Best Fertilize Poems
O' What Is War But The Mad Child Of Greed And Hate
By uppity arrogance the mouse challenges the lion
And his haughty crown is fused nickel and tin
But 'tis true dark-clad world has far too much cryin'
All brought about by hungry appetites of mad men.
Mankind does not admit arrogance of the womb.
Truth of utter despair of lying in a tomb.
O' what is war but the mad child of greed and hate
Armies march blindly into destruction and death
But crazy leaders love to foolishly tempt dark Fate
As they parade puffed up and plan with whispered breath.
Mankind does not admit arrogance of the womb.
Truth of utter despair of lying in a tomb.
History shows its results, tragic dark dying
And the abject misery needlessly born
With those at home fearful and hearing the lying
From government and politicians we should scorn!
Mankind does not admit arrogance of the womb.
Truth of utter despair of lying in a tomb.
Such bitter conflict indeed does some heroes show
And we here at home do acknowledge their brave deeds
We poets may even polish them til they glow
Sad, all that does is fertilize war's future seeds!
Mankind does not admit arrogance of the womb.
Truth of utter despair of lying in a tomb.
Is it true, war is fruits of arrogance and pride
That mankind has dark-set violence born within
Sure, such blatant truth we in vain so try to hide
Dare we not admit, that it is a tragic sin!
Mankind does not admit arrogance of the womb.
Truth of utter despair of lying in a tomb.
Robert J. Lindley, Rhyme
June 3rd 1973
Note: 9-12-2023
Vietnam War is the reason this poem is composed.
Our guys coming back either dead or else so gravely wounded.
Note: 6-03-1973
I turned 19 this year. I'd rather not be drafted to fight a war that
is not fought to win. Besides war is evil.
I have a new lover
who makes me smile just like a mother.
I have a new lover
who does things the way I want.
I have a new lover
who sleeps just at the tip of my tongue
she falls off when I open my mouth
her breath is directly connected to mine
she dies the day I close my eyes and the world will remember me just because of her.
I have a new lover
who never goes out without my concent
she goes just to deliver my assets
my delivery van
without her the world calls me dumb.
I have a new lover
who knows exactly how I feel and acts the way I think
the right person for me
bone of my bone
the flesh of my flesh
How come I was too busy to know I love you?
I have a new lover
whom all my worries are laid
she toils day and night
just to make me glow, am whole.
she defend me against the world
when am wrong she goes to say am sorry
she define me when people need a clue.
I have a new lover
who is better than gold, immune against the cold
and never get old.
she goes before me to places unknown
through her my name is known
how come I was too dumb to know, you are all I own
I wish I fell in love with her long ago.
I have a new lover
her name is WORDS
how come I had her and still searched for love?
no wonder I was so alone.
I was a fool
now that I found you
I will caress you with kindness
feed you with truth
show you out with love
till the whole world gets to know how powerful you are
and say you aloud in oneness.
I WILL TREAT YOU WITH CARE.
I will possess you will harmony
till you drive away their sadness
I will fertilize your womb with salvation
till you birth in men grace
I will wash their eyes to know YOU ARE THE TOOL WITH WHICH WE CHANGE THE WORLD.
My lover, My words you will bind the world with peace.
I heard echoes of scurrilous snarls,
from my conscience as it spoke
contemptible remarks aimed at me.
What shame those words delivered.
"Fatuous one, why does your hand quiver,
mimicking the trembling lips of a child in fear?
You dare call yourself a poet,
but you're nothing more than a joke."
Guilt is the culprit that tunnels my mind
as my passion for poetry shrivels on its vine.
Withering like a flower, my empty heart
has stripped my soul of its craving to write.
It's my own foolish notion
that causes me to shiver.
I weep over my planted seedlings.
They thirst, and their mournful cries I hear.
Abandoned by their mother who begot them,
and for this I'm filled with remorse and regret.
That mocking voice invaded my aching breast,
when again, it ridiculed me as a fool...
"A self-proclaimed bard who gives up the task.
You should put down the quill and live in disgrace."
There is no saving grace for me.
No nourishment for my verses to thrive.
My heart is broken, drowning in memories.
Without the will to live, how will it survive?
It only drums in rhythm to keep me alive.
Rows of sprouted thoughts have withered.
Parched and dying, drying up in a field of grief.
While I, their neglectful sower, helplessly sit
as time elapses and I watch them expire.
I’ve fallen between the gaps of missing lines
into an abyss, my fingers charred in a fire.
I can only water the seeds of self doubt
with salty sweat from my furrowed brow
and over fertilize them with tears of frustration.
I do not seek salvation or redemption.
Damnation will out.
My ink well of impetus has sprung a leak
or maybe it's a new watering hole I seek.
I have not a drop to quench their thirst
no morning dew, nor afternoon shower
to give my wilting buds reprieve, a relief.
I've tried to save them all, or was it just
a half-hearted attempt made in vain?
Not one more rhyme can I rescue from pain.
I'm suffering from loss. All hope is gone.
My fear is that I cannot express myself
in what was once an emotional voice.
No wonder my pages remain barren and blank,
except for the blotches of spilled ink.
My parchment lies in a state of immortal decay.
I relinquish my quill to a better hand than mine,
setting it free and praying that I be forgiven.
For the folly, I've only myself to blame,
this pillaged poet.
I NEVER LEFT YOU
When youthful restless hearts hear defining calls
With volcanic strength they will respond
The impetus for adventure overrides
All rational thoughts, out of window they go
For youth knows no bounds of daring appeal
Twenty I was, when I heard the “buzz”,
With gusto and a lick of good sense I made the run
Carpe Diem was my exalted, exuberant cry
So I followed the path to places to me unknown
To her, I whispered with pain and sorrow
I must seek what the world to my lot bestowed
But be assured that one day for you I shall return
Feeling liberated and not knowing why
Effusive and with feigned bravery I bid to all farewell
The beyond had the smell of fragrant thrills
From America to America my journey began
Imbued with hope, dreams, and strong will
I began carving a new life, a new beginning
Dreams, goals ,and desires within me abounded
To fail was never a contemplated option
For failure the young bravely defies
All those memories of a half century ago
Come back to me in flares and bursts of fading energies
Now that I am approaching the sunset of my days
Wondering wastefully how it might have been
Had I not pursued the Echo of that life changing call
That outcome will never to me be known
But oh! How I long and yearn for that love I bid farewell
My ashes will one day fertilize a seed above that green hill
From that seed a tree will grow into a refuge
To shelter, in hot, sunny or stormy days, living fragile things
Then I shall sleep eternally in tranquil peace
Knowing that I kept, though belated to her my promise
And in serene harmony, proclaim, “I never left you my beloved Brazil”'.
ENOUGH FOR ALL
by Wordancer
All the species of this world, whether mammal, fish or bird
Are provided with their food, whatever their taste
Each created for the other,
When the offspring leaves the mother
There is all the food that’s needed without waste.
The ants will feed the lizard, and in turn, it feeds the Hawk
The flies they feed the spiders, then the frogs.
The amphibian feeds the snake
Which the Kookaburras take
And in time, they all feed ants inside the logs.
The logs fall from mighty trees that house and feed the tiny bees
that fertilize the plants we use as foods.
With rain and sun the crops will flourish
And when harvested, they can nourish
All the peoples in the world, if we so choose
Foods for all the nations are here in God’s Creations,
Glorious is the spirit that’s big enough to care.
Food goes where it’s needed
If our sight is not impeded
Or we keep it for ourselves when there’s enough for all to share.
In this world of ours we’re brothers, sisters, fathers, mothers,
We’re all related by living on this earth.
Whatever we do tomorrow
Can bring happiness or sorrow
Today is when we work out what it’s worth.
She slowly grew on him, surrounding his body with brown mold and green moss.
He can’t escape her detachment, her selfless embrace. Her love is only needed from one time to another, like one plant from another, growing and then dying.
And what was that he hoped for but could never find while he was alive?
Some type of love with attachment? She broke him moistly and slowly, piece by piece, while his body sunk deeper into her wet body as the sun and rain touched him.
Right before he died he heard the voice of her, “Shhh, my child, who thinks so highly of himself.”
“You come into me, and I will use you as you are needed! Broken, back into my body, back under my streams of water, back into the cold, soft soil, back where you were born.
You will be used as food for my small creatures. You will be used to fertilize the gardens of my skin.
The tulips in autumn, the dandelions in spring, they all wait to rise and see the rays of the sun just as you did.”
Like any family, mine’s the same, they leave Mama with the dirty Chores.
You’d think with Trolls, and Dragons, and such… There’d be magic galore!
But I concede defeat at Pooper Scooping Time, my sons taught everyone well.
You’d think just once, they wouldn’t run away, with such a humongous bombshell.
The Witch next door is out of town; she usually uses it to fertilize her yard.
Her magic does it in a minute flat, but she’s not here, as my yard becomes marred.
She flew on vacation with the first snowfall; in spring she’ll help my backyard.
In the meantime it’s just little old me… It’s like cleaning out a yucky stockyard.
So I gave a shovel to a grouchy old Dragon, since he’s so big and does so much.
But I came back fricasseed and charbroiled, my shovel totally melted, as such.
I put on my fire retardant suit, and I gave him a special spot where he can unload.
Apparently he didn’t like that either, as I dug out from under a humongous load.
Finally, raking it all up, I ask the dragon, to make cinders of the yucky stuff.
Instead he laughed as he huffed and puffed, blowing smoke at me, in a huff.
I smelled kinda bad as I went to the house, getting a cart to fill to the brim.
I’ll admit, getting mad at a dragon was never a good idea, to originally begin.
But I was pissed, as it looked like rain, and my mind was beginning to spin.
I filled the cart to overflowing, then tied it to the sleeping dragon’s… butt end.
When he woke up, he flew half way up to the moon, spreading it on the wind.
Unfortunately it was me, my yard, and my house, that finally got it again.
Who knows where that darned old cart now lies, as he came flying back alone.
I had learned my lesson that it would never be wise to lose my temper again.
So as the rain began to wash my folly away, I looked up and kissed the rain.
Sometimes it’s prudent, to just relax, and get in touch with the elements again.
I once held a rose in my hand
Nurtured and cared for;
It was all I had.
Content and satisfied I deemed myself,
For it held
True love indeed
From its stem to buds to roots
I could not find another to cherish,
And like a ferry
I was merry-go-around
I gazed at it nights and days
And even went out of my ways
To water and keep
How could such a flower,
Such a blossom,
Fall out of my grasp?
The flower was not for me to keep
Nor was it for me to nurture.
No, it was not my duty
For after all my efforts
It turned gloomy,
And i became moony
Like a wolf.
And i sought to fertilize my flower
Trying to keep it float,
Trying to make it love.
When my efforts weren't enough
I went berserk like a lion to its prey
But i failed to my dismay.
All i wanted was to watch her grow
And if that's what my flower does
I will be happy indeed,
A poor humble farmer on life's teeth.
I will be happy that my flower, I did not ignore,
I will never ignore;
Happy to say that my flower is in good hands
That she has plenty of land
And that that land
Is meant for she,
That such land is better for flowers
Than for keeping close at Home
Home
Where true love takes heed,
A farmer's Home,
Where true love lies indeed.
Lilies and butterflies,
over pink pansies beauty flies.
Daisies linger in fields upon fields-
Who knew my sweet Monarch
my heart would steal.
She flutters over a purple peony,
and on a lily pad rests gently,
my Monarch has given me,
a reason to feel,
-my soul she did heal.
Floating and dancing and showing sweet romancing-
Soaring and sprinkling and glowing and twinkling.
White roses and butterflies,
I can’t believe my glaring eyes-
My Monarch shows passion in the nectar,
for she’s nothing but a love collector-
As she tenderly does fertilize.
Swift and a winged warrior and a breath of fresh air courier-
Fleeting and speedy as her crimson wings have freed me.
For her beauty has saved me,
and her grace shall always..
-amaze me.
Butterflies of Beauty
Mystic Rose
January 9, 2017
THE UNTOUCHED GARDEN
Love is like an untouched garden.
It doesn't seem to have much value
when at first you get it,
but its value increases
the longer you keep it.
If you are willing to
tend it,
water it,
fertilize it,
work with it,
suffer with it,
plow its field,
plant the seed,
believe,
one day, from your persistence,
tiny flowers will bloom.
With hard work, you can accomplish
anything.
However, if you want to keep love,
or a garden, in the same worthwhile state
you first intended,
you must be willing to care for it
with the same loving hands
that first created it,
or it will wither and die
and so will a part of you.
Janet Marie Bingham
An instant touch
Can bring life
Fertilize an egg
Procreate and excel
Expand on an idea
Stand on business
Grow your company
Instant entrepreneurial touch
An instant touch
Can bring death
Shot of a gun
Driving drunk
An instant touch can heal
Like the woman in the bible
Who had an issue of blood
Touched His hem was made whole
My instant cup of coffee or tea
May not seem so great to me
But the person without a cup
May see me as blessed filled up
Life is filled with so many instances
Be open to the significant possibilities
Anthony Bianco / Tie Dye in July
~~~
Find fairies in January
learn fae contrary ~
Sword perry in February
effective thrusts vary ~
Fertilize yards in March
battle patches sparse ~
Plant maples in April
tree growth enable ~
Inhale nature in May
gorgeous green display ~
Write tunes in June
serenade listening moon ~
Tie dye in July
before fireworks fly ~
Keep promises in August
reinforce your honest ~
Pile leaves in September
jumpers seek center ~
Groom Rover in October
unbearable canine odor ~
Prepare turkey in November
calendar scheduled attender ~
Feel elfish all December
Santa’s toy assembler ~
~~~
WATERFALLS, RIVERS AND DROUGHT
The frenzied forces of cold, icy streams
detonate explosively on the rocks below.
Their rapid currents wreak havoc
on logjams caught in crevasses beneath
the mist and rainbowed spray.
We blink in awe to see this
spectacular remonstration
of pretentious power abruptly
become whirling vortexes
of descending splash downs.
But then, almost as quickly, this despoiler settles
and begins to accumulate in multitudes
of rippling bubbles and froth
immediately bleeding onto the embankment
promptly losing much of its potential goodness
swooshed as sucking sounds
into the wild soils of the firmament.
What survives roams free and for awhile
flows in any direction, with no beginning, no end
as the river turns into riverlets
Eddying on without any selected steering.
The rains that used to drip down from the mountain top
cry to see the diversions of the most glorious river
dissipate and dry up knowing that the drought
which has appeared can not adequately supply
sustenance to a parched soil.
For that sunbaked soil to be reclaimed
the river must continue to extend its reach
and water the seeds of new growth.
and use its silt to fertilize the new life
that waits anticipating its turn
in creation's timetable.
CAK 6-04-2012 Revised 6-18-2013
(God's Patience with Sinners / Final Judgment)
LK 13:6-9
And he told them this parable: "There once was a person who had a fig tree planted in his orchard, and when he came in search of fruit on it but found none, he said to the gardener, 'For three years now I have come in search of fruit on this fig tree but have found none. (So) cut it down. Why should it exhaust the soil?' He said to him in reply, 'Sir, leave it for this year also, and I shall cultivate the ground around it and fertilize it; it may bear fruit in the future. If not you can cut it down.'
Reflection
People make mistakes
Fig tree is like a woman scheduled for abortion
President Obama mandate is to take care of them
Leave it for this year
It will develop and bear fruit in the future
I woke up Saturday joyful at my body's triumph
over virus, breathing again without pain and enjoying
winter and the cold that keeps us sane and sober.
But by Sunday my mortality had returned.
If I pass away now, how to assess my days.
Is balancing income and expenditure reports enough?
Our marriage and our piece of land. Dependent
on economy. For food delivery and machine repair.
In my youth, I imagined crossing mountains
to the sea, living off the land. Enduring weather patiently.
It's impossible except three days or three weeks,
with a load of supermarket food on your back.
So I accept home gratefully. And a niche in society.
We could explore these hollows and hills on foot
but my wife is weak and I am lazy. We use the library
to travel inner space. We found this place.
Next spring, a garden. Dig depleted soil behind
garage and fertilize it from our compost pile.
Learn the names and ways of cultivars, their relations
to wild plants and the edge. Finally know the fern and sedge.
Lazy one, life is short. You have never fought, to yourself
you remain unknown. You go the way of an unknown
soldier. Unable to assess the purpose of the battle.
Nameless, hungry, same as the neighbor's cow.
Be happy, slap happy. Within your generation, surrounded
by history. Seeking mastery through practice.
Rewarded with the sunrise, sunset. Yet to have delivered
on the promise expected by the parents of the baby.