THE RED/BLUE  WHEELBARROW WITH YELLOW SPOTS ON

Outside
the window

is

a William Carlos Williams poem
coming into being.

There, is
the red wheelbarrow

glazed
with rain

( minus
the chickens )

who
have wandered
off

as if not knowing
they are needed

to fulfill
the poem

upon which
so much

depends

(gone to lay an egg
as chickens do)    

& as I turn away
they march back into view

taking up
their poetical positions.

This living poem
even has its seasons

appearing to me

now covered in snow
now how dazzling

in bright bright sunshine.

Sometimes
(for my own surreal reasons)    

I paint the wheel barrow
a yellow or blue

or blue
with yellow spots or...

My wife laughs at me
& says: 'Oh...you! '

The wheelbarrow
long gone

to seed now
sleeps quietly

upside down
beside the hen house.

Flowers growing up
between its broken wheel

covered
in fallen leaves

it dreams of being
one day a real poem.

I smile.

'Now, where's
those chickens...gone? '

* * * * *

THE RED/BLUE  WHEELBARROW WITH YELLOW SPOTS ON

Outside
the window

is

a William Carlos Williams poem
coming into being.

There, is
the red wheelbarrow

glazed
with rain

( minus
the chickens )

who
have wandered
off

as if not knowing
they are needed

to fulfill
the poem

upon which
so much

depends

(gone to lay an egg
as chickens do)    

& as I turn away
they march back into view

taking up
their poetical positions.

This living poem
even has its seasons

appearing to me

now covered in snow
now how dazzling

in bright bright sunshine.

Sometimes
(for my own surreal reasons)    

I paint the wheel barrow
a yellow or blue

or blue
with yellow spots or...

My wife laughs at me
& says: 'Oh...you! '

The wheelbarrow
long gone

to seed now
sleeps quietly

upside down
beside the hen house.

Flowers growing up
between its broken wheel

covered
in fallen leaves

it dreams of being
one day a real poem.

I smile.

'Now, where's
those chickens...gone? '

* * * * *

If my heart was a red wheelbarrow
If my hands were like leaves that shake
If my head was a pile of stones here
If my red wheelbarrow breaks...

If my love was a problem for us
If a force was the way to go
Is it wrong that we feel enjoyment,
As we drown him in the lake?

I am not the one who's
In control,
Although they say it helps
To frame as partial.

The world's a toy but now it's
Getting old
And I just
Think integrity is integral.

If my heart was refrigerators
If my eyes were like TV screens
If my hands turn to alligators
Would you still lay love down on me?

I am not the one who's
Medical
I guess I'm lucky but I'll never really know

I was a boy and now it's
Getting old
But I am not the one who's in control.

If my heart was a red wheelbarrow
If my hands were like leaves and snakes
If my head was a pile of stones here
If my red wheelbarrow breaks...

If my heart was a red wheelbarrow
If my hands were ...
If my head was a pile of ...
If my red wheelbarrow breaks...

If my red wheelbarrow breaks...

deranged scream

IF MY RED WHEELBARROW BREAKS

Empty Wheelbarrow

A Swedish farmer has worked all winter to fill his wheelbarrow but he gets no crops
He has worked hard all winter but no crops. The empty wheelbarrow is just a sick reminder that he was unsuccessful for the last couple of winters.
The empty blackness of nothing fills him with rage.
He yearns for more crops.
Yet it is too late.
Another winter over and still
nothing.

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens

so much depends
upon

the wet air and
rain

that made the wheelbarrow
rust

and chickens
*****

So much depends
on a yellow
Bulldozer

Caked with mud
Beside thoughts
of payday

moving day
By Jude kyrie


*In between the delphiniums and the hollyhocks
Sat the old wheelbarrow dented rusted and aged
The thoughts of my childhood return
I am no longer thirty five years old.
Daddy would sit me in the wheel barrow
and give me a ride
All about the garden as I squealed in delight.

I have a need to see his kind eyes once more
Hear his soft gentle voice so mellow.
I want feel like a little girl once more
safe and secure with my daddy.
The need to find him is overwhelming.
I look all over the gardens for him.
Then I see him stood by the apple tree.
His old knitted sweater and his corduroy pants
In his mouth his sweet aromatic pipe
that was an extension of him

He said Hello Kitten
my eyes misted
No one but my Daddy
ever called me that
I said Hello Daddy
he took his pipe from his mouth
His smile lit up the place.
I was six once more but it faded.
He melted into my memory.

My childhood was passed
replaced by my womanhood
All that was left was the
indelible memories of times past
Tears fell from my eyes
as I wept to go back.

Then a noise as I looked around
at the arrival of the new owners.
A young handsome man with his little son
Daddy there’s a wheelbarrow can I have a ride

SO much depends upon a red wheel barrow
So MUCH depends upon a red wheelbarrow
So much DEPENDS upon a red wheelbarrow
So much depends UPON a red wheelbarrow
So much depends upon A red wheelbarrow
So much depends upon a RED wheel barrow
So much depends upon a red WHEEL barrow
So much depends upon a red wheel BARROW

Poem, The old wheelbarrow

"She felt forgotten, antiquated, awkward
Ill-fitted, incapable, unsuitable, worthless, barren, meaningless, mediocre, unessential and trivial.
AND A BIG FAT INCONVENIENCE.........

Her capacity for anything and everything dwindling as an over ripened apple loses its juice, any strength drained, sapped, starved and strained each time a new **** began it's desperate life, each flower that bloomed before her, somehow rendered her invisible.

Held together by the rust that life eventually bestows upon us all.
Tyres deflated, wheels that no longer held hunger for new adventures.
Nuts and bolts that had long since argued and permanently fallen out with one another, the rust settled between them enduringly as the woodworm to its dinner.

She was a sorry excuse for a once beautiful, strong and hard working wheelbarrow and she had almost given up................

✨️Ahhhhhhhh, but her wisdom!!!! All those years.......What of that?????✨️

She'd always listened,
absorbed,
but never knowingly spoke of this
What she had yet to learn,
Was that she had housed each tiny living organism.
She'd provided honey for the bees, and in doing so, life for the world.
She hadn't set any world records,
(No)

She hadn't knowingly saved any lives,
(Yes)
but she'd protected,
given out her wisdom freely
and all with so much love.

Absorbed carbon dioxide and fizzed out oxygen.
Given love in abundance and rarely asked for any in return
She had given a safe space for the thoughts, secrets and words of her sapling flowers

She'd been self sufficient, self reliable, independent, indestructible, valuable, knowledgeable, needed, wanted, desired, capable.... Oh. So. Capable.

The rust, the flat tires, the weakness of strength both in body and in mind, is just a part of being the best version that you can be.
To carry on regardless for yourself and for your flowers."

***It's taken me all **** day, but I no longer see a worn out and batteted wheelbarrow.
I see a vessel of immense strength, determination and an abundance of love ❤️

i am pushing you away
i am doing it.
i beckon you closer so
you can leave me
because im used to it
i'm used to scaring
so i remain safe.
because if you stay
i will ruin you
and make you a
boiling mug of dried out
hibiscus leaves that once glowed with the pink of ignorance
and will burn your throat and make it hurt to swallow so you believe that you are sick and you must begin to ease the shallowness of our framed existence.
in the wheelbarrow of neurons
its my love that refuses to grease the wheels

School urges us
ever to accumulate
yet what dawns in
maturity is selectivity
not bulk - how I soon
began to seek white
chickens and essence
of red wheelbarrow
glazed with rain.

(c) C J Heyworth July 2014