: The Sower Who patiently soweth, He scanneth the present and past: He saith, "What thou hast, what remaineth, hold fast." Yet, Lord, o'er Thy toil-wearied weepers The storm-clouds hang muttering and frown: On threshers and gleaners and reapers, O Lord of the harvest, look down; Oh for the harvest, the shout, and the crown! "Not so," saith the Lord of the reapers, The Lord of the first and the last: "O My toilers, My weary, My weepers, What ye have, what remaineth, hold fast. Hide in My heart till the vengeance be past."
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30
There at Qunu Will rest forever The Sower no one compares to In morning he sowed the wheat And at noon there they sowed the **** Then he came to **** And his hands they beat Yet holy work never knows failure Thus the wheat grew At harvest As the Messiah did for Judah They were invited to share the bread Without a grudge Now There at Qunu He will rest forever Free from hard work to Freedom found And out of the sweat of The Sower of Peace The Sower of Freedom The Sower of Liberty The Sower of Love They will reap forever And sing forever Rest In Peace
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Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 6:03 AM UTC
mukeshimana-boniface
Epitaph on Mandela (The rest of the Sower)
There at Qunu Will rest forever The Sower no one compares to In morning he sowed the wheat And at noon there they sowed the **** Then he came to **** And his hands they beat Yet holy work never knows failure Thus the wheat grew At harvest As the Messiah did for Judah They were invited to share the bread Without a grudge Now There at Qunu He will rest forever Free from hard work to Freedom found And out of the sweat of The Sower of Peace The Sower of Freedom The Sower of Liberty The Sower of Love They will reap forever And sing forever Rest In Peace
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25
I am the Reaper. All things with heedful hook Silent I gather. Pale roses touched with the spring, Tall corn in summer, Fruits rich with autumn, and frail winter blossoms-- Reaping, still reaping-- All things with heedful hook Timely I gather. I am the Sower. All the unbodied life Runs through my seed-sheet. Atom with atom wed, Each quickening the other, Fall through my hands, ever changing, still changeless Ceaselessly sowing, Life, incorruptible life, Flows from my seed-sheet. Maker and breaker, I am the ebb and the flood, Here and Hereafter. Sped through the tangle and coil Of infinite nature, Viewless and soundless I fashion all being. Taker and giver, I am the womb and the grave, The Now and the Ever.
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3k
William Ernest Henley
I Am The Reaper
I am the Reaper. All things with heedful hook Silent I gather. Pale roses touched with the spring, Tall corn in summer, Fruits rich with autumn, and frail winter blossoms-- Reaping, still reaping-- All things with heedful hook Timely I gather. I am the Sower. All the unbodied life Runs through my seed-sheet. Atom with atom wed, Each quickening the other, Fall through my hands, ever changing, still changeless Ceaselessly sowing, Life, incorruptible life, Flows from my seed-sheet. Maker and breaker, I am the ebb and the flood, Here and Hereafter. Sped through the tangle and coil Of infinite nature, Viewless and soundless I fashion all being. Taker and giver, I am the womb and the grave, The Now and the Ever.
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27
*blink an eye and it will disappear blink the other and you will cry a thousand tears of joy blink them both and watch fireflies alight the azure sky in suspenseful darkness the alabaster moon croons its romantic breath over all those vineyards angels taste the dryness of the grapes and laugh at the waste of another year’s wine move out of the way of human frailty share your space with our immortal stakes a slavery more terrible than any mankind has yet to try the Goddess is our home sower of seeds for those that fast internally rise the quickest and dance the hardest seek the longest roads give more than you’ve ever known swallow whole this ocean filled with the bones of your daughters forsaken in trendy delicatessens our heroes are just myths that drift like derelicts in psyche’s mythos i am pathos, eros and shadow i am daylight’s twin brother her-eyes-on the horizon yet she could see through to his soul her-eyes-on the horizon if we are destined to find our way back home*
0
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 10:28 PM UTC
ganesha-michael-shapiro
Be On Da Her Eye Zen
*blink an eye and it will disappear blink the other and you will cry a thousand tears of joy blink them both and watch fireflies alight the azure sky in suspenseful darkness the alabaster moon croons its romantic breath over all those vineyards angels taste the dryness of the grapes and laugh at the waste of another year’s wine move out of the way of human frailty share your space with our immortal stakes a slavery more terrible than any mankind has yet to try the Goddess is our home sower of seeds for those that fast internally rise the quickest and dance the hardest seek the longest roads give more than you’ve ever known swallow whole this ocean filled with the bones of your daughters forsaken in trendy delicatessens our heroes are just myths that drift like derelicts in psyche’s mythos i am pathos, eros and shadow i am daylight’s twin brother her-eyes-on the horizon yet she could see through to his soul her-eyes-on the horizon if we are destined to find our way back home*
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29
Earth raised up her head. From the darkness dread & drear, Her light fled: Stony dread! And her locks cover’d with grey despair. Prison’d on watery shore Starry Jealousy does keep my den Cold and **** Weeping o’er I hear the father of the ancient men Selfish father of men Cruel jealous selfish fear Can delight Chain’d in night The virgins of youth and morning bear. Does spring hide its joy When buds and blossoms grow? Does the sower? Sow by night? Or the ploughman in darkness plough? Break this heavy chain. That does freeze my bones around Selfish! vain! Eternal bane! That free Love with ******* bound.
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2.7k
William Blake
Earth’s Answer
Earth raised up her head. From the darkness dread & drear, Her light fled: Stony dread! And her locks cover’d with grey despair. Prison’d on watery shore Starry Jealousy does keep my den Cold and **** Weeping o’er I hear the father of the ancient men Selfish father of men Cruel jealous selfish fear Can delight Chain’d in night The virgins of youth and morning bear. Does spring hide its joy When buds and blossoms grow? Does the sower? Sow by night? Or the ploughman in darkness plough? Break this heavy chain. That does freeze my bones around Selfish! vain! Eternal bane! That free Love with ******* bound.
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25
My soul is a dark ploughed field In the cold rain; My soul is a broken field Ploughed by pain. Where grass and bending flowers Were growing, The field lies broken now For another sowing. Great Sower when you tread My field again, Scatter the furrows there With better grain.
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2.1k
Sara Teasdale
The Broken Field
My soul is a dark ploughed field In the cold rain; My soul is a broken field Ploughed by pain. Where grass and bending flowers Were growing, The field lies broken now For another sowing. Great Sower when you tread My field again, Scatter the furrows there With better grain.
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12
A farmer went to plant a crop In his ready field He threw it through and through the land Preparing for his yield. Some of his seed fell impotent Upon a hardened ground This seed was taken up by birds Who quickly flew around. Some seed fell on shallow soil And sprouted quickly there But there was no room for roots to grow So the heat took up that share. Some it fell in fertile loam But there was other seed As it grew it was choked out By briars and by weeds. Some of this land, however Was harrowed quick and sure The seed fell deep within it And so the crop endured. We all know this parable That Jesus gave the crowd They did not understand it For they were not allowed. But his stalwart followers Asked the meaning of his words They were of his kingdom So this is what they heard... The trodden soil was as a hardened heart Which could not accept the Truth And so it was devoured By Satan. Foul. Uncouth. This second soil was spurious A sprinkling of dirt Upon a rocky soil beneath And so their Faith was hurt. The Third had fatal mixture Of good seed and of bad The weeds were a distraction And so the fruit was sad. The final ground was fertile Tilled by God's own hand So 30... 60... 100 fold Was the Harvest of that land. The Word of God is like this Seed It has much to offer The Holy Spirit is its Wind And Jesus Christ its Author. SoulSurvivor (C) 6/11/2016
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Jun 12, 2016
Jun 12, 2016 at 1:18 AM UTC
SoulSurvivor
The Sower and the Seed
A farmer went to plant a crop In his ready field He threw it through and through the land Preparing for his yield. Some of his seed fell impotent Upon a hardened ground This seed was taken up by birds Who quickly flew around. Some seed fell on shallow soil And sprouted quickly there But there was no room for roots to grow So the heat took up that share. Some it fell in fertile loam But there was other seed As it grew it was choked out By briars and by weeds. Some of this land, however Was harrowed quick and sure The seed fell deep within it And so the crop endured. We all know this parable That Jesus gave the crowd They did not understand it For they were not allowed. But his stalwart followers Asked the meaning of his words They were of his kingdom So this is what they heard... The trodden soil was as a hardened heart Which could not accept the Truth And so it was devoured By Satan. Foul. Uncouth. This second soil was spurious A sprinkling of dirt Upon a rocky soil beneath And so their Faith was hurt. The Third had fatal mixture Of good seed and of bad The weeds were a distraction And so the fruit was sad. The final ground was fertile Tilled by God's own hand So 30... 60... 100 fold Was the Harvest of that land. The Word of God is like this Seed It has much to offer The Holy Spirit is its Wind And Jesus Christ its Author. SoulSurvivor (C) 6/11/2016
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50
There was once a drought that thundered through the land It stormed from north to south sparing neither head nor hand It came on the heels of may, to rob fields of their right Giving hunger to day then taking respite from night Sun came and moon thereafter, time and time again Yet the skies yielded no answer to the outcry of men ‘Cause fortune did reject the farmer’s desperate plea For sin of thankless neglect towards soil of sower’s glee Clouds massed in mocking grey, winds whispered hopeful lies Telling of a better day when we would hear the heavens’ cries Such was the willful drought that ended harvest’s reign Starving land of fruitful sprout till Mercy brought the rain I should say no more of the gloom through days of old But with words long withheld, tell of that which should be told.
0
Dec 28, 2018
Dec 28, 2018 at 5:51 PM UTC
DikeAduluso
Petrichor I
There was once a drought that thundered through the land It stormed from north to south sparing neither head nor hand It came on the heels of may, to rob fields of their right Giving hunger to day then taking respite from night Sun came and moon thereafter, time and time again Yet the skies yielded no answer to the outcry of men ‘Cause fortune did reject the farmer’s desperate plea For sin of thankless neglect towards soil of sower’s glee Clouds massed in mocking grey, winds whispered hopeful lies Telling of a better day when we would hear the heavens’ cries Such was the willful drought that ended harvest’s reign Starving land of fruitful sprout till Mercy brought the rain I should say no more of the gloom through days of old But with words long withheld, tell of that which should be told.
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14
Love, faith and forgiveness principal are in Christian school. Torrid anger thou must flay While it's still displaying on the eastern tray Ere its set on the *** laude of thy sterling Prize. The other meek cheek of thine turn-- Though tough--to him that seek thy burn. Gladly go not one but twain miles with Him that bid thee. Distribute cheerfully To widows cream bread and wine; the needy And orphans--whether you're rolling in it-- Never neglect, and make no open show Of thy charity: its trumpet do not blow. Make mammon thy master nay. Believe The Bible though you cannot It fathom Out--the Spirit thy heart will guide. Kingdom Eternal chiefly pursue; to goodness cleave. Both parents and priests honour, and men In authority obey. Keep the Lord's pen. Fast and pray, playing not to the gallery. In heaven's safe thy treasure store, where Robbers and rust have no access nor share. For worldly wants, soul, never you worry-- Jehovah-Jireh above knows thy very need, Who gives in season due to the sower seed. Salt and light on earth be. Thy righteousness The Pharisees' must exceed. All differences Reconciled, lest thy balance draws offence By heaven's audit. Loincloth of faithfulness Wrap. At a lady be weary to leer, and thy ***** bridle. To God thy heart wholly tie. The log in thine own eyes first remove Afore thy brother's speck you see. Grudge Not but ask, seek and knock. Don't judge. Such measure from others expect to them give-- Golden rule. Strive to enter in at the narrow Gate: the rough, rugged road to the end follow.
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Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 7:34 AM UTC
folorunsho-obalugemo
Sermon on the Mount: the Christian Syllabus
Love, faith and forgiveness principal are in Christian school. Torrid anger thou must flay While it's still displaying on the eastern tray Ere its set on the *** laude of thy sterling Prize. The other meek cheek of thine turn-- Though tough--to him that seek thy burn. Gladly go not one but twain miles with Him that bid thee. Distribute cheerfully To widows cream bread and wine; the needy And orphans--whether you're rolling in it-- Never neglect, and make no open show Of thy charity: its trumpet do not blow. Make mammon thy master nay. Believe The Bible though you cannot It fathom Out--the Spirit thy heart will guide. Kingdom Eternal chiefly pursue; to goodness cleave. Both parents and priests honour, and men In authority obey. Keep the Lord's pen. Fast and pray, playing not to the gallery. In heaven's safe thy treasure store, where Robbers and rust have no access nor share. For worldly wants, soul, never you worry-- Jehovah-Jireh above knows thy very need, Who gives in season due to the sower seed. Salt and light on earth be. Thy righteousness The Pharisees' must exceed. All differences Reconciled, lest thy balance draws offence By heaven's audit. Loincloth of faithfulness Wrap. At a lady be weary to leer, and thy ***** bridle. To God thy heart wholly tie. The log in thine own eyes first remove Afore thy brother's speck you see. Grudge Not but ask, seek and knock. Don't judge. Such measure from others expect to them give-- Golden rule. Strive to enter in at the narrow Gate: the rough, rugged road to the end follow.
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There's no love deeper Than love of the father The chief stone of the corner His love is forever There's no care greater Than care of the father Bread He gives the eater Seed the sower There's no way safer Than way of the father His promises better His standards clearer Christ my brother Lead me to our father.
0
Jul 5, 2012
Jul 5, 2012 at 7:33 AM UTC
samuel-famobio
THERE'S NO LOVE DEEPER
There's no love deeper Than love of the father The chief stone of the corner His love is forever There's no care greater Than care of the father Bread He gives the eater Seed the sower There's no way safer Than way of the father His promises better His standards clearer Christ my brother Lead me to our father.
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14
Keep doing what you're doing you sower, oh, how you sow. You play others as if they are fools, injecting them to steal their money, cozying up to drain sweet love. You drop balloons & break hearts. Think that's funny? Well, I'm God & I'm really ****** I will reap, soon sower.
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Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 2:34 PM UTC
jonny-angel
Soon Sower (A Really ****** Off God)
Keep doing what you're doing you sower, oh, how you sow. You play others as if they are fools, injecting them to steal their money, cozying up to drain sweet love. You drop balloons & break hearts. Think that's funny? Well, I'm God & I'm really ****** I will reap, soon sower.
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13
I'm just A farmer In this Life of mine I'll jump on a tractor Be a sower of time
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Nov 14, 2014
Nov 14, 2014 at 10:31 PM UTC
wendy-ronshausen
SOWER OF TIME
I'm just A farmer In this Life of mine I'll jump on a tractor Be a sower of time
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6
~~~ *bathed by breezes of southern gentility, sun soaped by eye-prickling, star twinkling glints, shampooed in delicious waves of white sno caps, my crazy wild hair, conditioned by the foaming bay's riffles dappled waters transformed into a Van Gogh glow of The Sower sprinkling golden seed upon fields of summer wheat glorious my little yellow rubber duckies, are now blue white snow geese alive, down from Nova Scotia, where August is already emboldened colden, so they non-stop honk tho mere passerbys, everybody is seeking a place in history, the surety, that this poem, by their inclusion herein, promises posterity the grass blades wave with endless swaying applause, at yet another attempt of poetic tribute, for once more, spell bound by the bounty of the moment, enslaved happily to the idea there is no satiation possible from the earthly satisfaction of this place, this sheltered isle the leaves are cappuccino frothy performers, unison shaking just like a roman legion of stadium fans, they offer me untold numbers of likes and reads, and other candied goodies, promises endless to root for my winter dream teams, if their presence is here prominently included, until they too fall silent, grounded, shed by their rightful owners every time I think the well is dry, swept under by a rip tide of drowning overwhelming gratitude, for here I come to a place. a station for repair, where poems are bandied about, summer fruits ripe for plucking sunroom lace, summer curtains, will hide out here in my absence, the lace, turns into snowflakes crystalline, by icy waters and gusts, that will be both untrodden and unadmired for when the poet is clad in the damask drapes of winter's inevitability, will close his eyes and will hide out here, right here, in this one of his never ending prior~poem~prayers homages, until next year's can't-come- too-early spring arrives, sparked by tendrils of meeting markers, noting that new poems have been fallow fallen, winter seeded, awaiting your watering and writing, of the appreciation of the simple majesty of this small corner of the earth*
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Aug 15, 2015
Aug 15, 2015 at 9:18 PM UTC
nat-lipstadt
bathed by breezes of southern gentility
~~~ *bathed by breezes of southern gentility, sun soaped by eye-prickling, star twinkling glints, shampooed in delicious waves of white sno caps, my crazy wild hair, conditioned by the foaming bay's riffles dappled waters transformed into a Van Gogh glow of The Sower sprinkling golden seed upon fields of summer wheat glorious my little yellow rubber duckies, are now blue white snow geese alive, down from Nova Scotia, where August is already emboldened colden, so they non-stop honk tho mere passerbys, everybody is seeking a place in history, the surety, that this poem, by their inclusion herein, promises posterity the grass blades wave with endless swaying applause, at yet another attempt of poetic tribute, for once more, spell bound by the bounty of the moment, enslaved happily to the idea there is no satiation possible from the earthly satisfaction of this place, this sheltered isle the leaves are cappuccino frothy performers, unison shaking just like a roman legion of stadium fans, they offer me untold numbers of likes and reads, and other candied goodies, promises endless to root for my winter dream teams, if their presence is here prominently included, until they too fall silent, grounded, shed by their rightful owners every time I think the well is dry, swept under by a rip tide of drowning overwhelming gratitude, for here I come to a place. a station for repair, where poems are bandied about, summer fruits ripe for plucking sunroom lace, summer curtains, will hide out here in my absence, the lace, turns into snowflakes crystalline, by icy waters and gusts, that will be both untrodden and unadmired for when the poet is clad in the damask drapes of winter's inevitability, will close his eyes and will hide out here, right here, in this one of his never ending prior~poem~prayers homages, until next year's can't-come- too-early spring arrives, sparked by tendrils of meeting markers, noting that new poems have been fallow fallen, winter seeded, awaiting your watering and writing, of the appreciation of the simple majesty of this small corner of the earth*
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78
'Does the sower Sow by night, Or the ploughman in darkness plough?' — William Blake On this night black as innocence lost buses, taxis, aeroplanes plough with broken furrows the fields of Castleknock, Dublin 15 after which the wind from a bottomless bag disperses the tears of every parent, shed to fall on disturbed tarmac. Before the rays of the sun make pale the moon and extinguish street light: with junkie’s needle and rotting reed, blot in moon black blood this balcony where I make myself scarecrow keeping a watchful eye for all the children taken.
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Oct 1, 2010
Oct 1, 2010 at 2:59 PM UTC
miceal-kearney
Mr Blake
'Does the sower Sow by night, Or the ploughman in darkness plough?' — William Blake On this night black as innocence lost buses, taxis, aeroplanes plough with broken furrows the fields of Castleknock, Dublin 15 after which the wind from a bottomless bag disperses the tears of every parent, shed to fall on disturbed tarmac. Before the rays of the sun make pale the moon and extinguish street light: with junkie’s needle and rotting reed, blot in moon black blood this balcony where I make myself scarecrow keeping a watchful eye for all the children taken.
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21
From the depths of the heart The mouth speaks Says the Holy Book From the tunnel of the Impulzez Thy fingers scribbles Says Me Spurn the wheel and the thread knits As the niddle picks and the fingers oversees Hard ground kills all seeds Hard ground; the sower's serial killer Hard Heart; the lover's impulse killer A touch, a word, a thought, a scent A hug, a smile, a Hi, a cry, a tear I may scribble a billion words Which may not tender your sores I may love a billion times It still may not tender your woes Its all in your heart What you call it Is What it becomes I call it Love
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Oct 20, 2013
Oct 20, 2013 at 10:56 AM UTC
impulzez
"I call it Love"
From the depths of the heart The mouth speaks Says the Holy Book From the tunnel of the Impulzez Thy fingers scribbles Says Me Spurn the wheel and the thread knits As the niddle picks and the fingers oversees Hard ground kills all seeds Hard ground; the sower's serial killer Hard Heart; the lover's impulse killer A touch, a word, a thought, a scent A hug, a smile, a Hi, a cry, a tear I may scribble a billion words Which may not tender your sores I may love a billion times It still may not tender your woes Its all in your heart What you call it Is What it becomes I call it Love
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21
You, yew and ewe. New, knew and gnu. Two, too and to. Do, dew and doo. Your, you’re, ewer and yore. Sower, sewer and even sore. Pin, pen Win, wen. Tin, ten. Bin, been. For, four, and fore. Poor, pour and pore. Bear, bare and bayer. There, their and they’re. Sure, sewer, shore and shower. Censor, censure, sensor, censer. Din, den. Kin, ken. Win, wen. Yin, yen. Shoulda, coulda and woulda, Wanna, hafta and hadda. Pitchers painted of pitchers Ree-lutters instead of realtors. Pertecting you with protection. Prescribing you a perscription. A different kind of differnse, For instance, gimme a frinstance. Pin, pen Win, wen. Tin, ten. Bin, been. Din, den. Kin, ken. Win, wen. Yin, yen.
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Mar 28, 2016
Mar 28, 2016 at 10:42 PM UTC
brent-kincaid
SAY WHUT?
You, yew and ewe. New, knew and gnu. Two, too and to. Do, dew and doo. Your, you’re, ewer and yore. Sower, sewer and even sore. Pin, pen Win, wen. Tin, ten. Bin, been. For, four, and fore. Poor, pour and pore. Bear, bare and bayer. There, their and they’re. Sure, sewer, shore and shower. Censor, censure, sensor, censer. Din, den. Kin, ken. Win, wen. Yin, yen. Shoulda, coulda and woulda, Wanna, hafta and hadda. Pitchers painted of pitchers Ree-lutters instead of realtors. Pertecting you with protection. Prescribing you a perscription. A different kind of differnse, For instance, gimme a frinstance. Pin, pen Win, wen. Tin, ten. Bin, been. Din, den. Kin, ken. Win, wen. Yin, yen.
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36
For all our younger poets I am a sower of seeds Hello Poetry is the soil that nurtures the seeds You are the tender young plants reaching for the sky Soon to blossom in your full glory
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May 23, 2016
May 23, 2016 at 3:33 PM UTC
joe-cole
I Only Sow The Seeds
For all our younger poets I am a sower of seeds Hello Poetry is the soil that nurtures the seeds You are the tender young plants reaching for the sky Soon to blossom in your full glory
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5
Do flower, drop some dew Upon me And ripen me too I follow you, reaper Sower of dreams How it gleams In a fair flowers face. Sun hunter, shines on high Shine on me Hunter, gathering by Dreams of a sun weaver Spreading your glow Lights up soul With a rainbow trace. Love potion, on earth bestowed Love the best portion Enter us whole Seeking always As the dream's began Till heart of man Find every grace.
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May 14, 2010
May 14, 2010 at 7:48 AM UTC
patti-masterman-heterodynemind
Do Flower, Drop Some Dew
Do flower, drop some dew Upon me And ripen me too I follow you, reaper Sower of dreams How it gleams In a fair flowers face. Sun hunter, shines on high Shine on me Hunter, gathering by Dreams of a sun weaver Spreading your glow Lights up soul With a rainbow trace. Love potion, on earth bestowed Love the best portion Enter us whole Seeking always As the dream's began Till heart of man Find every grace.
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21
A lonely god sits and waits for dust to rise like smoke. A weaver threads his loom of life with spun gold: a glorious display -- a sower strews his seeds by hand; mother earth lets them take root. The phoenix rises from the ash, all aflame and feathers red. And still the lonely god does wait for breath to take and keep him company.
0
Aug 30, 2011
Aug 30, 2011 at 1:41 PM UTC
adelaide-caron-dyson
To Keep Him Company
A lonely god sits and waits for dust to rise like smoke. A weaver threads his loom of life with spun gold: a glorious display -- a sower strews his seeds by hand; mother earth lets them take root. The phoenix rises from the ash, all aflame and feathers red. And still the lonely god does wait for breath to take and keep him company.
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