Long Seeds Poems
Long Seeds Poems. Below are the most popular long Seeds by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Seeds poems by poem length and keyword.
Future
The future is coming
Like it or not.
And the past may be history
Where we 'gave it a shot'
Winds of time will blow over
The inevitable dust
Of our human existence
So be present we must.
But plans are not wasted
So let's make them for good..
Paying forward The Wisdom
Sewing seeds, like we should..
For the ones who go further
Matter most, after all,
So to build them some hope
Is our destiny call.
If the 'new science' fails us
We can still change our mind.
Living here in the present;
Shape a future that's kind
Though we're just passing through
And the journey goes quickly
Generations applaud
Such a Heavenly legacy.
Jinjagoliath
26th November 2020
Flair for me your wisdom, oh weeping willow tree
You look as though your might has fallen, hanging limp from limb
Cry for seeds of sacred trust that scattered 'cross the sea.
Reunite the shattered hopes for those who learn to swim
You look as though your might has fallen, hanging limp from limb
The sands of time have formed a desert 'round your holy roots
Reunite the shattered hopes for those who learn to swim
Dig for water 'neath the sand and you may bear your fruit
The sands of time have formed a desert 'round your holy roots
Cry for seeds of sacred trust that scattered 'cross the sea
Dig for water 'neath the sand and you may bear your fruit
Flair for me your wisdom, oh weeping willow tree
Why do you push your fruit before it’s ripe?
Why rush the seed before its season comes?
Is it pride, pressure, or petty rivalry with peers?
Merely because you want the world to watch?
You forget: every mind grows at its own pace.
Not all seeds sprout under the same sun.
Yet you drag delicate roots to distant heights,
Then wonder why the weary plant begins to bend.
Some leapt classes they should have stayed in,
From SS1 straight into final exams.
Some never navigated the narrow road of school,
Yet miracle mentors marched them magically through.
Their results shine like borrowed clothes,
Fine to see, but never their size.
At university, truth calls their names,
And silence shouts where knowledge should speak.
Confused, they turn to noise on campus:
Yahoo youths, cult chants, careless craze,
slay queens, sneaky schemes, scholars’ specs.
They chase comfort to cover classroom cracks,
Turning tidy halls into tempting playgrounds.
Grades they cannot defend become burdens,
Frustration lives with them in tall towers.
What you called help becomes quiet harm,
A future cracked by early pressure.
Let fruit ripen before it is picked.
Let roots grow deep before they rise.
Guide them with truth, not shortcuts,
So their lives stand firm when storms arrive
Recalled sounds take you back to an old land
to a home you no longer need.
Like the soft snuffle of hedgehogs on the lawn
on a summer evening.
Here there are larger less harmless spiny beasts,
here there are robins that are not robins.
Differences, semantics, and misidentification
small stuff, but with larger significance embedded.
Many places here derive from Native American names
or English cities and towns, a few Irish places,
French or German other European words.
It should feel like home to be in Boston
or as in Ohio,
to be just down the road from Dublin or London,
more often it seems to be even a greater distance
between the original
and those other named-for locations.
I guess the Dutch don’t want anything to do with New York now.
The geography of river-systems forgets the paddle
and the canoe
as modern party pontoons multiply.
It’s just natural for history to forget sources and tributaries.
The North Atlantic is relatively small compared to the Indian ocean
yet in our measuring minds, language, nuance, and common usage
create a much greater divide.
As for this deep rooted dandelion I have become,
I keep digging deeper into a foreign soil
finding where all these nomenclatural seeds arrived from,
and why they still keep a lighter than air memory
of faraway windblown lands.
Through the hesitant gaze of a man I know
I saw the silence of a prayer, quiet and reflective
Among the seeds of grace, his hope would surely flow
Through the silent tears that come to those who believe
What came to us that Christmas night, all those years past
Wrote the story on our hearts – this story can still relieve
Through the gestures of a soft, warm light
Flowing down from heavenly realms
I found the wonder of a starlit night…
When God promised the world He had a plan
And the Savior was born in a stable,
Where He’s come to help us all understand
God Himself wrote the light in the sky
And offered us His Son to save us from hell
It’s enough love to make the soul sigh
And the devil can’t keep us away from the One
Who’s still writing our story in the light of the moon
And who frees every sinner with grace that will stun
He is the Savior and the love that He gave us all
Is a love beyond comparing – it is love that abides
Through all the storms of this life, and when we call…
He’s always available to offer us the light
And still the darkness with His amazing love
Thank God I know the One who makes my heart right
With Him beside me, I never need to fear
He rights the whole world before I even pray
He is the amazing in each heartfelt tear
With Him, I never doubt that I do have a prayer
And whatever comes in this life, I believe
He is the reason for his joy that’s beyond compare!
Lavender skies overlook the ridges
They call them blue, but they’re really azure,
Tranquility looms beneath their whisper,
Laughing grace and faith, music that dispels
All fear, every tear – breathing joy
Through the memory, the heartbeat
Trembling like the grief stricken ache just
Beyond hope, where even the heaviest dew
Knows that morning brings the new
Balancing yesterday’s anxious thoughts
With this day’s pleasant hope…
It is the song of silver skies and stardust
Shimmering in the night where faded
Feelings glow, echoing beneath the shadowy
Tenderness, remembering that He is here,
On this mountain where life is simple
And hope is likely to shine as bright as the sun
Singing its praise to the One who created us
For more… so much more than we can imagine.
His cross, our cross – though heavy,
Is not too heavy to bear… because He is wise
Beyond the wisdom of this life. He is wise
Like the miracle of rebirth, revival, reminding…
He is alive forever – eternally pouring out
His Spirit on those who listen to His gentling –
The still, small voice – so intimate,
His breathless love reassuring, giving to us
The music we will dance to, the slumber that
Allows us to sleep in true peace, with the assurance
That He is there, with us – forever sheltering
He is the light that reveals the beautiful
Secreted in the shadows of our pain.
He is invincible and He gives our souls
New hope, new grace – newness that
Abides, never fades – eternally a way
Through the ache, into the joy and peace –
Into the forever relief of His gift – His grace
His light never fades…
His Holy Spirit never leaves our hearts
He is poured out on those who know
He is forever and He always grows love!
Poetry was her best lover
like no other
he loved her
without restraint
She could be herself
and explore
discovering
secret pleasures and fantasies
Naked above the covers
he let her lie exposed
as he slowly caressed her imagination
making her flow
with the sweet essence of her soul
in waves of creative delirium
Flying free~~~
he let her be
unfettered
unashamed
unworried of how to please
or how to tease
just simply to be
a woman in a prelude
to ecstasy
Poetry was her best lover
her escape from reality
in clandestine intimacy
he ravished her mind
again and again
for all he wanted
was for her
to experience
to taste
every pleasure
he had to offer
Her insatiable appetite
he fed
with firm truths
that burst forth with wisdom
He fed her desire
to reach supremacy
He never betrayed
or delayed
in pleasing her
in giving her just what she wanted
in different ways and forms
his creativity endless
Poetry was her best lover
the only time in her day
when she had her way
and could be free
to be the woman she was meant to be:
Sensual and sultry, sexy and savory
not having to hide
behind the guise
the veil of culture
or religion
or misconstrued sexism
or alibis
being demure
“sterile”
when she was fertile
laden with passion
waiting to be filled
with word seeds of ingenuity
Poetry was her best lover
he adored her as she was
and he gave and gave
at times
leading her in submission to his will
taming her
training her
to live in the confines
of his rules...
For perfection to be reached
she had to follow his lead
to the pinnacle of pleasure
where all was in rhythmic union and rhyme
in the sublime
she was oblivious to time
Ah....sweet release~~~
In the after glow
he wouldn't let her go
but held her safe and secure
basking in the satisfaction
of a fruitful union
serene in the knowledge
that beauty has been conceived
waiting for delivery
Yes, Poetry was her best lover
and she came looking for him
begging him to take her
again and again and again
to transport her to heaven from hell
to compel her to see
what life was meant to be
Poetry was her best lover
and she had no need of another
to help her discover
her own entity….
None other
than her best lover
Poetry....
Eileen Manassian
Sowing seeds of kindness, We shall come rejoicing, bringing in the sheaves
– Knowles Shaw (1874)
My mind wanders as we bring in the sheaves.
I dream of pretty dresses with puffed sleeves.
Of pearl white shoes, and jewelry to wear.
Lace gloves and emerald combs for my hair.
A young man to escort me to a fair.
We would hold hands and enjoy fun while there.
He would invite me to a fancy ball.
We would dine and dance right through past night fall.
I know others have dreams almost the same.
We accept our work, in dreams there’s no shame.
I doubt ladies in mansions dream of more.
They don’t think of working or being poor.
A gentle breeze stirs, I wake from my dream.
I see my fine clothes gone, all that did gleam.
The wind stronger blowing hard, tossing leaves.
Hurry, before the storm, bring in the sheaves.
Sometimes the rain never falls , drowning in the overflow that falls from above
Speaking a word or two , something to do about love
Why do you even care , about all there is that you couldn't even hear
The world rushes madly on by, emerged so deeply in their own private made fear
Oh dear
One enormous mouth just flew by
On a ship built by ego alone did he fly
Sooner or later apart it always falls
They are those who choose unseen, untouchable prison walls
Hiding forever from who know what
Long as that invisible door remains shut
The mask they all seem to forever wear
Always pushing that same blank stare
Always different but then again always the same
Who is next that we shall lay the blame
this happened two hundred years ago
Today the seeds we now sow
Living now in that same fires glow
Nothing different nothing the same
Seeking the way to their own little piece of fame
Same old unfeeling bull game
Dreams dreams dreams flowing like the mountain streams
Soon to be gone with the ending winter snow
Always rushing with no where to go
Pain written on their faces.
Lost to human graces
But then we sludge so dreary on
where the night goes forever ,
forever and then we are gone.
Now that didn't that very long
Rains,
Snows:
Heaven’s
Precious gifts.
They do not return
Without first watering the earth,
Yielding seeds for the sower and bread for the eater.
Likewise, the word of my mouth does not come back to me void, but achieves my purposes.
----------
To be clear, this is an adaptation of Isaiah 55:10-11 so that it will fit nicely into a fibonacci pattern, but is not my original thought. Here are the verses as written in the English Standard Version of the Bible:
10 “For as the rain and the snow come down from heaven
and do not return there but water the earth,
making it bring forth and sprout,
giving seed to the sower and bread to the eater,
11 so shall my word be that goes out from my mouth;
it shall not return to me empty,
but it shall accomplish that which I purpose,
and shall succeed in the thing for which I sent it.