sign up or log in for additional features. (It's free!)
the planter was having sore muscles as she had worked so hard on her garden, trying to pull out all the obnoxious weeds..
By halfbright on 04.24.2013
you grow on me
but I am no planter
not suited for
By Cassie on 04.24.2013
I have never gardened much in my life. My sister was always very passionate about it but look where that’s gotten her. She’s seven years old and nowhere to go but down. I guess I’d like to garden, but I don’t like vegetables and the prospect of doing something consistently frightens me. Also tomatoes look like alien eggs.
By Sonny Ebsary on 04.24.2013
A natural born planter,
You planted a seed of sorrow
Inside of me;
it wants to grow.
By Erin URL on 04.24.2013
His fingers scrabbled through the dirt of the upended planter, searching fruitlessly for any kind of clue as to his wife’s whereabouts.
By WearyWater URL on 04.24.2013
The planters hanging in the backyard
Swinging in the wind
Remind me of you when times were better
But now you’re gone
And all that remains is the smell of your flowers
And the loneliness that comes
With waking up in an empty bed
By Hayley on 04.24.2013
In the soil, the brownies waited. Striped leaves of what the Talls called “snake plant” towered over them. Padded footsteps grew louder with each achingly slow draw of breath.
By Ann URL on 04.24.2013
Today as I walked past a planter
I thought of the years
We used to pick flowers together
And about how I’m now planting those flowers
By Sarah on 04.24.2013
my mother hung them from metal rods in the garden. I was 6 and took them for granted.
all things must wither eventually.
By lucas spears on 04.24.2013
And it is cold. I want to move but have settled with blankets and slippers, with everything in arms reach. The chair acts like planter pot from which my arms escape like the waving fronds of an exotic plant to drop words from these pale my stalks onto a pale screen.
By Meredyth URL on 04.24.2013
sowing the seeds with mechanical efficiency.
the sweat drips down my elbow, it tickles
before watering the little plants below.
i wonder when they’ll learn how to grow $ on trees.
By Kairn on 04.24.2013
I was so surprised when he gave me the pretty wicker planter. It was a white-washed tapestry of woven vines reminiscent of uneven linen in a delightful pattern of open spaces. I never expected a gift, especially one holding soil and an envelope of flower seeds. I had never mentioned flowers except in my stories. Sometimes they posed as decorations, sometimes as forewarnings of what was to come, symbols of loss or hope or just there in the story because they grew there on their own between the words my fingertips laced across my computer screen.
He saw my confusion. “What?” I smiled and shrugged, not sure what to say. I appreciated the graduation gift, but I could not hide my why in perplexed eyes. He knew me so well. “You like to nurture things in your writing and in your life with your family, your pets, your students. So, I knew you would like it. It’s a reminder to nurture you somewhere in all of that. I see the potential in you, and I don’t want you to forget the gift I see. I want you to remember and keep writing. Don’t give writing up again.”
He was the first college instructor that asked me what I wanted to do and didn’t laugh at me. No mocking of my choice or why. No condescending comments. Even after he read what I had done already, he told me I could do it. He was sure of it. That semester was amazing and he became my mentor. When life turned upside down, twisting and turning all over me, rolling me into places I never thought I would go–he pulled me back to the dream I came to catch after five years of surviving and trying not to drown in musts. He reminded me of who I was and what my dream was before my life changed, and he tossed me a lifeline back to myself. He opened the floodgates and I wrote. He challenged me to write about something he hated and make him love it; I did. He challenged me to write about something beautiful, and when I turned in the poem… he read it to himself and his face changed. He read it aloud to the whole class, the room going still as his voice spoke my captured thoughts from the page. He asked me to read it aloud to the class. We talked about it, all 37 of us talking about my poem. I read it again and again. He taught from my poem for three class sessions. He challenged me to write about something real, something unpleasant: I made him cry. And now, as I was finally finishing, it was his turn to make me cry as I stood hugging my white wicker planter. I planted the seeds of the annual. I don’t remember the name of the flower, but I remember the heart shaped leaves, the bright red flowers, the crazy, vined stems stretching in all directions. It was an annual, but I keep that same planter with the plants I started from seed for nine years. The flowers didn’t die in a few short months the way the tiny packets had labeled them; instead, the plants kept growing, thick, healthy, strong.
It was years later on the phone I told him I loved him, and he told me he knew. More years passed before he said it back to me, unexpectedly, without warning. I think I smiled for years, and even now nearly a decade since I spoke to him last, I realize thinking of what he helped me find within myself by knowing and loving him planted seeds that will forever grow inside me.
By JDwrites on 04.24.2013
The planter of 61 Prewett Street was a strange old man. No one could ever really see his face – it was always covered by an old straw hat. He wore old overalls covered in grass stains and big wellingtons. He barely talked to anyone.
By Rachael on 04.24.2013
Planter, planter, planter. What are you supposed to pull from this? My inspiration is missing tonight, and I’m sure I could try to dig it out of the planter in the backyard, but something in me is saying that’s not where it would be. Planter, planter, planter. I’m sorry, this is empty. Empty writings. Empty feelings, the worse kind. Empty like the planter is in my backyard. No bullshit deep meanings here.
By Laura Shane URL on 04.24.2013
Jimmy is a planter of marijuana trees. He has developed an abundant variance of strains and has perfected the concept of hydroponic growing. One day, the DEA burst into his home and threw him to the floor. They read him his rights and told him he was a criminal for growing marijuana plants. Jimmy was a benevolent man who
By Dylan on 04.24.2013
grain and oil
Fermenting and growing
cleansing and pouring
what I am to you
By Lily on 04.24.2013
A window box full of pansies. They smiled at him every time he walked past, and he was reminded of Alice in Wonderland. It had been ages since he had watched the movie with his kids. Whatever happened to tradition?
By KT on 04.24.2013
She was a planter, but instead of flowers she planted ideas. She watered them everyday with her imagination and gave them plenty of sunlight to grow…
By Kelly on 04.24.2013
Flowers. The trees. Life and color and wind and fresh air. Spring and new life and joy and growth. There is something so refreshing about starting a new life. A plant, or person. It’s all life and it’s all beautiful. Such a precious gift we have with every new day. Another moment in time, another chance to be a light in this world.
By Ciera Standifer on 04.24.2013
The planter was on the shelf with a jar of double sided comments.
The plant that was in the planter was a cancer.
a cancer is no answer.
and answers are no more.
in a postmodern culture,
we expect closed doors.
But grace opens doors every day.
By Jordan on 04.24.2013
It’s the planter at the window he decides he doesn’t like most. She always paid more attention to those shitty flowers than she did to him. There was nothing worse than feeling inferior to basil.
By Monique on 04.24.2013
Planter plants plants in his planet. Planter also has a Panther, called Planter Panther. He pants when he jogs, but he jogs every morning so he won’t die. Because in his planet if you don’t jog every morning you die.
By jirafa on 04.24.2013
there was a man who planted furniture. He would look through other people’s garbage for old chairs, tables and lamp and then plant them in his yard. Every spring he would have the new spring collection sprouting in his yard.
By Claudia on 04.24.2013
Manyu’s a planter in Minecraft! Pratyush and I are adventurers though :D
By Jason on 04.24.2013
By Julie on 04.24.2013
Her ring was in the planter. She stashed in there when he came over. Now the act of digging it out buried her in shame.
By psgarp on 04.24.2013
My grandmother has a planter near where I park my car and I ran over it on my way to school one morning and I didn’t even stop to see if I squashed her strawberries. Sorry Grammy.
By Mikayla Douglas on 04.25.2013
planter is a person who takes care of plant and grows them .
By nisha on 04.25.2013
Planters are like the gods of the flora world. They decide what goes where, who will pollenate with who. Planters aren’t near as appreciated as they should be. They carry the weight of a world on their shoulders.
By Maggie Bass URL on 04.25.2013
Growing things, right?
Growing… dreams, maybe?
Let’s all be planters. I’ve been one of those old people that sit on the porch watching weeds grow. I need to be the planter in my life. I can’t always leave things up to nature. Sometimes, she screws things over for all of us.
By Isabella URL on 04.25.2013
What is Planter i think it is a platform for making plants that is something u use to put seeds in the ground i dont know i will google it.
By Thilo on 04.25.2013
the flower in the planter was dead.I took another drag from my cigarette and sip from my beer.I didn’t understand
By A False Terl on 04.25.2013
If it was up to Ferocius DeSoto, the planter would have just fallen on the ground next to him, rather than landing at the right angle on top of his head. He did not like the feeling of having a planter full of dirt smash onto his head and presently he was looking up, wondering from where it came.
By myke on 04.25.2013
I associate planter with farmer and greenery. I don’t have much experience because anything green turns brown in my presence. But you can plant ideas and dreams… that is what I need to learn to do!
By star on 04.25.2013
planter hold this soul
closely in the depths of your soil
let it grow downwards ever onwards
let it grow roots beyond your reach
let it grow and be healed
in your comfortable depth
By Little Ink Elf on 04.25.2013
you planted seeds in my heart,
watered them until they grew
and burst from my lungs
but when winter came
and the green leaves turned white,
buried by the snow
that you left behind
i could feel them wilting
underneath my skin,
veins clogged with
i know that you had to leave
but you shouldn’t have
i know i’m selfish to ask
for you to finish what you began
cut off the stems
leave them to wilt
( it gives them
empty hope, you see )
By F URL on 04.25.2013
My mom wanted to be a planter, but finnaly, she became a French teacher in a primary school. People don’t decide, money decide.
By Thomas on 04.25.2013
They call me planter. For reasons unknown to me, they do it. They call me planter.
By vernon on 04.25.2013
I really do not konw what means planter.
By Ciro Bertoni on 04.25.2013
You planted me deep
Past clay and dirt all the way to rock
Fire and water didn’t help me at all
By Brooke B on 04.25.2013
a division of Identity Crisis, Inc.