Parables of Earth – Part IX

Those seeds that fall on fertile land will grow
much better than those which land upon weed
or rock covered ground. Would it be fair, though,
to assume this is the fault of the seed?
By no means! The seeds are all alike. They
all hold the same potential. That is why
The Farmer takes such great care in the way
He tends to His earth: He knows seeds rely
on their environment. Likewise, when we
meet those who seem to struggle in this life,
do not be quick to judge, but look and see:
can you find ways to help them through their strife?
The Farmer loves his land, and He’s aware:
Bounty will come from ground that’s worked with care


If you would like to read this cycle in its entirety (up to this point), or if you would like to read my cycles on water and fire, you can find links to those in the menu above.

Parables of Earth – Part IV

The Farmer knows He must prepare the earth,
and He understands that this process is
an ongoing practice. The land is worth
only as much as the labour of His

hands. He must remain vigilant for weeds,
as these can quickly overtake a field.
These unwanted plants can choke out His seeds
and very quickly will destroy His yield.

And every spring, He must gather each stone
that winter’s frost has pushed up from below.
Though the labour is hard,He does not groan,
for His reward is seeing His crops grow

An abundant harvest will not be found
If rocks or thorns are left upon the ground

Parables of Earth – Part I

Before he plants, the Farmer tills his field.
This is one of many steps that must be
taken if he hopes for his land to yield
a good harvest. Imagine, though, that he

chose to delay the tilling and instead
lived each day for merriment. If pleasure
became his greatest aim: if meat and bread
were laid out for all his friends like treasure,

Then for a time laughter and song would fill
his house! But then when the leaves began to
turn colour, he would be faced with the chill
realization, “there’ll be no crop for you!”

Farmland that yields no crops will bring no mirth
Hard packed sun-baked dirt is of little worth


This is the first part of what will eventually become a fifteen part sonnet cycle on the theme of “earth”. Click on “The Elements – Sonnet Cycles” tab up above I’d you would like to see either of my completed cycles on water and fire.

Linking to dVerse on Jun.27 for Open Link Night

One Small Cog

“I’m merely a cog, one insignificant gear,” said Charles to his friend Robert at a dimly lit table in the corner of a small cafe. His voice, not much more than a whisper, was not meant to travel beyond the booth in which the two men sat, but travel it did. Not far, but just far enough to be heard by an older man at a booth nearby.

The older man rose slowly from his seat, a slight hunch to his shoulders betraying his age to any who might care to look. His hands and face wore the lines of years as well, but his eyes…if you only looked at his eyes you would think that you gazed upon a much younger man.

He took the five steps that it took to arrive at the table of the two younger men, and he pulled a card out of the pocket of his immaculate three-piece suit, presented it to Charles, and said, “If you would care to come to the address on the card, I have something to show you that you may find interesting.” Without another word, he walked to the front, placed some crisp clean bills on the counter, and walked out of the cafe.

The two young men exchanged a glance, and shrugged off the unusual experience before continuing the rest of their meal in silence, but the thought of the older man did not quite leave them alone.

A few pages of the calendar turned, though, before the two men broached the subject of the old man again. “Do you remember that old man?” asked Robert one day, and Charles only replied by putting his hand in his pocket, and pulling out a card. Only after placing the card carefully on the table did he speak, “I can’t stop thinking about him. What do you think he wanted to show us?”

“Should we go find out?” asked Robert, and with little more discussion, the two men found themselves on a journey they had never quite intended to take.


At the end of their drive, they found themselves at a small and unremarkable building. A door, a small window,and little else. “What if he doesn’t remember us?” asked Charles as he lifted his hand to knock.

After knocking, they waited long enough that they were certain that no one would answer, and were just beginning to turn to walk back to their car when they heard the sound of the lock being turned.

The older man slowly opened the door, looked at his guests and smiled. “I’ve been expecting you, but I didn’t realize my humble shop would be quite so hard to find. Please, come in!”

Robert and Charles noticed immediately the sound of ticking. As they followed the old man, they saw the source of the sound: clocks of all sizes, too numerous to count, lined all of the walls, and when they arrived at the back room, they saw a table covered in gears, springs, pendulums, each laid out in a precise order. At the end of the bench was a clock that was nearly assembled, but had not yet been placed in its housing. “Come! Look!” The two men went and were amazed at the fine intricacies of the work in progress. Some gears were large, others were tiny.

The old man then said, “I once heard one of you say that you were ‘merely a cog, an insignificant gear’. Can you tell me, in this clock, which gear is the least significant?”

The two men stared intently at the already ticking time piece. After a lengthy inspection, they finally called the older man and pointed to the smallest gear that they could locate.

The old man then put on a pair of magnifying glasses, pulled a pair of tweezers from a drawer, and pulled the tiny gear from the workings. Immediately, the clock stopped.

“You can see that that gear was more significant than it first appeared. Would you like to try a different one?”

Charles guessed that any gear removed would have the same result, regardless of the gear’s size.

“Correct!” replied the clock maker (for that is what the old man was). “We are all, indeed, ‘cogs’ or’gears’, but my friends, never make the mistake of thinking that any gear is insignificant.”

The Parable of the Flowers

There once was a gardener who could hear the silent speech of his flowers. One day, as he was walking down the cut-stone path that meandered between the plants, he heard one of his flowers beseech him, “Oh gardener, please let me be. When you dig in the soil around my roots, you cause me discomfort, your pruning blade causes me pain, and that foul manure that you spread around me assaults my senses.

The gardener was saddened that this flower would not want his attention, but he said

I love you enough to leave you be
but how I wish for you to trust me

A little further down the path, the gardener encountered a small rose. He knelt down to smell the fragrance of the blossom, and as he did so, he heard the rose say, “when you dig in the soil around me, you cause me discomfort. When you prune me, you cause pain, and that fertilizer you use smells so horrid…but I can tell that you love me. Is there a reason that you put me through all of this?

The gardener told the rose, “Yes, there’s a reason. You’re too small now to understand, but one day, if you trust me, you’ll know the reason why.

The rose bent her head and said, “then I’ll trust.”

The season progressed, and lo and behold, the time came when the first flower was withered, brown, and being choked by weeds, while the small rose had grown to be a beautiful bush with the greenest leaves and the reddest blossoms. The first flower said of the gardener, “why did you let me become so ugly, while that rose over there is so vibrant and lovely?

The gardener, simply wept, and said,

I loved you enough to let you be
but that rose bush is green
for she trusted in me


Written for Kim’s garden prompt at dVerse.  Also written for day 15 of NaBloPoMo

The King’s Banquet

The following is based on Matthew 22:1-14

I dreamed that the King held a banquet to celebrate the wedding of his Son.  He sent invitations to all in the land.  The prostitutes received the same gilt-lettered envelopes as the doctors.  The drug addicts and lawyers received invitations that were worded the same:

“Come to the wedding feast of my son, two weeks hence.  A package will arrive with clothing befitting of your value to the King.”

I saw what sort of people were getting the invitations and was thankful that would not be receiving the same humiliating garments as some of my neighbors, and so, when the package arrived, I placed it, unopened, in a dark corner of my basement, for surely my own best clothing were far superior to anything that my neighbors would receive.

The day of the banquet arrived, and I strutted out in my finery, certain that every eye would be on me, envious of my splendor.

I knew that indeed, I had made an impression, when the King himself came to my side and spoke to me of my clothing, but he surprised me by what he said, “Friend, how is it that you came to my banquet without the clothing that I provided?”  I would have answered, but it was then that I finally opened my eyes to see that my neighbors, whom I had despised, were adorned in the most radiant of garments, and the clothing of which I had been so proud, were nothing more than the filthiest of old rags.

As His soldiers escorted me forcefully from the hall, I heard the King say, “my loyal subjects, you look in wonder at the garments I have provided, and I know that you think, ‘I am not worthy of such raiment as this’, but you forget, that I see you not as you have made yourselves, but as I myself have made you to be: for on this day, I have made you my friends.  Now let the feast begin!”