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For My Grandmother
This lovely flower fell to seed;
Work gently, sun and rain;
She held it as her dying creed
That she would grow again.
Poèmes sur le thème : seed
Poèmes sur le thème « seed » sur Poets.by.
Wisdom Cometh with the Years
Now I am young and credulous,
My heart is quick to bleed
At courage in the tremulous
Slow sprouting of a seed.
Now I am young and sensitive,
Man’s lack can stab me through;
I own no stitch I would not give
To him that asked me to.
Now I am young and a fool for love,
My blood goes mad to see
A brown girl pass me like a dove
That flies melodiously.
Let me be lavish of my tears,
And dream that false is true;
Though wisdom cometh with the years,
The barren days come, too.
Ravished
missing heads and shrivelled petals
orotund with seed
corn-fed on extra syllables
trapped between the teeth
nearly reptilian our rictus
of gratitude for another sun
let us trust the rust within us
to paint our noble ruins red
as knotweed blossoms into lace
and devil’s-tail brandishes blue fruit
immune to anything that ravishes
without or within
they spread like miracules
their missionary impositions
as we lower our last dreams
into the earth
Autumn Metropolis
peace garden
the nonresistance
of leaves
back alleys
it’s not whether but how
we go to seed
Stay
Stay with me,
My Fruitful Plant.
Till your leaves become yellow
and wilt.
Till everything starts to shed,
One by one,
Falling much more slower than a feather.
Till a spot of rot starts to appear on you.
Till your bear the fruits from the seeds
I planted.
Internal Monologue Uprising
Except these people haven't any dominion over you that
You don't hand to them yourself,
In your misguided attempts at self-parenting
A seed cannot water itself,
And requires the gentle warming touch of the sun
And yet we try to raise ourselves in the shadows
Of our own reprisals
We are children with no mothers
Rushing through a well-lit world with our eyes closed
"Open
Open
Open your eyes!"
And the voice of our collective heart remains pleading
Just stop running for a moment,
Hold your hands out to the void
And dare yourself to feel
He-Who-Came-Forth
Somehow nineteen years ago
clumsily passionate
I drew into me the seed
of a man -
and bore it, cast it out
man-seed that grew
and became a person
whose subtle mind and quick heart
though I beat him, hurt him,
while I fed him, loved him,
• now stand beyond me, out in the world
beyond my skin
beautiful and strange as if
I had given birth to a tree.
Putting in the Seed
You come to fetch me from my work to-night
When supper’s on the table, and we’ll see
If I can leave off burying the white
Soft petals fallen from the apple tree
(Soft petals, yes, but not so barren quite,
Mingled with these, smooth bean and wrinkled pea;)
And go along with you ere you lose sight
Of what you came for and become like me,
Slave to a springtime passion for the earth.
How Love burns through the Putting in the Seed
On through the watching for that early birth
When, just as the soil tarnishes with weed,
The sturdy seedling with arched body comes
Shouldering its way and shedding the earth crumbs.
That Time
That time when there is yet nothing,
Her skills being at rest, synchronized
And sympathetic with soil's sleep --
Timid buds of lilac or jonquil still
Tucked within themselves -- she wonders
If she's even a subsistence woman, is
Mistaken in that as so much else, as when
Even deep snow cannot efface what
Winter erases when it is nearest spring.
Her hands stretch to packaged seeds;
Enter into bargains with their quietude.
Now? Now? Now? Now? she asks them,
Though she knows they will not move.
Here by a cold window she spreads
Envelopes on her table: peas, beets.
Radishes will be first, nearest the house.
More Than She
Rattling around in her potting shed once
she came across packets five years old;
had not heart to toss the things away.
Popping the lid from an empty parsley shaker,
she tipped the packets’ contents in and stirred.
Ten flats she sowed at random with this mix,
come March, that first year; a month earlier
thereafter, as springs grew warmer. Bits of green
appeared, some here, more there. She'd prick out any
that went to a second pair of leaves, and give them
each its own square pot. What might they be?
Some Red Russian, curly or Lacinato
kale, some radishes, turnips, beets. Six kinds
of lettuce, collards, cabbage -- Dutch or red --
some spinach, also chard. Carrots, kohlrabi
Tanka II
Through the eyes of life
I looked in at my own heart:
A long furrowed field
Grown cement waiting for seed
Baking in desolation.
Mid-Day
The light beats upon me.
I am startled--
a split leaf crackles on the paved floor--
I am anguished--defeated.
A slight wind shakes the seed-pods--
my thoughts are spent
as the black seeds.
My thoughts tear me,
I dread their fever.
I am scattered in its whirl.
I am scattered like
the hot shrivelled seeds.
The shrivelled seeds
are spilt on the path--
the grass bends with dust,
the grape slips