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Cyder: Book I

-- -- Honos erit huic quoq; Pomo? Virg.

What Soil the Apple loves, what Care is due
To Orchats, timeliest when to press the Fruits,
Thy Gift, Pomona, in Miltonian Verse
Adventrous I presume to sing; of Verse
Nor skill'd, nor studious: But my Native Soil
Invites me, and the Theme as yet unsung.

Ye Ariconian Knights, and fairest Dames,
To whom propitious Heav'n these Blessings grants,
Attend my Layes; nor hence disdain to learn,
How Nature's Gifts may be improv'd by Art.

And thou, O Mostyn, whose Benevolence,
And Candor, oft experienc'd, Me vouchsaf'd
To knit in Friendship, growing still with Years,
Accept this Pledge of Gratitude and Love.
May it a lasting Monument remain

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poem by John Arthur Phillips
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Eden Still Existent

New Zealand
South Island
West Coast

tropical rain forest
sacred images fuse soul
under canopy of life

Eden still existent
living temple of life
flowers in eye heart

breath embrace atmosphere
sight embrace vision horizons
touch ecosystem life non-life

sunlight wind kiss water soil
light water soil nutrients bless
plants into new sprouting life

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poem by Terence George Craddock
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Time To Turn Over A New Leaf

The Plant Kingdom isn't all sweetness and light.
Some plants digest animal life
And destroy buildings and spread diseases.
However, these Godmade creatures
Have their place in the Universe
And deserve to be protected.
That's why trees are continually planted
To replace the ones we use.
Plant a Tree is part of our culture.
It isn't some politically correct philosophy,
It's an essential revitalisation of Nature.
We breathe out carbon dioxide
Which the plants absorb and exhale oxygen.
We act in symbiosis.

We exist by the Grace of God,
The Creator of all things.
Plants can't create us with our fantastic thoughts
And developments as we ourselves
Live and die and are replaced by our offspring.

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poem by Denis Martindale
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Shakuntala Act 1

King Dushyant in a chariot, pursuing an antelope, with a bow and quiver, attended by his Charioteer.
Suta (Charioteer). [Looking at the antelope, and then at the king]
When I cast my eye on that black antelope, and on thee, O king, with thy braced bow, I see before me, as it were, the God Mahésa chasing a hart (male deer), with his bow, named Pináca, braced in his left hand.

King Dushyant: The fleet animal has given us a long chase. Oh! there he runs, with his neck bent gracefully, looking back, from time to time, at the car (chariot) which follows him. Now, through fear of a descending shaft, he contracts his forehand, and extends his flexible haunches; and now, through fatigue, he pauses to nibble the grass in his path with his mouth half opened. See how he springs and bounds with long steps, lightly skimming the ground, and rising high in the air! And now so rapid is his flight, that he is scarce discernible!

Suta: The ground was uneven, and the horses were checked in their course. He has taken advantage of our delay. It is level now, and we may easily overtake him.

King Dushyant: Loosen the reins.

Suta: As the king commands. – [He drives the car first at full speed, and then gently.] – He could not escape. The horses were not even touched by the clouds of dust which they raised; they tossed their manes, erected their ears, and rather glided than galloped over the smooth plain.

King Dushyant: They soon outran the swift antelope. –Objects which, from their distance, appeared minute, presently became larger: what was really divided, seemed united, as we passed; and what was in truth bent, seemed straight. So swift was the motion of the wheels, that nothing, for many moments, was either distant or near. [He fixes an arrow in his bowstring.]

[Behind the scenes.] He must not be slain. This antelope, O king, has an asylum in our forest: he must not be slain.

Suta: [Listening and Looking.] Just as the animal presents a fair mark for our arrow, two hermits are advancing to interrupt your aim

King Dushyant: Then stop the car.

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poem by Kalidasa
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The Georgics

GEORGIC I

What makes the cornfield smile; beneath what star
Maecenas, it is meet to turn the sod
Or marry elm with vine; how tend the steer;
What pains for cattle-keeping, or what proof
Of patient trial serves for thrifty bees;-
Such are my themes.
O universal lights
Most glorious! ye that lead the gliding year
Along the sky, Liber and Ceres mild,
If by your bounty holpen earth once changed
Chaonian acorn for the plump wheat-ear,
And mingled with the grape, your new-found gift,
The draughts of Achelous; and ye Fauns
To rustics ever kind, come foot it, Fauns
And Dryad-maids together; your gifts I sing.
And thou, for whose delight the war-horse first
Sprang from earth's womb at thy great trident's stroke,
Neptune; and haunter of the groves, for whom

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poem by Virgil
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The Majestic Tree

They bow to the winds that pass
The beautiful majestic trees,  
With arms up toward the skies
They laugh in the summer breeze. 
They provide shade and shelter for the bee,  
He plants history, who plants a tree.
They provide lumber for houses, and barns
For a roof to cover our heads,  
Lumber for aeroplanes, ships and cars
And for caskets, to bury our dead. 
This is only a few uses you see
He plants history, who plants a tree.

They provide rest for the weary man
Food and protection, for many wild things,  
Home and sanctuary, for millions of birds
And rock their babies to sleep in swings. 
Their magestic grace so wild and free
He plants history, who plants a tree.

poem by Della Hodgson James
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Georgic 2

Thus far the tilth of fields and stars of heaven;
Now will I sing thee, Bacchus, and, with thee,
The forest's young plantations and the fruit
Of slow-maturing olive. Hither haste,
O Father of the wine-press; all things here
Teem with the bounties of thy hand; for thee
With viny autumn laden blooms the field,
And foams the vintage high with brimming vats;
Hither, O Father of the wine-press, come,
And stripped of buskin stain thy bared limbs
In the new must with me.
First, nature's law
For generating trees is manifold;
For some of their own force spontaneous spring,
No hand of man compelling, and possess
The plains and river-windings far and wide,
As pliant osier and the bending broom,
Poplar, and willows in wan companies
With green leaf glimmering gray; and some there be
From chance-dropped seed that rear them, as the tall

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poem by Publius Vergilius Maro
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Beauty....... of what?

The earth wait's the sky drizzles
Seasons come and seasons go
With the smell of weather
The farmer chooses to decorate his farm

A farmer believes every leaf
Of the plant as its own
At every point protects and nurtures
The plants every leaf

The farmer that stood by
That plants every need and move
The plants have no respect for him
The farmer doesn't even find out
Who caste the evil eye
But all that's left is his ruined farm of hope
What was ones a living green
Is now nothing but flying sand?

What did I plant and what did I get?

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poem by Kiara Davar
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The House Plants

the plants, they are your friends
especially the ones in your room
if you are sensitive to their feelings
you will know they are there trying
to reach out to you all the time

when it quiets down
the television not playing
and the children not prancing around
you would feel another kind
trying to communicate with you

their invisible hands would even
try awaken that faculty in you you
could use to communicate with them

the plants know, we were all once
relatives and they remember that part
in you which will still embrace them
even in the densest of forests

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poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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The Concept Of The Soul

The candle is shut and the flame is out.
The candle is left and the life has set.
Before shut, the candle must have been lit.
The unlit candle can never be shut.

The being is dead and the life is out.
The body remains lifeless and sparkles.
Does the death mean the exit of the soul?
The soul to exit, when did it enter?

Is it that the soul has entered at birth?
No, the embryo has life before the birth.
Is it that the soul has entered at zygote?
No, the sperm and the ovum have their life.

Hens lay eggs, which turn chicks; they all have life.
No stage is void for the souls to enter.
The souls are the extension of the chicks
And the chicks, the extension of the hens

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poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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