"gardening" poems
~ Ode to Spring ~
Cherry blossoms filled with bloom
rhododendron’s sweet perfume
warming winds feign summer’s breeze
songbirds singing from the trees
Open windows, déjà vu
sunsets filled with graceful hues
families gather on their strolls
Mother Nature for the soul
Baseball season at the park
evenings lifted from the dark
daylight savings' finally here
patios for wine and beer
Cleaning house and planting seeds
rebirth fills the days and deeds
picnic baskets, hummingbirds
poets find their way in words
Kaleidoscope of bedding plants
shorts in favour over pants
farmers markets, garage sales
power-wash the decks and rails
Hiking, tennis, gardening
inhale the freshness of the spring!
painters, sculptors shape their art
gather here with grateful hearts
Mar 31, 2019
Mar 31, 2019 at 1:15 PM UTC
I think there was something wrong with my bladder
I noticed I was starting to *** a lot
(Must have had an infection somewhere),
It was like every thirty minutes I was going off to the loo
At this rate I thought you'll have the handle of the loo worn off with all the toilet flushing you're doing,
A little while later I'm out in my back garden walking, getting some air
And there's this... there's this great big **** just growing there
And I think to myself "I wonder what'd happen if I peed on that ****
Would it **** it or have any effect on it'
So I started peeing on the **** and you know strangely it starts to become this kind of obsession with me
A kind of a scientific experiment, this peeing on the ****
(Probably shows how empty my life is LoL)
All through the day I go out to *** on my ****
Even at night I go out with a flashlight just to *** on my ****
And sure enough about a week and a half later
The leaves their all starting to wilt, the whole plant just starts turning to mush
Well that's quite a discovery I say to myself,
*** it's a a potent weedkiller
And then there's this other **** a different kind of **** and I start peeing on that one too
And y'know the same thing happens
After a week or two of being constantly peed upon
The other **** starts to wilt as well turn to mush
I'm suddenly reminded of the famous old scientist Issac Newton
The guy who was out in his garden one day and got hit on the head with the apple and then invented gravity
(What goes up must come down)
"Well", I thought, "Issac you're not the only one who discovered something in his garden
Us scientists, yea! we got to stick together, we're a rare breed altogether"
Anyway awhile later I'm down the shop and I bump into this neighbour of mine
He asks me 'Are you enjoying the lovely Spring weather ?'
I told him I was, that it was lovely weather
Then he asks 'Are you doing any Spring cleaning, that house of yours ?'
I thought for a second, then said "Spring cleaning...Naw!"
Then I smiled "But I have... I have been doing a spot of gardening though".
May 2, 2022
May 2, 2022 at 8:08 PM UTC
To the man who made me who I am
Being with you was like learning without a textbook
I just watched and copied and made it my own
From gardening to maths
You made me my own genius
I didn't have to speak for you to know what was wrong
You didn't judge me for the silly things I said
Or how I never learnt at school
You taught me to teach my self
You were my Mr Miyagi
With less riddles more jokes
I learnt that laughter can flood rooms like tidal waves
And we were leaves to float in it
And now you're gone I wont mourn
You would tell me to stop crying and cut my hair
I will use laughter to put a smile on raggedy dolls
And the stories to keep the dark days down
Thank you for being the Godfather of giggles
Making Sunday dinners not the day to fear Mondays
Having gardening not be a chore but a way to think
Rest well Granddad.
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 8:05 PM UTC
I remember our garden,
Wild and beautiful.
Flowers snaked out over cracked paths,
Overgrown orchids and unruly dahlias
Crossed calla lilies,
As they protruded through the jungle
Of luscious foliage.
I remember the smell of jasmine.
It hung heavy in the thick summer air,
Heady and delicious. It was the sweetest
Intoxication and my Mother basked in it.
She would sit for hours under
The old mango tree, cigarette
Smoke coiling around her
As she watched the sun steadily
Disappear behind grey islands.
I longed to reach out to her.
To break her trance,
And infiltrate her thoughts.
I wanted to her to take me with her
Into those private moments.
I didn’t understand it then.
I remember the tune she would hum.
Those long, low notes, penetrating
From her soul.
As I put the silverware away, I hum it.
I hum it in memory of my indigo life,
Turned magnolia.
How I long for that mango tree now,
A hundred years old. His strong
Arms stretched around me,
And my own private moments.
Through the double-glazed windows,
I watch my husband gardening
And wonder. Should I bring him a glass of
Ice-cold lemonade, like
The wives on American TV?
Jul 13, 2011
Jul 13, 2011 at 3:02 PM UTC
ᗩIᑎᕼᗩᖇᗩ
~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
Out of the Palace, into the Queen's
Garden. *'One that could rival King
Paul's Luciuscemian Gardens,'* she
thinks as she walks under the high
cream arches and Grecian columns
with ivy vines coiling around them.
She stands on the white marble
steps. *'Truly, this is the Queen
Mother's finest work yet...'*
~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
The young Queen Lyn spares no
expense in expanding her library,
filling it with leather-bound books
and scrolls, new and old. She spares
no expense when it comes to her
love for herbal teas, near and far...
But her mother?
~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
The Queen Mother is known for
her keen eye, fast wits, bladed
tongue and for her love for fashion,
gardening and a frugal nature.
*'Like frugal mother, like bookish
daughter!'* Ainhara can not help
but to chuckle.
~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
She watches as the gardeners trim
the mint-green grass, beech hedges
and shrubby. But what Ainhara
marvels most are the flowers.
Pots of lavender and roses,
rosemary and mint are placed
around carefully, by the white
lilies, orange lilies, yellow lilies,
flushing lilies.
~ ⚪♫⚪ ~
She notices that green lilies and
blue lilies; the gifts from Queen Yidna;
plants native to her Puhan Kingdom,
are in full bloom. They remind her of the
colours of the Seas that she, Esshi and Lyn
had sailed when they visited Queen Yidna.
*'Puhan has the calmest seas of the brightest
colours,'* She recalls how her Queen was
happy and relaxed then...
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 11:33 AM UTC
A simpler life
No more anger and strife
In the yard, in the sun
Spinning in gardening fun
A big floppy hat
Sunglasses acrobat
Crisp, refreshing mint juleps
When I finish planting these tulips
Owning a house is dream
A capitalist scheme
Millennial bravado
When you choose avocado
Feb 3, 2021
Feb 3, 2021 at 11:11 AM UTC
Today, I am gardening my life,
I'll root out worrisome weeds,
Those thoughts that trouble me,
Cast them aside, those I'd never need.
I'll cut the grass of discontent,
Layer it even, soft, green and sweet,
Smoothen the furrows,
So I can run content, bare feet.
I'll water seeds planted with love,
Of friends made this year,
Friendships that bloomed,
That make life special, worth living and dear.
I'll welcome butterflies,
And make homes for nesting birds,
With them, taste sun's ambrosia,
Soar and see the world.
I'll bask in the rainbow of colors,
Of blossoms brilliant and bright,
And keep them sheltered,
When they sleep at night.
I'll capture the scented essence,
Of roses, jasmines and lilies
Place them in a jar —
As fragrant memories.
I'll love, rest and spend more time,
Under the shade of the family tree,
Cherish every moment, every minute,
Beneath its precious canopy.
And I'll buy new saplings,
Sow them all carefully in a row,
Of hopes, promises to me and mine,
And tend to them, make them grow.
Dec 26, 2016
Dec 26, 2016 at 9:20 AM UTC
Karma?
I don't adhere to it
But I do believe
We reap what we sow
One cannot expect to have peace
When one has sown nothing but discord
Anymore than one can expect a golden crop of corn
When the planter has actually sown beans
And roots of bitterness will sure grow deep and destructive
When not thoroughly torn out of the ground
For a thriving garden must be rid of invading seedlings
Of anything that does not foster, but fights its growth
To reap an abundant harvest
Sometimes, it is starting all over from scratch
For we've all been guilty of poor gardening
Have failed as farmers to one degree or another
You wanted succulent peaches
But you got shriveled prunes
You wanted wheat
But you got weeds
To produce a healthy garden
The fruit of forgiveness must grow as freely
As wildflowers in a field
Row upon row of compassion and love
An orchard of plenty for the desperate in need
Is the most rewarding harvest to reap
It will quench the terrible thirst
And satisfy the yearning soul
Aug 26, 2012
Aug 26, 2012 at 7:39 PM UTC
petals.
petals everywhere.
flower petals.
they flood my stomach, overfill into my throat, and spill out of my mouth.
i wretch.
i heave.
i grip the skin on my legs for purchase.
the petals just don't stop.
petals.
petals everywhere.
in the morning, when i first wake up, petals.
in the evening, when i'm settling in and feeling lonely, petals.
at night, when i'm alone in the dark with my thoughts, petals.
more wretching and heaving.
the petals just won't stop.
petals.
petals everywhere.
when i see your face, petals fly out of my mouth.
out of my mouth and onto the cold, unforgiving concrete.
my knees buckle.
you whisper in a soft voice that could lull me into a blissful slumber.
"are you alright?"
i wretch.
i heave.
why won't these petals go away?
petals.
petals everywhere.
my stomach has become a garden.
has become your garden.
your smile blooms inside of me.
your voice blossoms like a morning glory.
i could get the surgery.
i could get it and forget about you.
about the wretching.
about the heaving.
the petals could go away.
slicing.
dicing.
dissecting.
petals.
petals nowhere.
petals no longer litter the ground i walk.
the bed i sleep in.
the clothes that itch my dry skin.
the sight of your face is now a reminder to me.
a reminder that you are a person.
a person who never appreciated gardening in the first place.
no more wretching.
no more heaving.
no more petals.
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 3:19 AM UTC
I planted a seed of hatred inside of me,
Hoping it would grow,
Hoping the roots would be the beginning of the end,
To the repetitive thud in my chest
Aug 2, 2014
Aug 2, 2014 at 4:02 PM UTC
Somewhere in the tremor of this monsoon rain
Your heart itched in remembrance
And denial took its hands away from your eyes
and so, you cried,
you cried a mountain of tears
Enough to fill the gardening pots
When you watered your roses
With salted despondency
And the flowers began to wilt
You realized to set these dreams free
But even then, they were too far within
Like the arteries in your chest
Keeping you alive
Apr 21, 2022
Apr 21, 2022 at 8:01 AM UTC
I love the colors on you,
The beautiful blue in your eyes,
To the purples on your knee,
The brown dirt on your left hand from this afternoon gardening with me,
Just because i begged you to,
The pink in your cheeks that i love so much,
You get so flustered at the smallest things,
I love the brown of your hair that changes direction with the wind,
The summer bronzing of your skin,
Colors i cant describe,
You give me a new color everyday,
But i am so glad theres one color i never see,
and thats gray.
JD (1:58)
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 11:04 PM UTC
I never really liked gardening before
But I needed to fix up the one down back
It was getting like an empty space
Behing my appartment on a track
I'm only young so much to be done
And an old gardener saw me there
Came over and said need a hand
Goodness yes as I pinned back my hair
Wasn't long and I loved gardening so
Older gardeners they really do know
How to get it all as I'd dreamed some
And how to make it beautiful and grow
Now I'm in that garden every chance
And when he sees me he will call around
I have a secret or two just how it all grew
Among my lemon grass upon the ground
terrence michael sutton
copyright 2018
Jul 22, 2018
Jul 22, 2018 at 10:11 PM UTC
three sets of withered, wrinkly hands
with chipped
tired
pale-pink nailpolish
flutter in the air,
describing.
three froofy perms
one browny-gray
one white
one salt and pepper
bob
jutting forward,
one
wobbles a little.
Grandma wears
a green-foam party hat
with a thin, white elastic band
that runs under her wrinkled chin
it sits atop her fuzzy perm
comically...
she smiles
at me.
"Ah! my cappuccino! you remembered i like it, didn't you?"
she chucks her great-granddaughter
under the chin,
grins
"oohh! look at these gardening gloves! Cidi! look at these gloves! i like the green ones."
she hands them to her white-haired sister
aunt cidi told me
this year she is
ninety-one
oh, and the gloves were really
blue.
aunt cidi
misses uncle harland
he was buried three or four years ago
in his uniform
i remember sitting next to him
at awkward family reunions
eating hotdogs
i never saw so much mustard
in my life
he could never hear me
when i tried to talk to him
but he smiled
anyway.
the talk turns serious
suddenly
over our black coffee
crossed legs
sweaters
and chocolate cake
grandma turns grim
in her lime-green party hat
"did you end up killing that trumpet vine in your yard, Jeanie?"
aunt jeanie's head wobbles a bit
she squints
wrinkles her nose
"i TRIED to!"
she scowls.
schemes of ******
plotted by three chunky-earringed
sweet
old ladies
who are a little late
for the 1940's
but never too late
for a handsome
soldier
"we're older..."
says aunt jeanie
"but not THAT old!"
they all
giggle.
May 11, 2013
May 11, 2013 at 7:42 PM UTC
As I look around my home,
In my garden, I see gnomes,
Sitting on their little domes,
Do they think, these gnomes?
Are they philosophical, I wonder,
As garden weeds I plunder,
What are you guys staring at?
I'm gardening, okay, that's that!
Consider the garden gnomes,
Sitting there on their little domes,
Cute, but ugly, little misters,
I find them a trifle sinister............
Oct 6, 2016
Oct 6, 2016 at 11:00 PM UTC
Headline Story:
Sweet old lady found dead in oven;
Science and Medical:
Prince develops cure for narcolepsy;
Gardening and Leisure:
Giant beanstalk wins first prize;
Duckling takes honors in beauty pageant;
Entertainment:
Sorcerers apprentice: You're Fired!
Jul 13, 2014
Jul 13, 2014 at 7:32 PM UTC
What I managed to regrow,
You stomped on.
You waltzed into my garden
Like you had grown the whole place yourself,
Your nose in the air.
You looked at my carrots and scoffed,
My cucumbers you mocked
And you thought my garden gnomes were ******
And I let you,
Because you acted like you knew so much about gardening
You said the caterpillars would help my leaves
And the crows would **** out my rotten veggies
But those cruel birds have just been eating away at my prize-winning squash,
and the tomato worms....well, they ate all my ripe tomatoes.
You said you'd help me tend to my garden
But you rarely make it over
And when you do, you throw a shovel in my face
And tell me to get on my knees.
You watch while I ****
And talk about the grandeur of the flowers next door.
And I wonder as I wipe my brow,
What I ever thought I needed you for?
And why you ever came over in the first place,
Since you obviously prefer pretty colors to nutrition
And you must have had some notion that I would one day realize,
That you've never kept anything alive in your life,
And you don't even have a yard.
Nov 9, 2010
Nov 9, 2010 at 6:55 PM UTC
This looks very strange to me.
I am from the Island,
And...
You never see it.
This blue sky spreads a beautiful
Calmness amongst everyone and everything.
The birds chirp, the people do their gardening
And speak nice things about their neighbours.
And yet,
In the corner of a dark room,
There I sit.
Alone.
Alone and angry.
The path has split and cracked
And I stagger with drunken fury.
All the way home.
This endless rage burns,
And burns through my words.
But at who?
What for?
The sea is dark, blue and empty.
The ship bobs in the churning water,
As one man pulls endlessly at fishnets,
But vultures circle above waiting for him to starve.
GRAHAM MURPHY
May 30, 2013
May 30, 2013 at 7:31 PM UTC
your fingers planted seeds everywhere you touched me
you watered them by whispering into my ears
and flowers sprouted from my spine each time you kissed me
Nov 24, 2014
Nov 24, 2014 at 11:52 AM UTC
I am terrified
Of the demons camped out in my mind
I did not welcome them
None of us do
But out of a ****** up gene pool and a thunderstorm of circumstance they emerge
Ugly horrible creatures
Now you're saying I'm crazy
I sure as **** am
We're all ******* crazy
We're mad
We're Ginsberg's Roman candles shooting violently across the sky
That's not fair
(Though life hardly is)
Perhaps it's not just us
Perhaps it's these demons
Demons so keen on gardening and planting seeds in our heads
Seeds of emotion
Of self-doubt
of love
of laziness and disappointment
Seeds that sprout and consume
Winding and twisting
allowing such little light
Of course we have the power
We have the shears
We can cut the vines
But do we have the strength?
Do I?
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 10:50 PM UTC
Gardening The Forest: A Work In Progress
I garden the forest.
Walking everywhere – like Johnny Appleseed –
I keep my excellent Swedish clippers at my side,
And when I eye a roadside tree
With branch too low, so’s I can see,
I make the lower branches go,
Prune and clear selectively,
Clip high as I can reach,
Which,
Being five foot one
And using muscle of the female kind,
Is always kind to undergrowth,
Seduced by ‘further’,
Blazing paths that never were,
So light can filter through.
It wants for sun. It makes for light.
The woods and I are one;
But I can’t tell a soul.
Wandering on until de-celeration
Starts to take me over,
Signs I’ve learned to recognize
When fervor starts to waver
And observer me says “Rest!”
Works in progress never cease.
It is a forest,
After all.
Work In Progress: Gardening The Forest 11.28.2006 revised 1.18.2014/again 4.20.2015
Circling Round Nature; Circling Round Nature II:
Aug 25, 2016
Aug 25, 2016 at 4:47 PM UTC
Glances in passing and nothingness,
I'll drop out and take up gardening.
And you are so cool, all German bred,
and sometimes braided. I see you, so
well-read and rather regal. ***** blonde
nuclear, alabaster, aluminum rods -
electricity dripping from the soles of
your shoes. This classroom, my own
ink blotted incubator, the radiator sits,
flatlining. Your jaw as two razor blades,
your shoulder blades, broad, gentle.
I wonder how you look in the morning,
How you look at yourself in the mirror.
Do you practice smiling, and
how often do you wash your hair? Oh,
you exist in glass, and I will not try to
know you. Leaving this poem limited,
and yet. Your jam drop mouth houses all
well-spoken soliloquies, radical requiems.
So, what would happen if we brushed
shoulders in passing? Your little accent.
Accident, we appeared in the same
huddled mass. Literary plugs in the
drain, and your new American. So,
why don't we just go walking on
airplane wings? Some transcontinental
affair. Frequent flyer ******* stranger.
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 5:48 PM UTC
sneaky stan, the builder man,
who laboured on the site
wheeled a barrow full of straw
for two weeks every night
foreman feared some pilfering
and searched it every day
he fumbled round, but always found
now't below the hay.
but sneaky stan, a gardening man,
unhappy with wage rates
had stolen fourteen wheel barrows
and sold em to his mates
Mar 12, 2010
Mar 12, 2010 at 2:08 PM UTC
I begin to wonder into gardening, so many flowers to choose from
My first try was not the best, even though I tried really hard
It almost seem like they hated me, they looked lovely but they had a deathly poison
It did not get easier, but I learned a few things a long the way as this passion continued.
Then one day, when I was going to give up I found a flower
Maybe not the pretties but with time it bloom in to something my heart could not believe
Something that let me know that my hand could do something
And let my plant know that there was love.
Things got rough and I had to travel and could not take my garden of Darwinias
I tried to give them the same love but they started to slowly die
Every now and then they do respond well. I just hope they can me it till I get back
But I too started to lose my hope…
They are in my mind very often but I’ve started to look for a new flower
I got blinded once again; I choose the flowers that would not bloom
I tried to find something that could compare to my Darwinia but nothing ever could
The Kerria japonica came in to my way with its bright yellow and made my heart stop
I still love my original garden but this; this just took my breath away it made my soul feel warm
They could not just grow anywhere
Dec 1, 2012
Dec 1, 2012 at 4:24 PM UTC