Observe the garden ninja
on the attack
a leaf blower
strapped to their back
and a lawn mower
but no sack
to collect the clippings
merely making noise
severely reducing weeds
and flowers alike
'til they're nought but seeds
and when they strike
producing fumes
from badly-burned
fossil fuel ill-consumed
on the wind to be returned
from whence they once were
all flora is sadly doomed
Scattered sparks
from my soul,
Scatters on white paper.
Through collision with you,
flash,
like the sky splits open.
Need your ink,
time and steady hands,
to catch,
what falls from
cracked clouds of my brain,
poems spilling
like sudden rain.
i keep watering seeds i know will never grow
i give every seed a chance at life
never giving up on them
even if i can see so very clearly
they won't live
at least not long enough to bear crops
i feed and feed and feed
running myself dry just to water you
i'm almost out of water
but i'll use my last bit on you
even though i know you won't give a single thing in return
but i keep watering and watering
knowing the outcome each time
but maybe
just maybe
i can get you to grow
even if i have to kill myself
for you to survive
It's raining, it's pouring,
The old man is snoring,
He went to bed,
And he bumped his head,
And he couldn't get up in the morning.
It's raining, It's pouring,
His family are mourning,
He is dead,
He bumped his head,
and he didn't wake up in the morning.
Rain, Rain, go away,
Come again another day,
He went to bed,
Heart full of dread,
and he didn't wake up in the morning.
It's Raining, Its pouring,
Take this as a warning,
Don't be mislead,
And go to your bed,
And head this old man's warning.
ETERNAL SEED
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
eternal seed grows
mind flooded with connections
thoughts flow from inside
Some seeds are tiny,
Some seeds take flight so lightly.
They're carried by the breeze,
But they aim to seize
A spot in the land,
To establish a stand.
With a drop of rain,
They begin their campaign,
To sprout and to grow,
In nature's gentle flow.
Through leaves they reach for the sky,
With roots, they delve and lie.
Leaves and roots, they share,
From earth and from the air.
They gather their food,
Both water and sunlight, so good.
In future they'll strive,
To overcome and survive,
The challenges of weather,
Dry spells, and tether.
They keep reaching high,
And down below, they try,
To hold more ground,
To spread all around.
Seeds have now grown tall,
They stand strong and tall,
Spreading far and wide,
In nature's endless stride.
They do things on their own,
A life story, well-known.
a trillion petals magnetise my tender Heart
racing past farm workers in morning dew
Sun embellishes yellow song
crazed by mesmerising muse
saffron they slap an early chill gold
seeds swallow empty hopes sold
Squirrel
My friends are such a squirrelly bunch,
they like to eat nuts for lunch.
And when you think they are done,
they eat some seeds just for fun.
By
Josehf Lloyd Murchison
There are small seeds
And mighty oaks.
Tender shoots
And weathered bark.
Fragile buds
And blooming gardens.
When we tend to the soil,
Or water the roots?
Nurturing growth.
We never say
This seedling matters.
That one does not.
We plant
And we tend.
We shelter
And we know.
THEY ALL NEED CARE.
Yet somehow,
When we look
At the faces in our classrooms.
Where dreams are now formed.
Where futures wait,
We forget.
Some get sunshine,
Others shadow.
Some have rich soil,
Others are stones.
Don't we see?
Each mind
A garden
Waiting.
Each question
A seed
We plant
Or let's wither.
Each word we speak
Rain
Or drought?
Growing hearts.
Aren't we?
The gardeners
Of tomorrow,
Holding us in our hands
The tender roots
Of every child?
SEEDS OF PERPETUITY
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Just beneath the surface of our daily lives, a deep current flows, the subtle murmur of a forgotten agreement, the shimmering echo of the original dream held within each soul. This dream is a fragile thing, flickering in and out frequently doused by the clamor of the world, immediate needs, expectations, and urgent distractions. Yet, the soul’s yearning remains, a seedling just beneath the surface of consciousness. It tugs at the edges of our thoughts, whispers of what could be, of what should be.
It's the reason we chase certain passions, feel drawn to specific people, and experience that unsettling sense of déjà vu – a fleeting echo of the life we were meant to lead. When we remember even a small piece of why we came to life, we pull the seeds of perpetuity farther into the world of time. "The inner seed keeps trying to sprout, but often our fate places us at a crossroads or nails us to a cross before we pay proper attention."
seeds sprout from darkness
emerge from remembering
seeds of perpetuity
*Quoted from Michael Meade
The seed of freedom is curtailed,
germinates interrupted,
the harvest is delayed...
The fruit of freedom
may take time to be harvested,
but it is worth every stoic sacrifice...
We cultivate God,
ending wars,
celebrating peace,
living life with love!
The sands of time dripping,
leaves and flowers wilting.
natural wisdom flowing!
Wisdom consists simply in...
knowing how to plant well,
cultivate, and harvest...!
Giving Caesar what is his,
is not ignominy, submission, it is
fulfilling temporal law, without being a doormat...!
IN THE CULTIVATION OF LIBERTY
Let’s cultivate hope;
germinating will power,
nourishing courage:-
Like mowed down green grass,
let’s keep regerminating:-
Fruits of courage reaped,
let’s sow liberation seeds,
awaiting her fruits:
Liberty’s fruits being reaped,
let us nourish endurance:-
fertile ground was found
the soil a rich deep dark brown
the seeds were welcome
TANKA Contest //Sponsored by: Brian Strand
( 9th Place )
Written: June 26, 2025
Walls soft as the sky,
scatter courage, let it fall,
mistakes are doorways
sprinkle laughter through the air,
hearts grow wide and curious.
Life is a starburst gift
conceived in the gilded soil of angel hearts.
Living on the other hand thrives in the salty eyes of swells and troughs
needles woven into bike bells and ice cream cones.
Living breathes to bend you into and out of its will
from valley to mountain to the misty hills
it bends you into things you could never dream about..
into the storm of eternity
into the tidepool of a stillness beyond stillness.
It speeds up into a crimson tangle and slows down into thick blueness
swells and troughs kings and clowns
juggling brief victory and endless grief and loss
The bending is acceptable; we paint it the human experience
but breaking the soul of all things is the devil's only thought
we are its glass seeds tossed over the gilded swells
into the black throated troughs, where nothing ever grows.
The mundane (the middle child) is a forest of contemplation
reflection
a place of steady growth.... or not
The soil will eventually join the sea
bringing everything back home...
like it was always meant to be..
Related Poems