the crows came pecking
at large gaps
in between the jobs
of my employment history
on my job application and
the girls remained tender
and the children run around
barefoot in the half-overgrown
garden under this cloudless
sky and this place is my place
and these days are not wasted
sitting on the porch
enjoying the blue moonlight,
unknowing what tomorrow brings
and you never can be to sure
what you’re dying for
A gardener grows food that feeds
And a peacock of beauty
Flora that inspires

A poet grows words that ease
From the seeds
Of the beauty
The gardener sowed and admires
Dan Beyer Feb 5
I love to sit in the garden,
Where little troupes of bees
Buzz and gather pollen,
Around the rosemary.
I love to sit in the garden,
Where the flowers' delicate and fair,
Respiration gives crisp oxygen.
And fragrance the spring air.  
I love to sit in the garden,
And sense the warm sun on my skin.
Feel that vitamin D, and to soak it in.
I love to sit in the garden,
And watch the blue-jay play.
See the robin harken.
It's there I'll spend my day.
Bisaal 2d
I was a dandelion
and when everyone else
thought of me as weed,
some ugly parasite growing
in their garden of heavenly tulips,
you thought of me as the most beautiful,
miraculous and colorful flower to ever exist
on this Earth

because of you
I kept growing
because of you
I now have a
heavenly garden
of my own
when i was little ,
dad handed me a shovel and
he handed me
a dress.

he taught me how to dress myself
and then how to garden ,

to dig each hole
in soft
           flesh and soil.  

ive grown up since,
gotten taller,
and can hold
the shovel by myself ,

so
i dig graves now instead .

ive saved one for dad ,
                               and ive saved one for me.

six feet deep ,
                        it’s a bed with no blankets
and it’s
perfect ,
and
it’s mine —

and
i want to be buried in a dress
i can button
                     all
                         by myself ,

because
dad also handed me a shotgun.
you've made this bed, now lie in it!
You remind me of the garden I should have had.
Mothers garden adorned with fleshy fruit
Thus I plucked and sucked at the jocund juice
Branches speckled with luscious loot
A taste so sweet, I propose a tantalizing truce
Immortalize me with nourishing nectar
Keep my belly from famished fallicies
No longer a fleshy comestible collector
For godly ambrosia has mended moralities
Natasha Jun 13
we pick flowers because we like them displayed how we please
not how they truly grow.
what gives us a right to stop their life?
to watch them slowly droop to a wilting death
for our own personal pleasure.

so, let's blossom and sprout our small vines
and maybe we'll intertwine along the way.
we'll sustain as long as we can in this vase
as our petals slowly fall away.

and our water in dry, and our stems shrivelled up.
I'd rather die with you, two withered blossoms
than be the one who decides
which stems to cut.
The garden would not take root
Hardly a weed could flourish
No matter how much water absorbed
This muddy field left malnourished

Something was amiss in this mucky space
Ennui entwined climbing up the spine
Hippocampus left asphyxiated
The kudzu of the mind

Nothing but an entanglement of
Thought and emotion
Strangling the heart
In this confusing ocean
Next page