The planter swayed in the wind, dangling precariously from its hook. A little girl and a little boy ran past it, hardly caring about such an atrocious thing. It was ugly to them, a waste of time. Flowers had yet to have meaning to either one.
You’ve planted something-
Inside of me.
It lives,
feels,
eats,
and breathes.
You were the creator;
well, helped anyway.
And because of that;
I live,
feel,
eat ,
breathe,
and-
Love.
You’ve created something-
Inside of me.
It lives,
feels,
eats,
and breathes.
You were the creator;
well, helped anyway.
And because of that;
I live,
feel,
eat ,
breathe,
and-
Love.
warts bunions calluses corns
cysts infections incisions thorns
ulcerations lacerations amputations
thorns?
She shook her head and shook his hand
He’s rich she guessed
Handsome she knew
But could she ever fall for a man
without removing her shoes
I love planters. Shapes and sizes! Plants alive and dead! Flowers and trees and dirt! Oh my, the varieties! Round, and flat and square and tan, purple, blue!
Time was running out. I had to win the contest, but not for me- for my family. I grabbed some seeds and stuck them in the large brown planter. I covered them up with dirt and sprinkled it with water. “Done!” I smacked the buzzer in front of me. Everyone looked up in astonishment. I was the first one done. I had won the contest.
I hung the planter out the window. The garden tomatoes were bright red, bursting with juicy goodness. That BLT is going to taste amazing when these babies get nice and ripe. Too bad I can’t have a bigger garden :(
what are you planting?
is it ideas?
hatred?
love?
the seeds of something new?
or from an age we wish to forget?
plant somewhere else
where we can only hope the blossoms are beautiful
a long time ago, when the angels still sang, and He was young, there waws nothing to grow, nothing to sprout. and so He invented this place, this speck in the nothingness, where live could prosper and things could develop from dust moites into something complkex and beautiful. he called it Eden and the mesmerizing beings of this wolrd started to be there and the sadness and happiness of this world were its fertiliser.
“You’ll be a planter,” the officer explained to me. “That means you are in charge of giving the people their initial ideas, of planting the government’s wishes inside their heads. This is a vital job, and it is not given to many. Don’t mess it up!”
Der Anbau von Gemüse war das schwerste, was Jakob sich vorstellen konnte. Er brauchte Ewigkeiten, um Leben in die kleinen Gewächse zu bekommen, aber ihm fehlte seit jeher der Elan dazu. Warum? Das wusste er nicht. Er fand Gemüse einfach nicht sinnvoll.
The planter sits in the window and brightens up the day of the people who pass by, it’s sides overrun by a new beautiful decoration each season to distract travelers from their earthly woes.
The difference between a planter and a farmer is that back in the days of plantations and farms a planter had slaves and a farmer did not.
In recent times, planter generally means that you are a small-scale farmer.
I am the planter of ideas. When people are not paying attention, I sneak up between them, and whisper things their ears. Then the concepts begin to take root in their minds. They ignore it at first, but eventually it grows and grows and grows until the idea has taken over them competely.
Planter. A word that signifies something that you put a plant in. Or in french, a verb meaning “to plant”. Plants are good things, and so a planter is a good thing, because it holds plants. It could also be a person, who plants plants.
I must confess. I don’t respond to oneword right away. I come here to get a seed and then I leave for a while. I put it in a planter on another planet that I grew from seed. But I don’t have to labor over it. What I will write is already written: a seed contains a perfect script for a tree. In a very real way, it’s done before it begins. All it needs is activated. There is a whole world waiting in a single word. I think about it a tad, give it a bit of time, and the word does its thing as spontaneously and mysteriously as a seed in moist soil with sunshine.
I must confess. I don’t respond to oneword right away. I come here to get a seed and then I leave for a while. I put it in a planter on another planet that I grew from seed. But I don’t have to labor over it. What I will write is already written: a seed contains a perfect script for a tree. In a very real way it’s done before it begins. All it needs is activated. There is a whole world waiting in a single word. I think about it a tad, give it a bit of time, and the word does its thing as spontaneously and mysteriously as a seed in moist soil with sunshine.
He rolled a little of the compost between his thumb and first finger, letting it powder back into the planter. He finds it harder work to bend down to it nowadays, but the feel of the soil makes him smile wryly. He fumbles with a packet, tipping several seeds into his dirty palm.
“I am a Planter. What is a Planter? well, we plant all the food in Masonia. the Growers grow it, the Harvesters harvest it. no biggie, right? Actually, it’s a really big deal. If we don’t get everything just right, well… we won’t be messing up again.”
I must confess. I don’t respond to oneword right away. I come here to be given a seed and then I leave for a while. I put it in a planter on another planet that I grew from seed. But I don’t have to labor over it. What I will write was already written: a seed contains a perfect script for a tree. In a very real way it is finished before it begins. All it needs is activated. There is a whole world waiting in a word. Think about it, give it a little time, and the word will do its thing automatically as a moist seed under the sun.
She tucked the soil in, read it a story and waited for the morning to come when it would become fertile and bloom. All within this planter, a world, a creation would be born.
I am not sure what a planter is but it sounds ot me like a pot where you can put plants although I relate it more to a person who stands somebody up. If a person leaves you stranded or does not comply to a commitment, then that person would be consider a planter right?
And when we die, we ought to leave something behind.
Not necessarily an object, family or some giant inheritance.
A memory is good.
Something for each person, is even better.
I never thought of it, until I saw the planters. Two giant plastic tubs with colorful, drooping roses in full bloom. I knew that they would provide a good living reminder and I was happy. I could never keep plants alive, but I knew that they weren’t for me, but for the family and I was glad.
It was good.
It was special.
It would mean something.
I would later find out that it was symbolic in a way, because she’d touched each of our lives in a way that we wouldn’t be able to just blurt out. It was subtle, it was special and above all else, it was unique.
Because she planted a memory in the planters of our hearts, a little spark of a seed that would grow to frutition some day, perhaps in the way we would reach out to others. I took that from her passing, if nothing else. Because it was all I needed.
Mourn for the dead and lend your tears to water their graves.
Seeds
I heard parables
for my whole life
before this one
of sowing seeds and building desinies
Planting worlds that live
long enough to kiss teir babies
I heard of being born again
I don’t think
they meant this
but I’m green now
and new
The seed planted itself in the depths of my mind
Feeding on my sanity, leaving madness behind
Tendrils snake down my limbs like steel chains
You’ve cultivated a poison, a virus in my veins.
Mr. Bernard saw himself as a planter. An unconventional fifth grade teacher in the relative freedom of a charter school, he led his students in weekly projects on biology, political activism, game design, ethnography, the list went on. His goal, he always felt, was more to foster inspiration and purpose rather than knowledge.
It was always hard saying goodbye at the end of the school year. He planted the seeds of a hundred different flowers in his students’ minds, but he wouldn’t be around to see them blossom.
The Planter is our mind’s leader I suppose. He plants words and thoughts and images in your mind while you sleep, so when you wake up, you think you’ve had a dream.
Depending on how deep in your mind he plants these things, you will remember the dream differently.
Joe was a planter of peanuts, a Paraguay dirt king, come to Tennessee with his wife and pock-faced kids, farm hands all. They looked like peanuts, smelled like peanuts, ate peanuts–dry roasted and boiled—made peanut oil and flour and made a fortune. “Peanuts is the best thing God ever invented,” says Joe. “Next to peas and beans,” his wife added. Then one tragic day, their newborn went into shock after his first suckling of peanut milk. “Boy’s allergic to peanuts,” the Doc said. “You been foolin round, Wife?” Joe yelled. According to the DNA test, the kid was his but Joe had to deny it, lose his wife or lose his mind.
The planter sat empty on the windowsill. It looked lonely there; as if no plant wanted to sit in it. It was a sad sight, that planter. Not a dusting of soil, only terra cotta loneliness.
Shelly was a planter, things that weren’t hers grew as seeds in whatever she sowed. Burns wasn’t certainly conniving nor did he harbour much hate, yet the seed in his mind put his entire character at stake. Finally at the scene where the two of them meet, Shelly tells Burns a truth to water the seed and salt his wounds, the anger brewed and then Burns tragically set what he loved most on Fire. All ends are ominous as the thought of them is neither sadistic nor twisted yet instead, quite profound.
green shoots lift their heads
turning towards each morning’s sun
seeking the growing warmth of Springtime
each stem seeking to rise above the rim
of an oak planter
The wind pushed it from side to side. It hung precariously from the porch roof, teasing Mother Nature to bring it back down to the ground. The flowers relied on each other for support until the quaking was over. Once the planter could no longer play the games, the flowers came crashing down, becoming bruised and broken.
The planter swayed in the wind, dangling precariously from its hook. A little girl and a little boy ran past it, hardly caring about such an atrocious thing. It was ugly to them, a waste of time. Flowers had yet to have meaning to either one.
You’ve planted something-
Inside of me.
It lives,
feels,
eats,
and breathes.
You were the creator;
well, helped anyway.
And because of that;
I live,
feel,
eat ,
breathe,
and-
Love.
You’ve created something-
Inside of me.
It lives,
feels,
eats,
and breathes.
You were the creator;
well, helped anyway.
And because of that;
I live,
feel,
eat ,
breathe,
and-
Love.
The seeds blew across the yard as the planter tried to get them into the ground. He knew it would be a hard year without the food from the gardens.
Is a Box where flowers grow
a planter is someone who plants seeds to create beautiful gardens of flowers or vegetables.
Those who inspire plant seeds in the minds of those who wonder and seek a life where happiness grows on trees.
On her One-Minute Date with a Podiatrist
warts bunions calluses corns
cysts infections incisions thorns
ulcerations lacerations amputations
thorns?
She shook her head and shook his hand
He’s rich she guessed
Handsome she knew
But could she ever fall for a man
without removing her shoes
yes.
no.
Maybe?
42.
I love planters. Shapes and sizes! Plants alive and dead! Flowers and trees and dirt! Oh my, the varieties! Round, and flat and square and tan, purple, blue!
Time was running out. I had to win the contest, but not for me- for my family. I grabbed some seeds and stuck them in the large brown planter. I covered them up with dirt and sprinkled it with water. “Done!” I smacked the buzzer in front of me. Everyone looked up in astonishment. I was the first one done. I had won the contest.
I hung the planter out the window. The garden tomatoes were bright red, bursting with juicy goodness. That BLT is going to taste amazing when these babies get nice and ripe. Too bad I can’t have a bigger garden :(
what are you planting?
is it ideas?
hatred?
love?
the seeds of something new?
or from an age we wish to forget?
plant somewhere else
where we can only hope the blossoms are beautiful
a long time ago, when the angels still sang, and He was young, there waws nothing to grow, nothing to sprout. and so He invented this place, this speck in the nothingness, where live could prosper and things could develop from dust moites into something complkex and beautiful. he called it Eden and the mesmerizing beings of this wolrd started to be there and the sadness and happiness of this world were its fertiliser.
“You’ll be a planter,” the officer explained to me. “That means you are in charge of giving the people their initial ideas, of planting the government’s wishes inside their heads. This is a vital job, and it is not given to many. Don’t mess it up!”
Der Anbau von Gemüse war das schwerste, was Jakob sich vorstellen konnte. Er brauchte Ewigkeiten, um Leben in die kleinen Gewächse zu bekommen, aber ihm fehlte seit jeher der Elan dazu. Warum? Das wusste er nicht. Er fand Gemüse einfach nicht sinnvoll.
The planter sits in the window and brightens up the day of the people who pass by, it’s sides overrun by a new beautiful decoration each season to distract travelers from their earthly woes.
The difference between a planter and a farmer is that back in the days of plantations and farms a planter had slaves and a farmer did not.
In recent times, planter generally means that you are a small-scale farmer.
I am the planter of ideas. When people are not paying attention, I sneak up between them, and whisper things their ears. Then the concepts begin to take root in their minds. They ignore it at first, but eventually it grows and grows and grows until the idea has taken over them competely.
Planter. A word that signifies something that you put a plant in. Or in french, a verb meaning “to plant”. Plants are good things, and so a planter is a good thing, because it holds plants. It could also be a person, who plants plants.
I must confess. I don’t respond to oneword right away. I come here to get a seed and then I leave for a while. I put it in a planter on another planet that I grew from seed. But I don’t have to labor over it. What I will write is already written: a seed contains a perfect script for a tree. In a very real way, it’s done before it begins. All it needs is activated. There is a whole world waiting in a single word. I think about it a tad, give it a bit of time, and the word does its thing as spontaneously and mysteriously as a seed in moist soil with sunshine.
I must confess. I don’t respond to oneword right away. I come here to get a seed and then I leave for a while. I put it in a planter on another planet that I grew from seed. But I don’t have to labor over it. What I will write is already written: a seed contains a perfect script for a tree. In a very real way it’s done before it begins. All it needs is activated. There is a whole world waiting in a single word. I think about it a tad, give it a bit of time, and the word does its thing as spontaneously and mysteriously as a seed in moist soil with sunshine.
She told me I planted
myself in her
heart
but I wonder what
she’d say
if I told her I just
wanted to get
rid of myself
(like the foul weed that
I am.)
-a.d.r.
He rolled a little of the compost between his thumb and first finger, letting it powder back into the planter. He finds it harder work to bend down to it nowadays, but the feel of the soil makes him smile wryly. He fumbles with a packet, tipping several seeds into his dirty palm.
“I am a Planter. What is a Planter? well, we plant all the food in Masonia. the Growers grow it, the Harvesters harvest it. no biggie, right? Actually, it’s a really big deal. If we don’t get everything just right, well… we won’t be messing up again.”
I must confess. I don’t respond to oneword right away. I come here to be given a seed and then I leave for a while. I put it in a planter on another planet that I grew from seed. But I don’t have to labor over it. What I will write was already written: a seed contains a perfect script for a tree. In a very real way it is finished before it begins. All it needs is activated. There is a whole world waiting in a word. Think about it, give it a little time, and the word will do its thing automatically as a moist seed under the sun.
She tucked the soil in, read it a story and waited for the morning to come when it would become fertile and bloom. All within this planter, a world, a creation would be born.
I am not sure what a planter is but it sounds ot me like a pot where you can put plants although I relate it more to a person who stands somebody up. If a person leaves you stranded or does not comply to a commitment, then that person would be consider a planter right?
And when we die, we ought to leave something behind.
Not necessarily an object, family or some giant inheritance.
A memory is good.
Something for each person, is even better.
I never thought of it, until I saw the planters. Two giant plastic tubs with colorful, drooping roses in full bloom. I knew that they would provide a good living reminder and I was happy. I could never keep plants alive, but I knew that they weren’t for me, but for the family and I was glad.
It was good.
It was special.
It would mean something.
I would later find out that it was symbolic in a way, because she’d touched each of our lives in a way that we wouldn’t be able to just blurt out. It was subtle, it was special and above all else, it was unique.
Because she planted a memory in the planters of our hearts, a little spark of a seed that would grow to frutition some day, perhaps in the way we would reach out to others. I took that from her passing, if nothing else. Because it was all I needed.
Mourn for the dead and lend your tears to water their graves.
Remember still and never forget.
you are much like planter. you stand alone, but cannot take care of yourself.
Seeds
I heard parables
for my whole life
before this one
of sowing seeds and building desinies
Planting worlds that live
long enough to kiss teir babies
I heard of being born again
I don’t think
they meant this
but I’m green now
and new
The seed planted itself in the depths of my mind
Feeding on my sanity, leaving madness behind
Tendrils snake down my limbs like steel chains
You’ve cultivated a poison, a virus in my veins.
Mr. Bernard saw himself as a planter. An unconventional fifth grade teacher in the relative freedom of a charter school, he led his students in weekly projects on biology, political activism, game design, ethnography, the list went on. His goal, he always felt, was more to foster inspiration and purpose rather than knowledge.
It was always hard saying goodbye at the end of the school year. He planted the seeds of a hundred different flowers in his students’ minds, but he wouldn’t be around to see them blossom.
The Planter is our mind’s leader I suppose. He plants words and thoughts and images in your mind while you sleep, so when you wake up, you think you’ve had a dream.
Depending on how deep in your mind he plants these things, you will remember the dream differently.
Joe was a planter of peanuts, a Paraguay dirt king, come to Tennessee with his wife and pock-faced kids, farm hands all. They looked like peanuts, smelled like peanuts, ate peanuts–dry roasted and boiled—made peanut oil and flour and made a fortune. “Peanuts is the best thing God ever invented,” says Joe. “Next to peas and beans,” his wife added. Then one tragic day, their newborn went into shock after his first suckling of peanut milk. “Boy’s allergic to peanuts,” the Doc said. “You been foolin round, Wife?” Joe yelled. According to the DNA test, the kid was his but Joe had to deny it, lose his wife or lose his mind.
The planter sat empty on the windowsill. It looked lonely there; as if no plant wanted to sit in it. It was a sad sight, that planter. Not a dusting of soil, only terra cotta loneliness.
Shelly was a planter, things that weren’t hers grew as seeds in whatever she sowed. Burns wasn’t certainly conniving nor did he harbour much hate, yet the seed in his mind put his entire character at stake. Finally at the scene where the two of them meet, Shelly tells Burns a truth to water the seed and salt his wounds, the anger brewed and then Burns tragically set what he loved most on Fire. All ends are ominous as the thought of them is neither sadistic nor twisted yet instead, quite profound.
the planter planted a root so deep in my soul that it has created an inescapable paining.
As I grow older, I find myself drawn to gardens, flowers, growing things.
The world is one vast planter.
green shoots lift their heads
turning towards each morning’s sun
seeking the growing warmth of Springtime
each stem seeking to rise above the rim
of an oak planter
The wind pushed it from side to side. It hung precariously from the porch roof, teasing Mother Nature to bring it back down to the ground. The flowers relied on each other for support until the quaking was over. Once the planter could no longer play the games, the flowers came crashing down, becoming bruised and broken.