"sowing" poems
Our hearts and souls were so blessed to fast Ramadan sincerely
To be enlightened by its super mercy and extreme prosperity
purity abiding around my heart, kindling my every part
a gift from Allah came along to bless our hearts
to spread peace and love, to dig faith in each part
A blessed bounty to wipe away our tears
to zest our souls and vanish our fears
to sparkle with faith with our keenest beliefs
and twinkle light in our bright smiles
oh dear eid, you can't help it but sowing seeds of joy,
Capturing joy and happiness in every single countenance ,
of a child's enthusiastic joy kindling a thriving inner radiance
joining hearts and souls with the deepest crystals of love
revealing such a fancy artistic touch of a peaceful dove
feeling the gratitude for Allah's super merciful blessings
praying to pluck the roses of peace each single moment
pounding hearts of affliction and yearning
missing your everlasting passion getting sick of poisoning
yearning for their peaceful deliverance
to catch glimpses of happiness
that once has been hunted by a sudden death of a loving part of soul
until Allah will send a cheerful hope,
just be patience to get over all the mope
smile and share the joy of eid and love ,
work even harder to cherish the heaven above ....
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 8:12 PM UTC
"In the grave, whither thou goest."
O weary Champion of the Cross, lie still:
Sleep thou at length the all-embracing sleep:
Long was thy sowing day, rest now and reap:
Thy fast was long, feast now thy spirit's fill.
Yea, take thy fill of love, because thy will
Chose love not in the shallows but the deep:
Thy tides were springtides, set against the neap
Of calmer souls: thy flood rebuked their rill.
Now night has come to thee--please God, of rest:
So some time must it come to every man;
To first and last, where many last are first.
Now fixed and finished thine eternal plan,
Thy best has done its best, thy worst its worst:
Thy best its best, please God, thy best its best.
13.8k
Poppy, oh poppy abundant and flowing
across all the fields you're still constantly growing.
As your seeds blow and find their own bed,
they're reminding us of the most glorious dead.
Glorious in the contribution they made.
Glorious for the price that they paid.
Glorious for fighting for what they believed.
Glorious for the terrors and hell they received.
Standing their ground in the eye of the storm.
Standing their ground whilst receiving the swarm.
Standing their ground in the mud and the vile
Standing their ground through the horrors and toil.
The death and the blood flowing like a river.
Like the fields of the poppies the breeze does now shiver.
The seeds carry on into a new time,
an horizon of red the future will entwine.
Poppy, oh poppy so winding and red,
reminding most deftly of our glorious dead.
You are constantly sowing your own little seed
as those who had fought did for those who were freed.
Although many thousands of lives they have gone
your legacy will like that small seed go on.
Although now in history and most never met
you can take it for granted we shall never forget.
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 2:31 PM UTC
miles mean nothing to a heart that is pure
words penned in grace, sent to ether
give heartease to the overstretched
sowing stiches of understanding
in tapestry threadbare
little suns and stars
shining bright in love and hope
from face unseen and adirondack chair
gives strength to one down, from down under
allows grief, the words needed the abilty to care
for these simple gifts, no payment required
from the heart open to care...
Jun 20, 2019
Jun 20, 2019 at 10:09 AM UTC
The seeds of truth and love and light are scattered all around
Some among thorns and rocks or on the path, but some will find good ground
These are the conditions in which our souls can be found
Those among rocky soil are shallow and cannot take hold
When the heat is on in life they wither truth be told
And at times it seems they act distant mechanical and cold
Amidst the thorns and weeds the souls that fall
Find their deaths in the earthly siren’s call
Thirdly they that fall on hardened soil build up a rugged wall
Response to pain or suffering one creates a shield
For fear of getting hurt again but needing to be healed
Difficult to break through or down to deliver truth revealed
Finally the soul that falls on fertile soil and grows deep root
Healthy and pure they bear plentiful and beautiful fruit
This can be our destiny and our lives can follow suit
At different times in our life our souls can be
Any one of the soul’s soils you see
But we can choose and act any of these
So let us strive without end to find good soil not to break but to bend
Not to weaken but to heal not to tear but mend and seal
Set your seal upon us Lord and help us have the strength and grace
Sign your name upon our hearts as we sign ourselves with the father son and holy spirit
Deliver us from temptation and sin to your heart Oh Lord and we pray for our soul’s deliverance
AMEN
Feb 7, 2015
Feb 7, 2015 at 12:23 AM UTC
Thirty days have passed by,
purity abiding around my heart
Our souls were so blessed
to fast Ramadan deeply sincere
To be enlightened by its vast mercy
and the extreme prosperity
a gift from Allah came along to bless our hearts
to spread peace and love, to dig faith in each part
A blessed bounty to wipe away our tears
to rest our souls and vanish our fears
to sparkle with faith with our ambitious beliefs
and twinkle light in our bright smiles
I can't explain the sadness,
that all of it is already gone
Yet I am unable to express,
all the happiness that came along
Oh dear Eid,
you can't help it but sowing seeds of joy,
All the little children jumping out of ecstasy,
or something more
We gather all of us in a room,
cheering everything we have got
the child's enthusiasm kindling a thriving inner radiance
joining hearts with the profound crystals of love
feeling the gratitude for Allah's merciful blessings
pounding hearts of affliction and yearning
attempting to catch glimpses of happiness
that once has been hunted by a sudden death
of a loving dear soul
I have two sides today,
in my spirit is something wrong
but it's real, and I can't hide it
and let the feeling in my heart just lay
A beaming smile, so doleful eyes
As I said I have got two sides
And still can not decide.
This great festival meant a lot,
now it is just a reminder,
to all the years that have flown
celebrating a day without her.
It is just a replay,
to the digging nostalgia in my core,
until Allah will send a cheerful hope,
just be patience to get over all the mope
work even harder to cherish the heaven above.
Yet you see,
this movie will come again, the next year
and the melancholia, tingled with nostalgia
might keep you deaf and blind
along your long road.
Remember that Allah's door of repenting is always wide open
Waiting for your heart to get back and mind be awaken...
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 8:04 PM UTC
Afu Ra Ka
Which reminds me
I'm just another Red Letter
Muslim Jew Adieu as Zen Master
says in the Tao of Hindu's Krishna as
Buddha's Bodhisattva's Love in the Great
Middle Way of Mother's Forever Embracing
Zarathustra a son's spiritual fostering to heirs as
Abraham of Love in Folly and Light All of Daughters
and All Sons Sown sowing in and out of forgiveness reap
Satyam Shivam Sundram Love Truly as Kindness in Action
as Beauty Be of Great Spirits's Ka- Alling Afu Ra's Childeren All
Must Be One Great Womb Where Our Love's Light Spirit Breathes
Within as without, above and below every rainbow I Am Another You
Oct 14, 2012
Oct 14, 2012 at 10:56 PM UTC
Agony and Pain,
Filled in the eyes,
Gaze seeing beyond..
Future is unpredictable
Life is futureless
Yet,
You, My Farmers you toil the soil...
Year after year,
You keep on working
Tilling the land,
Sowing the seeds,
Waiting for the rain..
And watch clouds pass by...
The shower doesn't happen,
The seeds don't germinate,
The crop doesn't turn up .
Yet again,
One more year of despair...!
The pain in eyes..
Hurts the heart
but,
Lips always smile..
They have a task of,
Explaining your child
About how next year...
We will buy
New dress
New toy
New shoes
New bag
It's been years since your child saw anything new...
Since your wife bought a new dress..
You anyways are not even in list...
The family understands..
The years foods is collected,
Bare minimum...
Child education should continue
Regardless..
But...
The loan goes
Higher...
Bigger
Humongous..
You cannot bear the thought...
The farm being in mortgage..
You don't know what to do...
Finally,
You are tired,
You decide, as your neighbor..
You shall too end your life...
Go away in peace..
Away from all these...
Hurt is too much
To bear,
Pain is too much
To wear,
Life is miserable
And
Lips refuse to smile..
Child s haunting eyes,
You can't decipher...
Finally...
You end your life....
.
.
.
Your wife now bears it all...
All alone...
Life continues....!!
Sparkle In Wisdom
Dec 2018
Dec 25, 2018
Dec 25, 2018 at 7:01 AM UTC
When grandma laid me down to sleep
she prayed the Lord my soul to keep
and if I died before I woke
she prayed my soul the Lord would yoke
Post-psychedelic black door dreams
monsters climbing in the breeze
Running, falling, flying, stare
yet with the morning not a care
the wafting flow through morning light
Madame’s kitchen fueled the air
The children sang of fresh insight
With voices pure and futures bright:
We smell sausages, we smell sausages,
we smell sausages, we smell sausages,
We smell sausages, we smell sausages,
we smell sausages, we smell sausages
Slipping, sliding, sowing sin
Sipping cider in the sun
Seeking soaring savoir faire
Serenade non-sequitor
Life’s a joke at seventeen
Painful angst, gray misery
With one look the light pours in
Eyes to see, now born again
Fresh squeezed juice is just divine
Grapes and berries off the vine
over easy, over hard
Weeds have overgrown the yard
And all the brothers in their haze
with lifted voices sang their praise:
We smell sausages, we smell sausages,
we smell sausages, we smell sausages,
we smell sausages, we smell sausages,
we smell sausages, we smell sausages
Mother’s teeth and Mother’s paw
Mother’s cradle, Mother’s bough
Mark the day’s devotions done
in the back track He looks on
The Sun is setting in the East,
and though the Magi know the truth
The Book of Lies, lies in disguise
of jagged tooth with mangy hide
The night recedes, the morning calls
Memories of far gone days
Memories of yawning halls
Memories of random joy
Though the hand that feeds we bite
now sing we all, with all our might:
We smell sausages, we smell sausages,
we smell sausages, we smell sausages,
we smell sausages, we smell sausages,
we smell sausages, we smell sausages
Mar 5, 2015
Mar 5, 2015 at 4:25 PM UTC
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.)
5.6k
The power of contentment is a strong force,
composed of the sense of inward sufficiency;
for we’ve been promised the strength to succeed
when we open spiritual eyes and dare to see…
His divine plan of grace and abundance for us.
Christ, the Alpha and Omega, beginning and end,
demonstrated His Love with actions at Calvary,
giving us the privilege to be called His friend.
We should not be worried about personal needs,
for we’ve been equipped to address all of them;
study The Word, apply His principles to your life
and you’ll enjoy Life, without feeling condemned.
For contentment has nothing to do with your wants;
it’s being satisfied on the way to where you’re going.
Boldly ask God for wisdom; trust Him and His timing;
continue to be blessed by the seeds you are sowing.
Don’t be affected by Life-stealing, negative emotions;
find your identity of being one of His girls and boys;
real contentment is the underlying power to be happy-
learn to lean on Biblical promises and the Lord’s joy!
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.
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Author Notes:
Loosely based on:
Rom 11:36; 1 Tim 6:6; Eph 3:20; Jam 4:2; Phil 4:11-13; John 3:16-17
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2014, All rights reserved.
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 1:49 PM UTC
Please take a quick a moment to write a review.
If you were not satisfied, what could I do?
Customer care is always my goal,
to all future guests who visit my soul.
Closure’s essential to us moving on,
It matters to me why now you are gone.
Fearful my future will repeat mistakes,
I need to know first I might have what it takes.
Did I love too strongly at first when we met,
then settle for stable as needs being met?
Was it the fact that we need to work harder?
disappointments too much for you, so why bother?
With your help, my program can surely improve,
for now I am ready to make my next move.
Patrons of my heart may have different needs,
beyond conversation and sowing of seeds.
They may not discover the flaws that you see,
because they love past them, unlike you, with me.
Oct 7, 2018
Oct 7, 2018 at 7:15 AM UTC
the way you live is fragrance
turning people's senses
moving people's feelings
..you stain white hearts
then bleach black souls
..oh yes
you preach clarity
sowing memories
and feeding obsessions
..don't take me
my freedom is real
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 5:06 AM UTC
Compassion isn't just a word; it is not a sensation or a behavior. Compassion is a moral; it's a standard to uphold and live by. To be compassionate is to show thoughtfulness and to be caring to people. Being compassionate is to extend humanity a second chances, even if they may not deserve it. The kindnesses shown through being compassionate will extent; this kindness, though sometimes hard to find, is always there. To be compassionate is to be human; however, this humanity sowing is not just what the average person sees every day; it is the light in us, and is the best of what we can be. Everybody has times that they are down and just can't get up; the people that are willing to go out of the way to help these people out and bring them up are what I consider compassionate. Showing compassion can do a multitude of good things; these things being a chain reaction of kindness and love or something as modest as a start to a new friendship. Everyone at some time or another will do something unscrupulous; to be compassionate is to forgive these misdeeds and to give a second chance, no matter how undeserving they may seem. With compassion up held in society the world truly be a better place. The world would be so much better if everyone set aside differences, greed, the anger, the hatred and war; the world if we just showed a little compassion to the population would flourish and be a truly great place.
Dec 27, 2014
Dec 27, 2014 at 11:09 PM UTC
Bamboo shoots grow all two quickly only to diverge two soon.
Resilience comes not easily but is learned, whether rooted in
Earth, rock, sand we have learned to grow through our fears.
Are the hazards of growth greater than the ease of departure?
Keep this in mind, for I do two.
Us. That is something I will fight for,
Planted shallow are the roots, sanguinely sowing steadier
-AM
Jan 18, 2016
Jan 18, 2016 at 3:05 AM UTC
As the warm days of summer give way to chill, and shadows grow longer as days shed their hours.
High winds and rain storms scrub the tired landscape down.
Colours are changing from rich green to gold, from yellow to red and orange to brown.
The grain has been gathered, wheat, barley and oats, cut and collected, sifted and sorted and put into store.
Grown by God, and by man with machine and by effort of hand.
Poppies and stalks now mark the spot, of the return for their labour. The wealth of the land.
Birds follow the tractor, rising and falling, swirling and soaring they move like a cloud.
The farmer is out and turning the stubble into the ground.
Rooks and crows, gulls and wood pigeons, starlings and magpies follow him round.
Hay long since mown is now bailed and in barns, or rolled up and bagged, ferments now in high silage towers.
The countryside has yielded reward for all Adam’s toil.
Work done in rhythm with the seasons, sowing, growing, reaping, ploughing and tilling the soil.
Gathering goodness, from garden, and greenhouse, carrots and courgettes, tomatoes in bunches.
Fresher than any you can get in the shops.
Picking the bounty gleaned from the hedgerow. Rosehips and cobnuts, damsons and hops.
Elder and sorrel, mushrooms and puffballs, sour green crab apples, and brambles in tangles.
Sloes that were missed by the late winter frost.
Not all are pleasant and some really can hurt you, pick only those that you know and trust.
Take full advantage of God’s generosity, share it with gladness, with thanks, there is plenty for all.
Sticky syrups and cider, wines, cordial and beer.
Pies, puddings, sorbets and ice creams, jam, jelly, and chutney and enough pickles to last into next year.
As the warm days of summer give way to chill, and shadows grow longer as days shed their hours.
High winds and rain storms scrub the tired landscape down.
Colours are changing from rich green to gold, from yellow to red and orange to brown.
Oct 23, 2011
Oct 23, 2011 at 3:16 PM UTC
Flaming bridges up in smoke—
ashes scattered in the wind
Requiem to passing yesterdays;
vestige of all that’s lost —
bestrewn in prevailing currents
amongst the drifting autumn leaves
No smoke on rising waters
— lingers between
growing distant shores
Untamed rivers rising
rinse away
the taste of sparks
spake from silent tongues
Portaging all that once was
with all that could never remain,
back to the briny deep
An uncontainable
rivers pilgrimage —
entombing reverently
ancient fractals of being
Sowing feral rivers' ashes —
sacrificial scatterings of destiny
washed afar unto the flotsam
on shoreless stormy seas
Jesse Stillwater
Nov 10, 2018
Nov 10, 2018 at 12:54 PM UTC
You’ll love me yet!—and I can tarry
Your love’s protracted growing:
June reared that bunch of flowers you carry
From seeds of April’s sowing.
I plant a heartful now: some seed
At least is sure to strike,
And yield—what you’ll not pluck indeed,
Not love, but, may be, like!
You’ll look at least on love’s remains,
A grave’s one violet:
Your look?—that pays a thousand pains.
What’s death?—You’ll love me yet!
3.9k
Willow herb floating
on silent certainty
ashes of sighs
not fleeting,
unvapoured on the
blossom of the rain,
I am too light to
pull or push
the swing of delight
through this land.
The rain left me for a
while
sun unshielding
-a thousand widows
more unyielding than the depths . .
Once shadowed whisperers
of delight,gossamer
sparkling , descending
their chains
of necromantic hope.
Lilith is no night owl
she is mother, eve
and my becoming:
sweet earth spun
at once ,
exhaling her .
The see saw
bumped gently
on my chin
it is a most gentle
form of awakening.
The silence bore no whispers
till sinking through the quicksand
-or was it quicksilver?
-in any case I could smell little
in my amniotic amnesia.
I made ten thousand friends,till their soap
made this place clean.
Is this a seed or a dying
hopefulness
-is my sallow sowing
beyond all shores of
reproduction;
a reflection of the child
they dared not bear?
Is my last breath like this
a forgotton yielding
will they catch me
as I fall ?
-(sweet earth)-
This moth of my ending,
a shallow recantation,
my fears-
their memories, mere
testubes of
stylish hope .
I breathe the elegant stare
you have forgotten .
Once more free
from such
rememberance
I need not ,
remained not ,
your imploded ,
wakefulness .
A thousand pardons
exhaled like silk
entwining
an unfinished race
spider of a thousand eyes .
One may say
I was
stared
to death
but surrogate air
mocks childish pity.
Taut refelexions
bear salt echoes
in silk convulsions
fresh water
a veneered hope .
Easier in death than life
is a child's sorrowed
partings ,
the illusion of
bouyancy
rippled tides
unfelt.
The oceans have not enough salt
for such shrunken sorrow.
if we could but once
have shared
unbreathed aspersion .
The room has come and gone
the pillow quite undry
unforgotten
unremembered.
A web untouched
Sep 27, 2010
Sep 27, 2010 at 7:46 AM UTC
Righteous men cannot rest
Cannot laugh in light no more
Burdened by that shameful crest
Who yielded from the corps
The spy for two sides
With two separate cause
And even now he is uncertain
Who’s spy he really was
He wished they’d heed
To what he feared
But none so deaf
As men who won’t hear
Shut upon himself
Sowing not upon harm
Though for simple whiles
For lost kisses and smiles
He layed his weapon to arms
Though never to learn
Their power burned
Forgetting the peace he brung
Be thy sleep
Calm and deep
Such weight on a mind so young
Innocent hands
Spread like disease
Though the resting land
Was put at ease
Tragedy not heard
With each bellow and wail
Though through this sight
Peace did prevail
And with this night
His strife began
No longer a child
Though no longer a man
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 12:34 PM UTC
SATOR
AREPO
TENET
OPERA
ROTAS
Cropsman,
Alpha-Omega is with you, and bids you go forward with a patient but steady momentum.
Keep yourself to the Old Truth.
Your work
Is that of the seasons which are cyclical as the wheels of your sowing and reaping contraptions.
May 19, 2015
May 19, 2015 at 2:33 PM UTC
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.
3k
30 days to get us all into nature,
30 days to give people a brand new adventure,
30 days to prove that there is more to be done & to do,
30 days to open people’s minds & change attitudes .
30 days to experience a whole new reality,
30 day to show that there are more important things than technology.
30 days to try and change someone’s day for the better,
30 days to bring families closer together.
30 days to breath in the fresh air of the seaside,
30 days to just listen to the trees and river flowing by,
30 days to watch birds & help the tired bees
30 days to be in your garden, digging weeds & sowing seeds.
30 days showing your children the beauty of the countryside,
30 days showing them all the goodness the earth can provide,
30 days teaching them how we must protect our bees,
30 days to show them the rainforest is more than just a bunch of trees.
30 days wild to have fun we can share,
30 days wild to show the world we care.
Jun 2, 2016
Jun 2, 2016 at 12:33 PM UTC
the hills were beginning to grow
the grass greening on the approach
to Blue Earth, and how
in summer
Minnesota shed her old coat
to shy guilty into brief silty lakes
like the
joy of a little kid, sneaking a forbidden dip.
remarking, casually, about
white warm flowers hung low from
planned oaks, and the impossible way the town
pulled local hills close, to coat
in dandelions. and cultivate
all under an ambitious midwestern sun.
rolling through the stop sign, hand on mine
you told me if you’re moving at all
you should keep it in second gear.
and we had so far to go, but in the light that
broke through westbound clouds,
we became less so.
contented to spread toes out in earth we
dug into Minnesota, the middle coast:
a land we could like to get to know.
and you:
looking down at the salt, the sand, the scars of
the grand american plantation:
the last coast.
knowing that by the next coast, we
you and me.
we'd be through.
saying, ‘how could anybody die?’
saying,
‘how could anybody tell you anything true?’
undercut by the honest waves of the little lake,
the hum that drummed in my gas tank.
trying, for once, at a little piece of truth:
when I leave this place I leave
a part of me behind.
and that part of me
will be you.
saying there’s only so much sweetness in the soil,
only so long after the thaw,
and grief is rich and dark and made for sowing:
must be, for maintaining verdant local hills, must be
for to keep corn sweet. must be for to put
grief
on the table. must be for to
keep with us.
for to keep a little bit to eat.
saying, we bleed but together we make a hole
to bury both our bodies in.
saying there’s a west out west but too late it’s
already hemmed us in.
saying now I am only a fragile assimilation of this weak
and fractured purpose that drives me, and you are
beautiful enough I would lie to let you love me.
even I would scorch this soil if only things wouldn’t grow I would
saying Blue Earth is still in the trucker's atlas is
only an excuse for sunshine. a point,
where freeways go.
saying,
“with earth, so green, that here they call it 'Blue'.”
saying
“I could learn to love a leopard.”
saying
“how dare you.”
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 7:20 AM UTC
I came upon a parade of Zinnias
today..lined along the pave-way,
wild and wily. An infinite variety
of colorful heads popping up
and out, like eyes of
wary prairie dogs,
on the lookout for action.
Thought of you...the flower heads
you gave me, filled with seeds
aplenty to plant in the spring.
Knew just where they would go.
Imagined my hands in the
welcoming earth, sowing
them at just the right depth.
They would grow, reaching
with their long thin frames.
Vigorously tall and full of
summers brightness.
Symmetrical flowers
filled with attitude
towards the sun.
Flourishing in cracks along
sidewalks and driveways.
Finding comfort and feeling free
in the most limited of spaces.
Yet...I did not plant them.
Aware that I am not able,
just now, to make such a commitment.
To water and **** Ensuring that they
would reach their full potential.
A simple promise of one season.
To nourish a delicate, perfect Zinnia.
~Christi Michaels~July 2015~
Copyright © 2015 Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved.
Aug 2, 2015
Aug 2, 2015 at 2:43 AM UTC