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Akriti Sep 23
Some days I want to paint,
some times I want to be painted.

Some days I want to write,
some times I want to be written.

Some days I want to read,
some times I want to be read.

Some days I want to be a gardener,
some times I want to be the flower of that garden.

Some days I want to live,
some times I want to breathe in peace.
Alexa Malyn Aug 31
We make music when we walk
Shoes laced with guitar strings
Hearts beating to the metronome in my head
When you speak violin comes out
The flowers embedded in your heart are dying
The light in your eyes have burned out
The optimism has drifted from your voice
And left you with hollow bones
The music we played went flat
The waves stopped coming
The sun stopped shining
And my heart stopped beating.
tia Jul 1
in the palm of her ruined hands
was a single seed

if she grew one flower
spring would be in her sights

but winter pulled her down
together they were miserable

she could not bring change about
and so spring never came around
I raise the pick-axe high up above my head.
I bring it back down with all my might.
I hear an audible thud at it pierces into the ground.

I change my grip.

The soil turns over as I pry it out of the ground.
I smile to myself in satisfaction at the sight of the churning soil.
It is a calm, soothing sight, worth the magnitude of the effort required to produce it.

I change grips as I ready myself and raise the pick-axe high up above my head once more.

I am the artist,
the Earth my canvas.
The pick-axe is my brush,
the chaos my muse.

Seeds will be sown
and vegetation will be grown.
Spoils will be shared
and cheer will be spread.

But for all the good that is done,
I am the one having all the fun,
for this sight is for me,
this art is my own.
Digging the ground is surprisingly soothing. And extremely tiring. But worth the effort, all the same.
Nari Mar 30
Planting, potting, and puttering
Weeding, hoeing, and muttering
Excavating for fruiting treasure
Dancing for favorable weather

My garden bears riches in tastes and views
A thriving bed of multicolored hues
My efforts support much life in the tending
My plants, sprouting and my soul, mending

My garden retreat, my nook, my hideaway
Under canopy of trellises and pairs of blue jays
Comforts my heart with its lush serenity
A space for growth among blooming greenery

Wafting aromas of rich, earthy soil
Fill my nostrils as I toil
Grimy fingers and sweat creased brow
Invigorates my body as I work the trowel

My labors are love transferred fingertip to root
My reward is new life, new sprouts, new shoots
My efforts take patience, tenderness, and care
Proof that in Eden a human dwells there
Mitch Prax Mar 3
if you were
a flower
then maybe I’d learn
to garden.
How glorious it would be
to spend my days getting
your love underneath
my fingernails
and watching euphoria bloom?
Nigdaw Oct 2019
Never allowed to grow
Beyond ornamental,
Small perfect leaves
On small well pruned branches;
To please the eye
Of miniature torturers.

Cramped in a micro life,
Roots restrained
Within un-natural boundaries.
The promise of a tree
Never really fulfilled,
Beyond a whisper.

Fussed over relentlessly,
Like an O.C.D.
Perfect shape and form,
Trained from natural beauty,
To sit on a shelf
Hidden from reality.
hannah Aug 2019
It starts with a peach
It was a good peach
Not spectacular but
Still pretty good
It was free stone
So the flesh fell away
And I was left
With a pit
And an idea

Then the planting
Had to wait
For my mother
To get off the phone
To show a ***
Where my peach pit
Could grow
Bury it deep underneath
Fresh bagged dirt
I'm hoping it will grow
I'm still not really sure

If my peach does grow
I'll have more peaches
Or a tree at least
With fruit to come
I read up online
About how to take care
Of a baby peach tree
When to water and prune
When to let flowers
Blossoms and when to
Pluck away the stems

Now I get to wait
Through long winter days
Watch my peach pit
Grow or not grow
It isn't up to me
I'll hope it'll sprout
Into a lovely tree
But right now
It's just a peach pit
A tiny rock
Full of promise
Peaches don't even grow here. Will that stop me? Hell no.
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