"groundwork" poems
Let me tell you the story of our serendipitous meeting, when we had been working not too far from each other for months but only just met. Let me tell you about how I was slacking off because I was bored of work, and tired of life in general. Let me tell you about how meeting you literally saved my life, for I had already made the plans and set the groundwork-my decision made long before and solidified more every day. Let me tell you about how you walked up oh so casually as I was talking to a mutual friend. And baby, let me tell you how I thought you were pretty freaking cute, and how I was so nervous and excited when you joined in our conversation. But let me tell you also how I showed myself to you from that very first meeting and you accepted all of me wholeheartedly. Because, let me tell you, I was at my very worst in those moments. And let me tell you how I walked away from that meeting with a genuine smile on my face, the first in years.
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 1:05 PM UTC
Perched quietly in the shadows of the night,
Observing completely, using all her might,
Untouched the landscape sat; she breathed a sigh,
She leapt and began to fly
She soared through the trees, dark and murky,
Weaving in and out, the ride a little jerky,
Until she reached the clearing, blooming and sprouting,
Where she landed and began scouting
She spotted a baby, small and alone,
Hungry and confused, wanting to be shown,
Flying over to the area in which it sat,
She pulled some wisdom from her hat
Unmoving and silent, she sat as an example,
Showing her apprentice just a little sample,
Teaching patience and perseverance was first on the list,
She didn’t quit until it got the gist
Next thing she knew, her student was growing,
In no time, it was the one doing all the showing,
She took a step back, gazing proudly at her work,
While the child continued doing all the groundwork
Rays peaked out across the horizon in all hues,
Most of which consisted of reds and blues,
She looked at the child, beckoning it to fly on home,
Although she longed to stay and roam
As the sun rose, slow and bright,
She decided to turn and take off in flight,
Twisting and turning through trees and brush,
She flew on quickly, as if in a rush
She spotted it then, modest and small,
The place she longed to go most of all,
Adventures are fun and she liked to roam,
But there’s definitely no place quite like home.
Jan 11, 2018
Jan 11, 2018 at 10:27 PM UTC
To know just where your're going
You must know where you've been
You must respect the history
The things others have seen
It's true in all things relative
Be it music, sports or life
If you don't know where you came from
You're just dancing on a knife
Gherig, Ruth and Robinson
May, and Mantle, Seaver too
Respect their contributions
And don't just say Ruth who?
Respect where things have come from
And the players of the past
Because you learn and make things better
It's what makes the **** game last
Jimmy Foxx, Bob Gibson, Kaline
Nestor Chylak and The Goose
They made baseball special
They gave the game a little juice
Orr, Richard and Gretzky
Gordie Howe and Howie Morenz
You have to know about them
You need the beginning to your ends
Bob Baun and Bill Barilko
Connie Smythe and yeah...the Chief
You have to know their history
They're what it is to be a Leaf
The game has changed immensely
Things can not go back in time
But to me...the old alumni
Made the game I know as mine
Respect the ones before you
The ones who laid the groundwork down
The ones who made it special
The non-pretenders to the crown
Elvis, Buddy, Harrison
Played the songs inside their heart
Lennon, Wilson and the rest
They all played a real big part
Every single generation
should learn from the one before
For if they don't know where they've come from
Then what has it all been for?
Nicklaus, Palmer, Bobby Jones
Sarazen and Hogan too
They pushed the gameright to it's limits
Now the pressure's upon you
The new breed are the teachers now
They're the ones to lead the way
When twenty or so years from now
You'll hear somebody say
"Respect who came before you
The ones who made us so **** proud
LIke Nash and , Perry and Taylor Hall
They played the game so loud
Pudge, Jeter, and Verlander
they brought it up a notch
They were there to stretch the limits
Not to just sit by and watch
Rory, Justin Rose and Mahan
Bubba, Dustin and the rest
They are the players of the future
They all respected the games best
So, to know where you are going
You must know where you have been
Respect, past through the future
And all that's happened in between.
May 4, 2012
May 4, 2012 at 4:49 PM UTC
i mean, who the hell needs an individualised
orchestra? Mozart doesn't, Beethoven doesn't,
Chopin and Liszt is all piano
so never mind the punk renegade violinist...
how the Indians or the Chinese orchestrated
a population of a billion is staggering,
western powers ********** blanks by comparison,
it's like a body and a virus, translated
with optometry the way we say things,
Sanskrit or the Beijing Ouija - looking at it
is like ingesting the Swiss champagne miracle - nausea
or alternatively lysergia -
it's ******* me up acquiring this tongue
given the history of celebrated colonialism -
proof of the Hackney populace being solely
Caribbean - what a desecrate groundwork to begin with,
maybe Irish maybe Scout maybe Scot,
on the word of honour dynamic pledging
conveniences with the Vatican - look
no further, we're naturalised sadists, football matches
and the sickbed eventualists rather than
evangelists, former nonsense reductionistists...
so they preached their Darwinism exactly against
the theologically roundabout of the pyramids
and the celestial intervention - but expected
nil barbarism... kingly kindness was at least
the expected norm, but if you preach Darwinism
you'll hardly convene on kindness as
the standard norm of expression -
track 12 of the beach boys' pet sounds is elevator music,
i'll be honest... pop music drama of
the band... you never hear of it with orchestras;
the point of genius: you're not really there,
absentee, you do the sacrifice, and make others
make the dough for the bread that's a house and
a family of four, e.g; and just by petting
cats i learned that all animals, petted or wild,
are naturally / intrinsically autistic.
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 1:21 PM UTC
Do you remember?
When we laughed so hard,
That I lost a contact?
That little jig you did started me chuckling,
My snorts got you to join in,
My ribs hurt the next day.
Do you remember?
When I told you that I first loved you,
And you kept me in suspense?
Later on, you told me that you felt the same when I said it,
But was scared that it was too soon for you to vocalize it too,
But to be honest I wanted to tell you on our second date.
Do you remember?
When you first seemed to read my mind,
And told me exactly what was going on in my brain?
I was furious with your father,
And I wanted to snap him in two,
You just looked at me with your hypnotic green eyes,
And told me to breath,
Rubbing my shoulders as you did so.
Do you remember?
That first pregnancy scare,
Where we didn't know what we were going to do?
We were in your car,
Outside that convention we were volunteering at,
And that talk laid the groundwork for what we would eventually have to go through.
Do you remember?
Our first kiss,
Upon that restaurant roof?
Slow dancing to Tyler Childers,
Playing through the tinny speakers of a phone,
On that warm sunny day in June.
Jan 7, 2023
Jan 7, 2023 at 1:01 AM UTC
for Maria
if you have lived with me for more than a day,
you know I hero worship each individual word
in my birthed American English language
as is my style, I oft honor it with a poem,
but begin indubitably with a definition
Base
is such a word that deserves a recitation
for complex it is, a multiplicity of uses,
a word of many characters,
a word so unusual,
to the French I defer,
un mot plein de mystère
see its complexity,
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/base
a base is:
your bedrock, your cornerstone,
on firm footing your base must exist
t'is a groundwork word,
a keystone cop,
a root underpinning,
your warp,
your woof
Your children
so when taken,
when the spiritual
is crushingly wrong*
sometimes I feel like a motherless child,
*tense all wrong,
all wrong perversed,
the words reversed
You understand the nuance of words
so much better, and you
engage it
for now the word, just
enrages
Base
my new base
is
bad, black, evil, foul, immoral, iniquitous,
wrong and cruel
my new base-full state now,
my new base-less state now
this is my base now,
now that my organs,
cut from my body,
cannot be restored
Base is my life
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 5:51 AM UTC
Christ my leader
bring me through,
Christ my center
keep me true,
Christ my groundwork
hold me straight,
Christ my balance
bear my weight,
Christ transcending
time and space
Thou art my final
resting place.
Jan 14, 2017
Jan 14, 2017 at 10:35 AM UTC
I am obsessed with my own mortality
or maybe the fact that I believe I am immortal
how could I die?
how could any thought of mine be final?
it can't just end
I wake up everyday
eyes peeled wide
and comfortably rise from where I lay
sure others pass
but they are not me
they don't walk in my shoes
they don't see what I see
they aren't special
and I am because well...
because I believe I am
I just know I can tell
but maybe there's truth to what they say
the groundwork which they lay
treasure life every second
because it could end any day
it's sobering
to think you're nothing but a ticking timer
that someday it will eventually end
that whatever you have won't last forever
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 11:29 PM UTC
Stories always seem to start in the summer
Not as in
"begin"
or for the first time
be conceived,
but when they live
Winter is dormant,
all the laid groundwork
beneath frozen grass,
yellow-green ice shards
protruding from their
chandelier garden
Hopes and
wishes and
dreams and
sadness and
loves
Pent up
for the past 9 months,
emotional gestation
released in
a bacchanalian
of shameless
feelings
and ritzy wine-coolers
Drink from the goblet.
Fear of the Kool-Aid
has past.
It's immortality.
Aug 9, 2014
Aug 9, 2014 at 3:14 PM UTC
he said,
"you laid the groundwork for my psyche.
some of the dirt on this ground is yours.
you tended the plants with me."
he took my silence for acquiescence, but it was shock.
he did not affect the pathways of my mind.
after all of it,
I just stretched a twelve month stretch
and wanted to be a doctor.
Feb 14, 2013
Feb 14, 2013 at 1:31 AM UTC
ring around my finger
your kiss it lingers
in your eyes and on my hand
watching me leave your land
standing out by the trees
cold autumn-threaded breeze
so far I'll miss you
I risk even this too
living apart now
trust our lives
to our art
when the toll's paid
groundwork, road laid
I'll walk the bargainer's path
we'll make it there,
and last.
Sep 23, 2012
Sep 23, 2012 at 11:59 PM UTC
First one death,
The Old destroyed.
Reborn anew,
Unto two,
Those two combined,
And with it life.
He has read the holy scriptures,
He's learned the myths abroad.
He's lived and breathed among every star,
Yet still He felt so lost.
He's seen the Cosmic Maw,
He's wandered the Abyss,
He's looked under every grain of sand,
But even still,
Somehow He missed.
Until that night,
A blinding light?
This lady?
Nay?
This Heavenly Light?
She extended her hand,
Her smile like a sun,
and embraced this lost creature,
Who had been born on the run.
She was human and more, Broken and healed.
She was a beautiful unknown in a world of guilt.
She was a treasured sunrise over a blossoming world,
She was the most amazing thing I have ever felt, held or heard.
My philosopher's fire,
My alchemical catalyst.
As if suddenly articulate,
I could embrace those around.
I learned of more than survive and drown;
I learned more of myself.
The groundwork finally laid,
With equal parts Her help,
He finally was here to stay.
I could finally live and play.
First one death,
The Old destroyed.
Reborn anew,
Unto two,
Those two combined,
And with it my life.
Apr 8, 2022
Apr 8, 2022 at 9:30 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
Ya see the actual fact is
At times it’s not attractive
When we’re called to be proactive
Cos the atmosphere’s refractive
As if an insurmountable force
Things have suddenly changed course
And the protagonist has no remorse
Like the bullets a shooter packs
Or a freight train off the tracks
A reactionary reacts
Only to established facts
Don’t cha find it kinda strange
That we still argue climate change
After all those hurricanes
You’d think by now we’d use our brains
We’ve been shaken yet not stirred
Sumthin’ had to have occurred
Though silence is preferred
It should make us say my word
Like the bullets a shooter packs
Or a freight train off the tracks
A reactionary reacts
Only to established facts
And the argument’s been made
By the price already paid
For the groundwork to be laid
So our planet can be saved
And by now I think its clear
Just check out the atmosphere
Global warming would appear
To be already here
So it shouldn’t take much more
For the doubter to be sure
That the ozone layer’s core
Is sumthin we can’t ignore
Like the bullets a shooter packs
Or a freight train off the tracks
A reactionary reacts
Only to established facts
Ya see the actual fact is
At times it’s not attractive
When we’re called to be proactive
Cos the atmosphere’s refractive
As if an insurmountable force
Things have suddenly changed course
And the protagonist has no remorse
(c) Copyright 2015, Cedric McClester. All rights reserved.
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 7:52 AM UTC
The sky was lit with fireworks,
subtly laying the groundwork.
Our wandering eyes met,
and I swear I heard a string-quartet.
The childish blush that overcame my cheeks,
seemed to appear in hot, red streaks.
You walked nearer and my eyes twinkled with anticipation,
thinking you were to make some grand declaration,
of our feelings that needed exploring,
see, it felt like my heart was soaring.
I didn’t realize that in the drink you were pouring,
was what would ruin everything for me.
My voice was lost so quickly you see,
because you seemed to know little ol’ me.
It wasn’t until it set in,
the walls seemed to move from where they had been.
My mind was clouded in the darkness,
and now I’m thinking, "how could you be so heartless?"
But not like the song,
no, nothing about us was like music, easy and flowing.
You took from me, what wasn’t yours to take,
I’d been a blank slate,
but by then your wandering eyes,
had looked like they’d won a prize.
We didn’t fit together like puzzle pieces,
I still remember how my dress had creases.
The next morning was worse,
it was then I watched my trust in men ride off in a hearse.
The pools of blue that once intrigued me,
resurrect within what seems to be a raging sea
of emotions, that I cannot suppress
and it’s you that got me into this mess.
I’d been in love with you since I was sixteen,
something that now seems so obscene.
So at eighteen, I thought you’d finally seen me,
but now you’ve seen more of me than need be.
That bet you made with your friends,
left me with a darkness that descends,
especially when I sleep,
leaving me to feel like a black sheep.
But, as time has passed,
within me there’s been a huge contrast.
I will not be a ‘victim’ anymore,
and someday I’ll feel my heart soar.
I’ll experience another fleeting glance,
and one day, I’ll give love a second chance.
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 9:38 PM UTC
I saved a voicemail you left me on the 12th of February.
You said that you hoped I had a great day, and you were proud of me.
I’ll never delete that.
Not because I don’t think your proud of me,
but because one day soon I won’t be able to hear your voice anymore.
Words swell in my throat daily, and I feel like it’s going to collapse at any second.
But it doesn’t.
I swallow. Harder. Then even harder. And eventually the lump in my throat dies along with the tears swelling in my eyes.
I go to school, life, social events, and home with my mask.
Sometimes I even wear it to bed.
WHY! I scream in my mind. I scream so loud I’m sure everyone can hear me.
But they don’t. No one can or will.
Of all the people in this world, why you, Daddy?
Why my Dad, my rock and groundwork for my success?
Why, God, would you take your most loyal servant from me?
Right. You selfish god, you.
I saw a picture of us today, Dad.
We were happy. You smiled, and I smiled. WE smiled.
Family again. Whole again.
Just to be taken, for the last time.
Daddy, I don’t want to say goodbye.
Please Daddy. I’m tired of wiping my eyes, and ruining perfectly good shirts.
You’re still happy. How?
That’s right. Because heroes don’t cry.
And neither does my Dad.
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 2:15 AM UTC
The gravity of loneliness
It heaves and sighs like shifting ice
That moans like whales in the night time
It's weight I've grown accustom to
Settled down solid on my bones
My bare shoulders ache and bend
My spine curves under the pressure
I pray for a tectonic shift
Havoc to my structure ingrained
Groundwork for new ways to relate
Dec 15, 2016
Dec 15, 2016 at 11:08 PM UTC
My mind is open to the new
Your mind is open?
Why the new?
_________________________________________________
*Building the new you
Lay down the law
Set the groundwork*
**Build the foundation
Work through the stress
Challenge yourself**
*Trust comes from within
Evaluate
Clear train of thought*
**Gather the power
Believe yourself
Understand you**
*Regulate the power
Carry no pain
Live free, Be YOU!*
May 12, 2010
May 12, 2010 at 8:32 AM UTC
I imagine you already understand what I'm proposing
Though I don't quite feel I can openly say it yet.
I've laid down the groundwork I feel is necessary
And pushed the idea honestly, if not slightly indirect.
I imagine this may not work and I'm resigned to that.
I can see where I'd like to be though I'm satisfied here.
I've a picture in my head that I can't quite shake free
And it's bright, beautiful, untainted by fear.
I'm nothing but blunt though I'd like to think I've tact.
I'm not impatient enough to push and rush.
I'm don't believe my efforts will seamlessly bear fruit
But the possibilities are more than enough.
I imagine that I'm not reaching, not stretching
To make something that can't exist.
I imagine but, if I'm wrong,
I'm quite content as is.
Sep 23, 2015
Sep 23, 2015 at 4:25 PM UTC
“The human races from which great nations
with a broad & progressive culture emerged
that has influenced all of ancient & modern
history to this day, and of which many very
talented nations & still vibrant & progressing —
[these great races number only two]:
_the Semites_ & the Indo-Europeans _or Aryans_.”
- Joseph Klausner
Klausner had earlier used the term “savage”
in his book “Ha’adam Hakadmon”
(“Prehistoric Man”), on the foundations of anthropology,
published in Warsaw in 1900 by Tushiya Press.
There Klausner referred to Sigismond Zaborovsky’s work
“The Prehistoric Man,” published in French in 1878;
a pair of books on the prehistoric age
written by Moriz Hoernes & published
in German in 1892 and 1897, as well
as on works by race researchers
like Karl Penka, author of “The Aryan Origin” (1886)
& Ludwig Wilser, author of “The Origin of the Germans” (1885)
& “The Prehistoric Origins of the Aryans” (1899).
Decades before the Nazis, Penka
& Wilser laid the groundwork
for the racial doctrines glorifying
the purity and supremacy of the Aryan race;
Klausner’s book was a collection of excerpts
from these works, translated into Hebrew;
a Jewish diaspora
who coalesced during the Holy Roman
Empire around the end of the first millennium;
Ashkenazi Jewish intelligence, often referred
to as the "Jewish Genius" is a subject that
explores why Ashkenazi Jews tend to have
[Marx, Freud, Einstein & Hollywood formulating a Judeo-centered worldview
posing as atheism: Neitzche's
pronouning the Death of YHWH, buried
beside his son; both graves empty;
the Jews rejecting Christ: a higher intelligence
than all other ethnic [despite the prevalent
myth, evidence indicates actual
Ashkanazi are more or less borderline ********
the "Ashkanazi Genius" surviving
solely in the poetry of Bob Dylan;
groups and excel disproportionately in many
[Jung also rejected this covert Zionism]
fields, and has been an occasional subject
of scientific controversy;
The average IQ score of Ashkenazi
Jews has been calculated to be from
a range of 110–115, significantly higher
than any other ethnic group in the world;
Today's Ashkenazi Jews suffer from
a number of congenital diseases and
mutations at higher rates than most
other ethnic groups
Ashkenazi Jews, also known as
Ashkenazic Jews or simply Ashkenazim
(Hebrew: אַשְׁכְּנַזִּים, Ashkenazi Hebrew
pronunciation: [ˌaʃkəˈnazim], singular:
[ˌaʃkəˈnazi], Modern Hebrew: [aʃkenaˈzim,
aʃkenaˈzi]; also יְהוּדֵי אַשְׁכְּנַז Y'hudey Ashkenaz):
Ashkenazi students in West Bank school
protest against end of Sephardi-Ashkenazi
segregation; Ministry threatens to prosecute parents.
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 11:32 AM UTC
Falling
in
love
with
you
was its own intrinsic adventure,
that
oh
so
typical
whirlwind
of gathering knowledge
and settling the groundwork
for memories yet to be made.
But being,
ah,
being in love with you
is quite different, sir.
Falling, see, was a
flash flood,
waters up to my neck
and I was drowning
in the emotion before
I could comprehend
it for what it was-
love.
But being, being is a
steady drizzle,
the kind that's light
and enjoyable. You sit
at the window watching
the steady stream and
listening to the tap
tap
tap
and it seems it will never end.
So you go outside and
throw your arms out,
point your face up and
twirl
twirl
twirl
with wild abandon.
Falling in love with you was
a head-spinningly exciting
experience, but being in love
with you is when I truly became
free.
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 7:56 PM UTC
hypochondira and hyperactivity,
misguiding nouns.
*vinum bonum et suave,
bonis binum, pravis prave,
ave mundana laetitia!*
łyski - whiskey -
łysy... itching to slap a skinhead...
so the question:
what are the ad hoc parameters of
cogito ergo sum?
i so wish to be given an
ad hoc clarity for certain maxims...
in most instances they're bibles,
obscurity riddles them a hymnal status,
and that said: holy.
i wan't to be given the ad hoc
instruction manual for certain
eurekas...
i'm told that the already stated
prefigures subjectivity...
and that the subconscious
isn't merely a bystanders' experience of
puppetteering...
insinuation sphere...
just like i might add third party
inquisitors demanding of me that:
every dream has a hidden meaning behind it.
so many have died trying to
create the uncoscious contraceptive...
this mental *******
this exploitative subconscious insinuation
puppet motivation...
the subconscious only exists
to create the other's drone capitalisation
of fragility...
the synonym of the subconscious
within groundwork of making choices,
acknowledging ethic, is insinuation,
spies and the alphabetical fixation on
subversion, and all other subs- congregate.
and it really does sound like nonsense
once the enemy's tongue is waggling...
some even called it the
omnivore safehaven...
when in fact so much was prioritised
for dietary requirements...
that became bouldered
anorexic grey-areas;
synchronised skeleton army
tugging the chimeras of crimea,
shortened to the word: Krym.
knowing this tongue, i should be apt at
forging any and all ethnic linkage with it
being expressed: i should be gagging
for a forthnight spent in las vegas!
but there's me, dreaming of a tartar steak.
Jan 11, 2017
Jan 11, 2017 at 2:11 PM UTC
Devin Nunes and fellow Republicans
Certainly had their hands full
When they composed a controversial
Memo that was basically bull.
Nunes' cherry-picked assertions
Were assembled to malign
The FBI and also to lay
The groundwork for firing Rosenstein.
Trump was advised not to release
The memo but did it anyway,
Nervous because the Mueller probe
Is closing in day by day.
Before Trump had even seen
The Nunes memo, he avowed
He would release it, which in turn
Would do his Republican lackeys proud.
The Democrats have sent to Trump
Another memo for release--
One that rebuts the Devin Nunes'
Attack-memo, piece by piece.
But what? Trump won't release it?
All of a sudden we all learn
That national security
Is the president's major concern.
So Russian meddling in our elections
Is not a serious issue, and yet
A memo rebutting misinformation
Is a major security threat?
"Release the memo!" messages
Won't be sent out by Russian bots
To help you, Dems. They are waiting
For Nunes to write more devious plots.
The more Trump has tried to resist--
The more he's covered up facts and lied--
The more it seems so obvious
That there is something he's trying to hide.
-by Bob B (2-10-18)
Feb 10, 2018
Feb 10, 2018 at 12:38 PM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
Ya see the actual fact is
At times it’s not attractive
When we’re called to be proactive
Cos the atmosphere’s refractive
As if an insurmountable force
Things have suddenly changed course
And the protagonist has no remorse
Like the bullets a shooter packs
Or a freight train off the tracks
A reactionary reacts
Only to established facts
Don’t cha find it kinda strange
That we still argue climate change
After all those hurricanes
You’d think by now we’d use our brains
We’ve been shaken yet not stirred
Sumthin’ had to have occurred
Though silence is preferred
It should make us say my word
Like the bullets a shooter packs
Or a freight train off the tracks
A reactionary reacts
Only to established facts
And the argument’s been made
By the price already paid
For the groundwork to be laid
So our planet can be saved
So by now I think its clear
Just check out the atmosphere
Global warming would appear
To be already here
So it shouldn’t take much more
For the doubter to be sure
That the ozone layer’s core
Is sumthin we cannot ignore
Like the bullets a shooter packs
Or a freight train off the tracks
A reactionary reacts
Only to established facts
Ya see the actual fact is
At times it’s not attractive
When we’re called to be proactive
Cos the atmosphere’s refractive
As if an insurmountable force
Things have suddenly changed course
And the protagonist has no remorse
Cedric McClester, Copyright (c) 2016. All rights reserved.
Nov 19, 2016
Nov 19, 2016 at 5:47 AM UTC
In the early frosted morning sunshine of our love
we laid the groundwork for a garden
the foundations and the walls, the borders of the beds,
a classical explosion of trusting sturdy boxwoods,
bright perennials, risky annuals
their bulbs entrusted to this fertile soil.
Flowers of exotic derivation
and those of timeless grace flourish
leaf to leaf, petals touching stamens
as we dig, plant, tending, cheek to cheek, our love.
Each new planting an experience, and
each new shared experience the planting,
a new species, a new bright blossom introduced into our garden.
We grow our garden fresh and bright,
encouraging deep roots - they demand less maintenance.
Boundaries and borders so cleanly laid
blur with the comfort of time.
Inevitable weeds blow in, over strong walls.
Even Eden needed weeding, and the
comfortable passage of years proves our garden
no exception. Still in all,
the rest are out, and we are in.
Each **** our **** each thorn our thorn;
this is once and always our place,
our space to tend, sacred and secret,
this garden of our love.
Feb 19, 2017
Feb 19, 2017 at 5:40 AM UTC