Maybe it Will Grow

Poetry 1 Minute

Sadness is a thing you carry,
So you can pluck it from your breast,
And plant it in the earth.
Shed a single tear more,
To feed the seed,
And maybe, maybe,
It will grow,
Into something of worth,
Or at least worth loving.

Prompt: from the kind writers over at the pub, dVerse, “Seed” as part of their Quadrille Series (#127)

Published

46 thoughts on “Maybe it Will Grow”

    1. Why thank you. To be fair to the poem, the first line I wrote here was, “Shed a single tear more to feed the seed” and it transformed from there. But I agree – “Sadness is a thing you carry” sounds awfully clever, doesn’t it? So heavy, but it always feels like our burden to hear.

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    1. Kind of you to say so! I never know what the results will be, but I’m content with what I produced within the framework I was given. Good fun.

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  3. “Sadness is a thing you carry” made me think of Tim O’Brien’s “The Things They Carried.” I suppose everyone carries such things, but I love the idea of plucking it from your breast to plant it and have something better grow from it. Lovely poem. Thank you for joining us!

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    1. I am unfamiliar! I looked it up and it seems interesting, I’ll have to purchase it for my perusal. I have a tendency to think of emotional connections as being physical things – to be cherished, to be discarded, to be forgotten, etc. – so I think that’s where the prompt brought me. Besides, wouldn’t it be nice to have a little garden of our emotions, to grow something worth loving from even our saddest memories?

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    1. Absolutely! It’s a kind idea. Maybe it’s not realistic, and maybe it’s a fool’s thought, a child’s thought, but it’s a nice one all the same.

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    1. Thank you for the kindness and the bright-red heart. I’m not sure I qualify for beautiful, but there’s a charm to this, no? There’s a naivety to this that I can’t quite put my finger on, but I think that’s part of the allure here.

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    1. That’s a kinder thought, isn’t it? That your terrible sadness, the misery that dogs your heels, can be planted gently in the earth, given a last few tears, and maybe provide shade to someone who walks behind you long after you’ve gone.

      Thank you for your absolutely lovely thoughts!

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      2. Ha! I’ll leave that to you, then! Like sadness, I have planted this poem into the cool earth with a sigh and will let it grow – I do not intend to be around to see what sprouts.

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  7. You are very welcome. I always use the bright red heart when reading pieces that truly touch me. I find it the full expression to be beautiful. The imagery it created in my mind as I read it was quite unique and beautiful to me. I truly enjoyed it.

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  10. To use one’s sadness for good. Beautiful.
    When my grandmother died, I spent many months in a dedication of creative energy. It felt just like your words.
    I believe your poem will be one that lingers with me. Thank you.

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    1. There’s a compulsion there, a creative need to expunge the detritus of our sadness. I swear it’s inherent. Thank you for your kind words. My recollections are yours to enjoy.

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  13. There is so much truth in your opening lines, Masa, and I love how your quadrille grew from a word watered with a single tear. So many beautiful poems have grown that way, not least here at the Poets Pub.

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    1. Your appraisal of beautiful is far too kind! Thank you all the same. I have spent ages working within a 55-word limit, so restraining from an additional 11 made for a refreshing experience. I will keep one eye out in the Pub for future endeavors, that’s for certain.

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    1. Once upon a time that was my signature style, David. “Allowing room for hope in the depths of sadness” – I could not put it better. How utterly delightful. Thank you for your words friend, I hope you continue to enjoy these myriad recollections.

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    1. Too kind, too kind! There is a natural outpouring, yes, I do not usually struggle with words, but I worry they often lack substance. But your words – and the words of so many others – seem to say I’m wrong in that. Thank you.

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  16. Much to think about here. I’ve had a few sorrows over the years. If I were to think of them in this way, as having planted them, I think it’s fair to say that I walk around them from time to time and assess them from different perspectives.

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    1. I love the physicality of the dream. Orchards of sadness, bearing fruit of… maybe soothing nostalgia? It may be bitter, but there’s a sweetness there – so addictive, so dangerous, but harmless in small doses. Thank you for your kind comments.

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    1. I adore “sadness is the seed that plants joy”. Remarkably clever, that. Well worth writing the poem if it brought about your comment, thank you.

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    1. It’ll sprout and bud and remind me it was there in the end. I think that’s where I hope that burying my sadness isn’t the same sort of act as burying a body (figuratively) – the sadness will transform into something else, given time and care. I hope.

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    1. You’re very kind! There is a certain importance to not abandoning sadness – accept it, but don’t cling to it, as well, no? Still, I am lucky that the prompt brought to mind something simple for me. It is nice to respond to so many comments as well – I’m delighted to have yours be on this list.

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    1. Why thank you! I think I commented to someone above that I think much of my poetry is an effort to prove my artistic talents false and still somehow paint without the need of a truly skilled hand. Words make for such malleable imagery. Again, thank you for stopping by – I hope you enjoy my myriad recollections.

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