word-seeds
sowed in soil
of the mind
never certain
if flower or weed
will emerge
From my book Onionskin
word-seeds
sowed in soil
of the mind
never certain
if flower or weed
will emerge
From my book Onionskin
Writer Lynne Sargent
Poetry Puttering by Pax & Company
Sometimes everything has to be enscribed across the heavens so you can find the one line already written inside you. Sometimes it takes a great sky to find that small, bright, and indescribable wedge of freedom in your own heart. David Whyte
"drink from the well of your self and begin again" ~charles bukowski
no dust here
Looking ahead, without looking back (too often)
flights of fancy from New Zealand
You're never alone, if you've something to share
All you touch and all you see / is all your life will ever be
VICEDOMINI OF THE WUP New Name, New Location! Welcome to our poetry corner, The Poets’ Corner NEW SITE! The name has been changed to (our) because it belongs to all of us who post! Sincerely hope you find the change easy and exciting to be here! Please feel free to post and comment your thoughts so we all can enjoy!
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I am where the valleys are deep, the mountains are high, and the wind moans through trees...
rejuvenatement - not retirement
For You They Are Flowers
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sweet of you to say
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biblical . . .
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Flower….Weed…???? One for One…..Another for Another 😉
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I see your point
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😉
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Wonderful
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thanks kindly, dave
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parable
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that’s high compliment – thank you
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Depends whether you neglect to water…
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ha ha – does wine count?
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Perhaps.
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You have a wonderful garden of words, my friend
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a very kind thing to say – thank you
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You’re very welcome
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I worry about my fertilizer sometimes.
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that may be my mistake – I keep forgetting the fertilizer
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I think It’s more interesting to be surprised. 🙂
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nicely put
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Reblogged this on gainperspectiveblog.
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thank you for sharing my poem with your readers
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using the photography analogy: one takes 20 (30, 100) photographs and maybe 1 is worth posting, sometimes the one thought to be the worse of shots. Yet without those 20 (30, 100) shots, that 1 great one would not have been shot. And there is not guarantee that either flower or weed will sprout (or that the weed is more splendid than the flower).
Splendid poem.
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I’ve loved many weeds in my day
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