Best Tending Poems
A Rose that’s planted in the rocky earth
that, from the summer sun, is parched and dry,
will seldom bloom to its full beauty’s worth
and soon will sadly whither up and die.
A Rose that’s planted ‘mongst the common weeds
and left untended, sad and on her own,
neglected in a garden full of needs,
will never have her gentle beauty known.
To realize the beauty of the Rose,
a garden must be tended with great care,
and too in life, this thought I now propose,
that like the plot, our lives we must prepare.
For Rose to thrive, our garden we must hoe;
in life, the same is true for Love to grow.
February 14, 2022
Poem of the Week - February 20, 2022
Dear God you gave me Eden
With a wealth of flower seeds;
But when you planned my garden
Why did you add the weeds?
Was it to keep me grounded
And down upon my knees?
A time to count my blessings
Ignore small ills like these?
It’s another of life’s lessons
We each have our row to hoe.
The better that we tend our life,
The more useful we shall grow.
One of several no. ones
Foregone is my freedom
My future and it's conclusion
My most detached relationship
To myself now subject
To scathing privately
In installments with you.
Now I confided
“He tends a garden”
How was I to express
Without existential anguish
This irrational leap of faith?
Subjugated or subsidized
It bankrupted my reason
So far-gone was my longing
I was invited to a task.
My lesson was to refute life.
Something I had
Already accomplished.
So I confided.
“He tends a flower”
Half-witless or absent minded
I felt no connection
To your thankless doctrines
And I waited patiently at the end
Of whatever road I had taken
For my choice attendant.
And I confided
“He tends to Petunia”
Sparks white-hot nestled in embers
Your eyes curtain-off the flames
Ice cold as late-December
Turn up the heat to play your games
Push me harder for rent, honey
Your heart, I thought a home
To a skeleton, everywhere is sunny
And today I mean to pick a bone
Fury tempered towards open grievance
Flaws obscured brought into light
What you took we're not close to even
Look into mirrors for a sorry sight
As I stand, bucket in hand,
The flames of our home spurred by wind
Grins
Happy
Spirited
Children playing,
Their soul will enliven as my heart smiles.
But a child crying with a sad-face frown,
Shatters my joy.
Dreadfully.
Until
Grins
© July 22, 2011
Dane Smith-Johnsen
Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: "Smiles and Frowns
Sponsored by: Michael J. Falotico
ON TENDING THE GREAT ANCESTRAL FIRES
Here lies the residue
Of an old fire
Long gone
Dry—Ashes
Left to the whelms
Of raindrops to dampen
Into a useless mush—
Or for the wind to blow
Aimlessly to nowhere;
Wet and immobile
Or blowing dry in the wind,
Useless are cold ashes.
Here, scattered among the warm ashes,
Lay hot remnants of a once great fire
Gone untended—abandoned as.
Often, tenders of great fires are released
From their duties by the thirst of death;
Others are just scared away.
Be whichever it may, great fires
Cocoon themselves in charcoal hued embers.
Charcoal hued embers—steamers of raindrops
And lovers of re-birthing winds of ignition.
Come chilled children;
Movements are like unsettled ashes
Of social interchange; revolution,
Like volcanic embers of transformation.
Come cocooned children;
Let us gather and stoke volcanic embers
That we may metamorphose in the presence
Of the Great Fire spirit of our ancestors—
Least we devolve into the staled mush of ashes.
Last night, in a most ***** dream, I saw my garden
Never as I would have dared imagine it
It was alive, breathing and was the place where there was a great happening
A party, yes, a party, of a most wondrous kind
Enjoyed by tiny people
People our eyes cannot discern
A little fairy dressed with a rose petal, appeared in my mind
And said, hey, you do need to tend to that little haven
The flowers, when they do breathe, do be the homes of the gnomes
Why, that once beautiful garden did allow the pixies to work out their choreographies
Always were we all partying, always singing and dancing
For of a most fresh lawn, fragranced flowers and a beautiful setting, we did have a treat
More, in the summer, when none of you, giant beings, would be home
We would just recline on the water lilies and relish the warmth of the sunshine
Why, I woke up with a jolt
And as from dawn, tended to my garden with a radiant heart
My garden does allow for life to thrive, life of a most wondrous kind
Of course, I believe in the being of those little people
Of course, I shall make sure they do get to enjoy their dazzling parties
Yes, of course, for those little people do rely on me for their well being!
Unexpected blooms
leap to the gardener's eyes.
Planned ones wait their turn.
A Watered Garden
In the wonderful “Gospel” of Isaiah
in the testaments that were written of old
God spoke of His living water
which is more precious to Him than pure gold.
Our soul can be as a watered garden
you can see how beautiful they truly are
well kept and tenderly cared for
and as beautiful as the evening’s North Star.
As tending to a luscious garden
it can be likened to the care of one’s own soul
pulling needless cares and unforgiveness up
before they take root and over your heart gain control.
Now picture if you will a garden
that simply has been left to itself
weed after weed choking out the desired flowers and plants and the evil shoots springing up from items that you have not taken time to have dealt.
A weed of doubt and a weed of hate and a seed of fear left unattended to
will soon take over a beautifully planned garden
yes purposely planted by the devil to destroy your soul and your heart
which had once loved God and had truly been victoriously pardoned.
So now what to do where do you start to pick up the pieces
in a garden that has totally gone awry
it is not an easy overnight task but, begin by plucking out the devils weeds
but at the same time to your God lovingly draw nigh.
Written by; Marilyn S. Jennings
2001
Tending Tapestry’s Tenter
Resilience reticent reverberations receding revelations roaming
Resolving residual revolutions resentment reset reposing rest
Puzzling perceptions poet’s perspective Peace
Agency anticipation an arrays’ arrangement alive assorted aims
Antipode’s adjoining assiduous adaptations anchoured attached
Wily words wildly withheld with watchman’s wake
Contingency contextual concussion colluding caressing carefully
Confused contusion collaborating consequential contra-points
Meaningless meaning meandering my murky mind
Hence hidden host hones hopeful honest harvest
08th June 2018
th'oughts...such as
if's and's or maybe's
are the...yes/no's bull
buts that fertilize growth
in/of...concepts soil
gardens in/from which
realities grow...as internal
reflections within the temporary spinnings
of...times space-current eddy-effects
of the unseen natural 'mechanics' of cause
that is known to us only as the...probability
of change consistency with respect our blindness
to that potential...of/for a/some
commonality to/between all differences
stan sand
The farmer stands with weathered hands,
Tending soils, nurturing the lands.
His heart beats with the Earth's own song,
Though seasons shift and days grow long.
Through drought and storm, he does not break,
For in the soil, his dreams awake.
A quiet strength, both firm and kind,
A bond with nature is intertwined.
I tend the flowers I keep
even in winter's chilly sleep
bulbs well protected from the winds of the north
anxious to burst and blossom forth
and bloom radiant displays
thru winter ice and cold arrays.
A tiny crocus, a thick hyacinth, young snowdrops
stretch their green blades up to pop
shoots rising in anticipation of the sunlight
warm and gentle rays stretching in the window
enticing their growth to continue.
Just beyond the holidays that slow
inched up despite December snows
breathing anew in January throws
a flower appears and scents
the birthing of a usual springtime event.
It is life, so precious and real
that makes us smile in gratitude of its appeal
and like a babe about to be born
we hold it cherished flowers with thorns
indescribable and unimaginable divine forms.
Just by amassing
a plethora of material goods in life
without tending his spiritual needs
one
can never succeed in enriching his
soul !
© Demetrios Trifiatis
15 February 2014
Mother's
Day
Roses
I
gave
Who
tends
your
grave
but
I