Quotes about pruning, page 3
Life Defining
Life is not defined by set limitations
for life defies all prior set limitations
I see all beings as evolving
from God within God
moving ever closer
passing ever further
plant-life to mineral
microbe to mollusk
muskrat to monkey
tad-pole to personage
moving ever closer
passing ever further
until the self fulfilled finale of eternity
open ended arrival of divine destiny
(surely the time has come
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poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
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Black Spot
My mind: \> format =A
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p
u s
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(Stippled—
by magnets):
010000010110001101110100011010010110111101101 110:
011000110110111101101110011101000111001001101 11101101100
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01110100 01101000 01101001 01101110 01101011
01101001 01101110 01100111
01100100011010010 1110011
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poem by Tim Stensloff
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War Prepares Lists
war prepares lists
conflict time honoured
traditions enemies
to be attacked source groups
necessary non required individuals
target date identified slaughters
Athens Sparta Greek Roman Jew
Christian Muslim Crusade Jihad
Fascist Communist Capitalist....
Holy Wars?
Just War Is Justified?
By Religious Differences?
unprovoked aggressions?
condemned self defence is justified?
or turn your other cheek?
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poem by Terence George Craddock
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Is letting go a metaphor?
what is letting go -
letting go of grief?
the serenity of letting go?
(must be a bad metaphor)
losing represents letting go of control
I need to understand this 'letting go'
is it a metaphor for facing the inevitable?
breathing as a metaphor for living
'the practice of pruning wine vines'
is that a metaphor for letting go?
surrender. reaching towards the future
if you'll excuse another bad metaphor...
'the last of the sand is pouring...'
onion metaphors are stripped down to the core
letting go is a metaphor for acceptance
is acceptance a metaphor for failure?
'The freedom of letting go'
that does sound grand
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poem by Terri Turrell
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Wasted Beauty
She brags of her beauty
A beauty so physically visible
A perfect adornment
Of wonderful vegetation
Rocky and mountainous terrain
She brags of her beauty
Of year round weather so appealing
Supporting the growth
Of crops in variety
Found only in Eden
She brags of her beauty
With Wase rock
So gloriously arranged
The Rayfields and Lamingos
Are wonders beyond comprehension
She brags of her beauty
A communal of peoples
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poem by halima Usman
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To A Friend Who Likes To Have Beauty In Her Hands
you do not gather the flowers
that easily from the sides of the hill
where you were never there
once
planting the seeds
nothing comes by chance or random
nothing sprouts just like magical seeds
using the lighted wand of your
fairy godmother
the flowers grow and bloom there
because someone took the burden
of seeding, transplanting, watering
and pruning them
these flowers are taken cared of
by loving hands
do not think that there is no sweat at all shed from the brows
for something so beautiful to land in your hands
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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Suppose a smile.
Suppose a smile.
Suppose it always, with a smile.
Suppose the sun to shine,
shine with a smile;
suppose the rain to fall and smile
smile at the earth;
the snow, with gentle smile,
protecting tender shoots;
suppose the wind to smile
mysteriously, about its secretwork;
suppose – that’s easy – flowers
to open with a smile; and
smile as they fade and wave farewell,
a smile that says, that’s how it is…
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poem by Michael Shepherd
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Scattered Notes / Shifting Scenes
Re-piecing scattered notes as the music
rises and floats, riding off toward the unseen
horizon
old soul acoustics that whimper and moan
lacquered eyes of a lost hound crying dry
twangy tears over the harbor at sunrise
pruning weeds, planting seeds
fruit ripening, petals blossoming
tending the process of growth
reaping rewards of the harvest
Just a dog riding along
passenger side with his head
out the window, tongue flapping
in the wind, trying to follow the passing world
passing second hand shops smelling of
worn leather and pass me down denim
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poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
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The Last Leaf
I saw him once before,
As he passed by the door,
And again
The pavement stones resound,
As he totters o'er the ground
With his cane.
They say that in his prime,
Ere the pruning-knife of Time
Cut him down,
Not a better man was found
By the Crier on his round
Through the town.
But now he walks the streets,
And he looks at all he meets
Sad and wan,
And he shakes his feeble head,
That it seems as if he said,
"They are gone!"
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poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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For My Peers Who Made It Good In The Big City
it was with a sad heart that i left all of you
from that big city that promised to give me all the glitter
of the neon lights
an island of fame where my body
and my face shall take
the center of the stage
where i may wallow in the deafening
sound of clapping hands
and a shower of flowers
as i sing and dance
and be the star of all your
dreams and wishes
i am twisted
you all write me a letter
i am hardheaded
you condemn me for i broke the promise
of what i could have been
i choose the little town by the sea
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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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