Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
#horticulture
She was a crepe myrtle, ancient and creaking in the wind whom I loved very much, and whom I indulged myself to believe reciprocated my attachment. An alien species, she found herself an obliging home years before I came along to lodge in the building whose occupancy expected that one mow the backyard in which she blossomed. And there she blossoms still, within view of the kitchen window. And tells me in the sweetest sways her memoirs most sorrowful.
0
Apr 11, 2020
Apr 11, 2020 at 10:26 PM UTC
ornamental tree industry
Assume the role of groundskeeper entirely and entitledly. This is your destiny: as a human being your role is to care for every plant, animal, and fungus as your kin, for they are the material that breeds us. Permaculture is a simple tale: Listen, and you will be told; Ask, and you will be answered; Play and you will be happy :) Your propagations, transplants, and seeds will grow, flower, and reseed...
0
Mar 30, 2020
Mar 30, 2020 at 2:27 PM UTC
Permaculture: a diary entry
Come, Jenny, let us turn gardeners for life And let us cultivate love in our garden, Full & supple and steaming & pure. Let us shatter the shackles of belief, Hearts thump aloud if you will listen, Come, Jenny, come let us unite as one... Come, Jenny, hold this watering cannister, Come help my hand already holding it, It is very light that you would hold... Filled with love for our kind of horticulture, We hold it happily as our love will not end, Yes, the one I just named Heart-i-Culture. This will give us more happiness and love, We shall be together through every trough, Now our chaste love will blossom & bloom.
0
Jul 28, 2019
Jul 28, 2019 at 5:34 PM UTC
Heart-i-Culture
If I were a tree then a poem, to me would flow just like my xylem and phloem
0
May 14, 2016
May 14, 2016 at 2:39 PM UTC
A Comparison
The president of the horticulture club thumbs the violet leaves of a aconite ignoring the shooting pain crawling on her skin. The other members glare at her, waiting for the reaction- touch the frail plant and your mouth is sure to set on fire. The contact she has on the flower is insanely dangerous. Potent alkaloids bloom overhead and she continues to breathe in deeply as if she is trying to swallow the strong, acrid taste of the atmosphere, which should have sent her into a frenzy of disorientation and seizures of her small limbs but at last, she glances at the frozen treasurer and spoke calmly, her mouth slouching, "Are you writing this down? I want the future of this club to know to never touch plants without doing their research." Then she blinks, slumps against the bench, undeterred.
0
Sep 28, 2015
Sep 28, 2015 at 12:10 PM UTC
Aconite Napellus