the gardener

skipping to a solemn beat
swaying down the row
crouching down, and watching seeing everyone grow
crying silent tears
and nurturing all,
all except one

untiring, yet wondering when life will be done
gardener gardener
you’ve helped me grow
showing me how change is good
“like this, like so”
gardener gardener
when will you sprout
when all your little seedlings are watered, grown and out?
it may be too late
you’ve missed your chance at your ideal fate
collecting all your dreams,
and shoving them into a crate
for now winter has come,
and you’ll have to wait.

-l.r

Galaxy gardener sailing a ship,
through endless horizons it makes a trip.
She/he looks into the inky canvas blend,
then scatters some seeds in the spacial rend.
What does await this brave lovely soul,
when we see the universe's gears roll.

Ionizing radiation penetrates through,
while watering can always holds true.
Space turf gingerly shovelled over seeds,
her/his forehead adorned with water beads.
Nitrogenous nutrients now nuzzled into,
the serene slumbering seedlings to be.

Galaxy gardener greets growing greens,
lively lushscious leaves forward leans.
Wormhole worn star systems she/he fixes up,
as does she/he proudly prune her/his wondrous crop.
Many a plant has grown under her/his care,
yet she/he never feasts on the fruits they bear.

I will tell you a story please don't think me bad
Concerning myself and the ******* clads.
I was just a young man, easily led,
They sent me to paint the gardener's shed
I looked around what did I see?
The ******* clads looking back at me!
Pictures of scantilys everywhere
Standing about in their underwear.
What I saw I found rather appealing
I commited a sin resulting in stealing.
The gardener would return that  day
Only to find a book gone astray.
So please please, don't think of me bad
Blame it all on the ******* clads
Then I made a big mistake
Into my room the book I would take.
My mind got lost in fantasy
Those ******* clads got the better of me.
I was only a young man stuck in a rut
I should never have entered the gardener's hut.
Then something happened that made me sad
The book ended up there in the hands of my dad.
"Tell me son where did this come from?
Good job I found it instead of your mom".
"Please dad don't think of me bad
I am only a young man easily led
They sent me to paint the gardener's shed.
I looked around and what did I see?
Those ******* clads looking back at me!
And what I saw I found appealing
So, I commited a sin resulting in stealing".
My dad was not angry but rather, concerned,
He said in a calm voice
Son there is a lesson you must learn
What you have stolen you must return.

The Gardener’s Roses
by Michael R. Burch

Mary Magdalene, supposing him to be the gardener, saith unto him, “Sir, if thou have borne him hence, tell me where thou hast laid him, and I will take him away.”

I too have come to the cave;
within: strange, half-glimpsed forms
and ghostly paradigms of things.
Here, nothing warms

this lightening moment of the dawn,
pale tendrils spreading east.
And I, of all who followed Him,
by far the least . . .

The women take no note of me;
I do not recognize
the men in white, the gardener,
these unfamiliar skies . . .

Faint scent of roses, then—a touch!
I turn, and I see: You.
My Lord, why do You tarry here:
Another waits, Whose love is true?

Although My Father waits, and bliss;
though angels call—ecstatic crew!—
I gathered roses for a Friend.
I waited here, for You.

NOTE: I do not believe in Jesus as a “sacrifice” to a primitive “god” who demands the blood of innocents in order to “forgive” sins of his own making through a ghoulish "atonement." But I will not completely discount the hope that love can transcend death, although, like Thomas, I will have to see it to believe it. Keywords/Tags: Jesus, Christ, cave, grave, tomb, gardener, roses, angels, resurrection, Mary, Magdalene, love, heaven

once upon a time there was a king who married the most beautiful woman in the kingdom, but over time her beauty faded and he could not understand why. one day while pondering this problem he saw the gardeners wife. when the gardener took her as his wife she was grey and unnoticeable now she was a beauty in her own right. he called the gardener and asked him what is his secret. the gardener replied tongue your majesty.

the king commanded that his wife eat tongue daily, but nothing changed. the king not one to loose took the gardeners wife and gave the queen to the gardener.

the gardener spoke daily to the dethroned queen an slowly over time her beauty returned and the new queens beauty faded over time. this anguished the king even more, he truly did not understand he moral of the story and once again asked the gardener.

the king still don't get it, do you?

You do not water me daily,
You allow me to parch
And count the seasons I perennate
With only a drop of what I thought
Was especially for me.
You do not tend to me,
You let me need you needfully;
You burrow deep into my soil
And untangle my roots,
You knew exactly the right fertilizer
To get me to grow.
You do not take me in at night,
You leave me in a greenhouse
I shared with the rest of other plants
You couldn't pick from,
Shivering, waiting for another day
I happen to flush rosier petals
And get your attention again.
You do not choose me,
You do not own me,
You do not love me;
You are not the gardener,
No you are not.
You are just a confused collector,
Visiting every parterre,
Plucking all the best flowers,
Chancing for the greatest find
Without the intention of keeping it.
You are not the gardener,
No you are not.
You are just a collector,
A lonely little lad
Running out of other pastimes;
And I am just a hobby
You do not take to heart.
But I am not a flower,
No I just am not.
I am the vase
Holding the flower
You knew could use your sunshine,
So you let it hang right where
It is almost there.
But I am not a flower,
No I just am not.
I am the vase
Holding that flower;
Maybe a porcelain you can break
Into many brittle pieces,
But never a plant
You can watch dry and die and be dust,
No I just cannot be.
I am a vase,
Not a flower;
And you are not the gardener.
I do not belong in your collection.

A rose smells soft once groomed by loving shear,
The dust that settled on this gardener’s soul
Is stirred by breathing deep the odor dear:
The offered silk smooth blanket wraps me whole,
Not freely given but by ****** price:
A finger pricked by thorn but once or twice.

Though, gardener’s blood pays not the full expense,
For “loving” shears show love by marring thee.
For those without the florist’s favor hence
Are coldly culled, denied their right to be.
The chosen thrive by cost of others’ doom;
Thus goes the tale of gardener and the bloom.

If gentle stem is pressed by nature’s breeze,
That wood is stronger by the season’s end.
And though the sun may burn or ice may freeze,
Fair nature does not seek to break or mend.

And though a tree may shade it’s neighbor shrub,
It canopies by nature, not by will.
And though the mother bird may eat the grub,
The beast would likewise die without the ****.

Nor may the viper will away it’s fangs,
Nor wolf nor dog grow flat it’s tearing jaws,
Nor spider may retire the web it hangs,
Nor lioness may glove her slashing paws.

By lawless rule does nature rule alone,
Indifferent to whom all should die or live.
If each within that space pursued their own,
By happenstance, by fate would favor give.
Yet we unnatural twist that hand of fate,
Perverting life that we did not create.

The gardener looks upon their rose to say,
"What skill is mine for crafting beauty thee?"
While nature's fair design we thus betray.
While owning life that truly aught be free.
While stealing thee from nature's very womb.
Thus goes the tale of gardener and the bloom.

YOU NEVER WANTED TO BE A GARDENER
I can feel the weeds poking
through the mulch in my stomach.
stop plucking them out-
they just grow back louder.
yknow, for a gardener,
you spent a lot of time
in mortuaries.
I just didn't realise I had one
in my chest                                  
I didnt realise you'd notice        
didnt realise you'd try to pull
the weeds out of that too,
and plant daisies in the beds
instead.
Did you know daisies are weeds?
yknow, for a gardener,
you were never very good.
But I still let you into my house
to water my arteries.
every single time we kissed
I left with a mouth full of flowers;
you left with a mouth full of mud.
It's not your fault you couldn't
keep up with the gardening.
you tried everything to get rid
of those *******.
Didn't your mother ever tell you
not to kiss a girl who tastes like
weedkiller?
They tell me you gave up gardening -
But I know you still keep a daisy
pressed in your bible.