Long Replant Poems
Long Replant Poems. Below are the most popular long Replant by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Replant poems by poem length and keyword.
As a young man I was not very smart,
for brain cells they were never my game,
but I did what I could for without any doubt
through hard work I had ample to gain.
The cleverer folk seemed to learn things with ease
while I had to struggle indeed.
My memory it seemed so pathetic at times
that I had to replant every seed.
But working things out just came normal to me
and this is what carried me through.
Instead of just knowing the things I'd been told
I'd learn what the reason was too!
My total approach was directed by this
for to seek was the way I would gain.
It just didn't sink in what they meant me to know,
though I found it myself with some pain.
So the things I know now are unique to me
bought with searching, acceptance and time.
I know that my views are the bricks of my mind,
foundations built up in my prime.
But the things that I feel are the sounds in my soul,
they're the voices that all play their part.
No knowledge or learning can wash them away
for these things are entrenched in my heart.
A bond strong indeed to all mankind’s seed
where my being is mingled with soul,
the place I must go when my God makes it so
for it’s there, that I have my prime role.
Sometimes to share in everyone's care
but at times just to offer my hand
or to help someone there to release the despair
that they found as they entered this land.
Sometimes just a word is still needed here
to convince folk that death's not the end.
A few personal thoughts shared only by them
to prove they’ve still bonds with their friends.
At times evil people who never were nice
will cause people harm though the veil
and if not deterred from their mischievous ways
leave hate and despair in their trail.
It’s then that my strength is assisted by God
in fighting his cause with my mind,
for closing the pathways to evil‘s intent
takes an army of goodness combined.
No master's degree that I never would gain
could help bridge the path to the soul,
but the voices inside that you feel with your heart
Is the way that lead straight to the 'whole'.
So be not afraid of those who would scoff
then denounce you and chuckle with mirth,
let them proclaim that it's all in your mind,
for it is…. and it's been there since birth.
Ivor G Davies
Everyone has a childhood witch. Mine was Florence. I would run and hide when she walked past our house, stooped over, staring at the sidewalk.
Her hair was an ugly gray color, held away from her face by a man’s hat, and she looked to be at least three hundred years old.
Her face had more lines than corduroy pants and her tongue came out when she talked.
There was a gap or two in her teeth; she was a character, we were told.
A character must be someone you’re afraid of, because my blood clotted when she
Walked down my sidewalk with her goats.
Many children would run to their mama when Florence walked by, so she must have been other children’s childhood witch too.
My mama always offered to get Florence a cool drink or whatever, but she kept walking.
She would mutter all the way up the street – terrorizing us with stories about six foot snakes she had
To hoe to death in her garden.
The adults invited her to neighborhood things, but she never came.
Childhood company on the coach would stare openly if Florence walked past.
What’s that? They would ask, wondering about her layers of dresses over bibbed overalls.
Her clothes were like her hair, sticking out in all directions.
That’s Florence, she’s very nice, our mother would tell company.
We would laugh, but not loudly.
One time my sister and I were playing “what do you want to be when you grow up?”
I want to be Florence, I said. We laughed until we cried. Every time we looked at each other
For the next two days, we would get the twin look, and know, and laugh again.
“You girls are awful!” our mother chided us, but I suspected by her dancing eyes that she was laughing too, only inside, and secretly.
When I reached 40, I really wanted to learn to garden. Everyone in town referred me to Florence.
From her I learned how to plant, and water, and mulch, and prune, and replant.
She was one of my best teachers.
She was my great aunt, a cousin’s friend confided to me one day not too long ago.
She was lovely, I replied.
He stared at me.
Did you ever get to know her?
Hell no, he said. I was scared to death of her.
Now isn’t that sad?
Is
global
warming
another
conspiracy?
It takes no genius
to figure out that if
you hack down millions and
millions of hectare of forests
each year and replant only
but fraction, there surely then
will be an imbalance, you will get
wrong answers, the sums will not work
out. So global warming is not just another
conspiracy but a global warming down to
earth gospel fact. Plant trees to feed the earth.
Plant trees to bring on the rains, plant trees all over
the world, plant trees to turn deserts into oasis's again.
Plant trees to prove that man cares, plant trees to keep
the drought away,. Planting trees to cool down the suffering
earth. Planting trees feeds the peoples, the animals and the birds
so now please
believe that
global warming
is a global
fact, plant
trees now to
save the world.
Plant trees for mankind to survive.
I am stifled, stagnant, stressed and seriously strung
from streetlight to streetlight
There is nothing left, my energy is kaput, gone.
My creativity is something I barely remember.
Until I get home to my refuge in the country,
my trees, my lilacs, my lilies, my tulips, my earth.
I shed the cloak of heaviness, at my front door,
running toward my lightest coolest dress.
In seconds I am outside walking from one corner of my yard
to another, taking photos.
Talking to my trees, hugging them even,
replenishing the bird feeders, while cardinals soar in.
Butterflies light on my shoulders, dragonflies dive-bomb me,
I am Snow White here.
I do not whistle but I chant as I walk around my yard loving my flowers,
pulling up weeds.
All of the weeds have a place somewhere. I place them where nothing grows,
Knowing next year they will fill up this bare spot.
The only plants I do not replant are thistles.
Thistles hurt so much when I step on them barefoot,
and barefoot I am in my faerie yard.
So I pull up the thistles and I put them into my dumpster
knowing they will thrive at the dump.
I have a wild rose bush I had to dig up from another place
way deep in the forest.
It took me six hours. I thought it would be worth it.
It took four years to bloom.
That fourth year I said to it
“If you do not have one bloom tomorrow, I am throwing you away.”
The next day I woke up to that rose bush with forty beautiful hot pink flowers.
I kid you not.
When I am gone for a few days my yard comes alive upon my return.
The trees begin waving frantically even when there is no wind.
My husband always comments on it. Archangel Jophiel and I laugh about it.
She comes to me at night, and we discuss the beautiful things we have seen.
We discuss the grasshoppers, bees, wasps and yellow jackets too.
My yard is alive, five flower gardens in all. With unexpected visitors.
I sometimes see a gorgeous snake or a handsomely painted turtle.
There is a reverence and awe about it
I cannot fully explain, but it amazes me always.
I am beautiful no matter how dirty I feel
There is beauty from ashes to ashes and dust to dust, and muddy water has never been so clear, wilting petals never so strong
Life is a journey and there you find the richness of breath
So, breath in and realize that although you feel like you are at the end of you it's only the beginning of the story entitled chapter two
Then breathe out and take another step forward because failure is impossible as long as you try
Don't beat yourself up for not living up to the standards of your perfect world
We will never be perfect in this world, so why is it something we focus on
You want to know something beautiful, beautiful is trying to be the best version of you today
Then as you naturally bloom growth will one day be further than you could ever imagine
Let patience run its course and stop trying to cook a three course meal in 30 minutes
Let patience run its course and it will be easier to adapt at the appropriate time and not after the fact
He is finally facing those facts, because it's harder to learn when you're always behind the 8 ball
Cinderella running to the ball, apple watch says 805pm at least I'm getting my steps in she optimistically chuckles as the dress ruffles and she shuffles forward in her sneakers
Chapter 1 is life, chapter 2 is lessons, chapter 3 learning, chapter 4 let go of the past, fear, and regret
Replant your flowers and this time water your mind with truth, inspiration, and goals
Let the heat of life move you forward and not kill your hope
We are meant to be challenged so make sure your feet aren't always up or in the same place as yesterday
Beautiful is today in this moment so remember that when you feel you can't escape far enough past the past
Let patience run its course and the past will take care of itself
Stop giving it wings on your flight
Beautiful, just because of the word
p.s. beautiful is spelt the way a rose blooms...
The hand plants the seed of love in hopes of a new garden.
The heart gives way to love like a blooming rose for all to see.
The hand is a drunk man that takes the effervescent love and crushes it against his forehead like a beer can.
The hand is not aware of what it did wrong but is aware that the heart hurts.
The heart hurts a lot.
The hand beats on its chest like its going to war with itself just to scare the heart.
The heart beats faster and faster when its close to another scared soul only to stop beating all together.
The hand is placed on the chest of his love to restart the the drowned blossom of the rose that never was.
The hand plants the rose back into the garden and months go by.
The hand runs across the leaf on the rose and down the stem to assure that the rose is okay.
The heart gives way to love for all to see just like the blooming rose yet again.
The hand and the heart are the same size but do very different things.
the heart tears while the hand breaks but non the less that doe snot change my feelings about you and I cannot disprove my feelings no matter how many times I replant this seed and tear it out.
No matter how many times I resuscitate this nothing in a no outlet neighborhood.
No matter how dirty these callused hands get i cannot plant this seed again just to see the rose die.
I love you.
Whether you believe it or not I do.
But I'm not in love with you.
I can't plant this seed.
I can't take a shovel and break the earth, the foundation and hope again and again.
I can't break your soul anymore.
I can't stomp on your rose.
So while the hand destroyed the rose, the rose stayed resilient.
And now that the hand has moved away for good, the rose can finally blossom into the love that was meant to be
My name is Walter Eddington,
live in Maine with my wife and son,
own a growing timber company
way up north with vast tracts of trees.
My son’s name is Bruce, and one day
at age fourteen he came home to say
that cutting trees was an ‘evil’ thing,
what in the hell are these schools teaching?
I tried to explain how it all works,
how we must balance needs of the earth,
how we rotate where we harvest,
and then replant seedlings in mass.
That we were really big tree farmers,
that was how me made a dollar,
made no sense to cut it all down,
no future profit in barren grounds.
Told him of our thirty years cycle
how when trees grew that land was wild,
that managing lots kept out condos,
thought he’d think different if he did know.
But it’s black and white at age fourteen,
nothing but an emotional scene,
he held to the nonsense he was taught,
but his obstinance gave me a though.
The next day, while he was at school,
I did something some would think cruel,
went to his room, a point to prove,
all wood and paper I them removed.
All his posters and his bed-frame,
pencils and books, boxed that contained,
his night stand and desk, and paper,
when Bruce came home he was lost for words.
I smiled and said,”It’s as you like,
nothing made from a tree inside,
in truth, son, you should be thanking me
for saving you from hypocrisy.”
Now maybe I was a bit extreme,
but it can be hard reaching a teen,
needless to say, after all that
he never again gave my job flack.
Consequences stirred his growing mind,
he would think things through next time,
reason would balance out the young fool,
if it doesn’t, then time to home-school.
Recycled Wisdom Lost
by Odin Roark
How common to recycle today
bottle,
cardboard,
can,
or bubble wrap.
How rare the regard for pleas from
mind,
heart,
memory,
wishing also to amend anew.
How satisfying,
To arouse the sleeping heart,
thrusting its comfort-beat
upon new rhythms made aware,
ensuing musical notes of clarity
not yet upon the staff of boundaries,
affording dissonance where only
harmony's familiarity once reigned.
To revisit memory
offering bygone experience,
wiser tools of perception,
scrambling dog-eared indexes
cross-referencing fact and fabrication,
allowing waste to fall free,
encouraging truth to persevere.
To sort through mind's many strategies,
discounting some,
discarding others,
dismantling exhausted cogs that
advance little the unknown begging at the door.
Such is…
To complete one's desire to remain conscious,
allowing distinction for that worth rebirthing
from chaff heretofore but a friction urging resolve.
How obvious to some:
the take-to-the-curb days of consciousness.
How misunderstood by others:
the smothering effect of effort
to treat excess destined as garbage.
How aware
those who
like the winged flights on high
weave today's nest
from yesterday's exhausted remnants,
knowing well the destiny of permanence
is but to replant where burnt forests once thrived.
And yet…
We often think recycling is confined to aluminum,
plastics, glass and other fabrications of man’s intellect,
but what of...
A center stage of flood light probing,
desperate living in a murderous onslaught
war's naked inhumanity
sky tearing rockets, a pinpoint rage
casualties that define a battlefield
carnage that sticks to history
joyless existence for those flash-blinded by fear
upgraspable horror that fails comprehension
What drives global mayhem?
territorial expansion, the lust of thieves
the dictator's creed
imperialist thrust to chop at a culture's roots
to replant borders through blood-shed
greed
onslaught war in tanks of clattering woe
brute spectacle of citizen dislocation
Do we ignore war till it comes to us?
as history hooks another dark cloak
no civilized dictatorship
no reserve to deflect blame
authoritarianism that hasn't breathed its last
for the murderer scheming in plain sight through
rubble-years
cumulative scars of foes push his nervous tick
an unending pleasure
malice that sticks like lipstick on a mirror
Do we just change one war for another?
Or is peace like the buried secrets of mummified souls?
still struggling to be heard
Knowledge of survival that evaporates like steam
Poem composed October 3, 2022
Contest: Pick A Title Volume 32
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
What happened to the days of playing hours in the sun?
Where in our hearts and on our minds was how fast we could run?
Now we have these ozone days, SPF’s of 45
The cancer rates increasing and it’s eating us alive.
Where did all the wonders go, playing in the woods?
Where we would build our wooden forts like only children could?
Now our wooden forts are replaced with cold concrete
With nothing but the winds of change beneath our roughened feet.
And how can we put in words, the softness of its fur?
When left are only pictures and our memory is blurred?
What do we tell our children? How can we explain?
The snow that we used to eat is made from poisoned rain.
And when they finally ask us why we did not care,
As rain forests disappeared and all we did was stare,
What will be your answer? Will you try to answer true?
Or will you let your answer fade when your time on earth is through?
It’s time to take a view, it’s time to stand and fight
Someone must walk a narrow path and stand up to what is right
Even if the road is long and barred at every turn
Will you finally install a plan from what’s already learned?
Remove the threat and then in time the earth will learn to heal.
Replant the trees where there now is just cold concrete and steel
And, in the end when it matters most, it will surely come to pass
You did what needed to be done to insure the Earth would last