Posts Tagged ‘struggle’

found in the garden

In gardening, life, relationships, time, Uncategorized on September 18, 2010 at 3:52 pm

The gardener has lost his hand shovel with the cracked green handle.

“I put it right here.” He blames his memory, his eyes, his luck, the bushes. “Right here.”

“It will show up,” his wife says.

“Wrong! Things don’t just show up, you have to go after it, nothing comes to you.”

“Then it’s in the place it should be right now. Sit with me.”

“Stubborn,” he grunts, spreading open a resistant rosemary bush.

“Go out and get another then.”

“It fits me, we have a history.”

She makes room. “Same with us.”

He stops and sits.  “Oh, if I ever lose you…”

“I will find you.”

“Can you find my shovel?”


the gardener is sorry

In gardening, poetry on September 12, 2010 at 2:41 pm

“In the garden it’s easy to slip on your words.” This is how the gardener apologizes.

The trees, the flowers, the fruits, the vegetables, the birds, his wife, have heard this before.

They hope it is a long time before the next time.

flowers’ revenge

In gardening, poetry, relationships, spirituality, Uncategorized on September 10, 2010 at 2:13 pm

We call on our friends the bees to sting him.

Again, again!

On the ripe blue vein on his hand when he bends over to snip.

At his neck as he swipes and jerks. 

Thank you,  and again, please.

Oh the joy in his agony and twisted dance.

“Ouch!” is a funny word.

His cursing upsets his wife. She loses sympathy, calls him a child and slams the door.

Spiders get him! Touch his face! Bite hard!

Breathe in his groaning prayers!

Amen brother and sister bees.

We flowers don’t belong in vases besides photographs of dead people.

Kind as we appear, we have our ways.

enemies in the garden

In Uncategorized on September 8, 2010 at 1:54 pm

Weeds are not the enemy of the garden

The gardener is

He has sworn a vendetta on weeds

We are not welcome here he says

I will kill you and your family

The weed lives in fear and sleeps badly

Forced to sulk into self-hatred

The only satisfaction for the weed is to watch the gardener hack

and miss andslice into the neck of his beloved flowers

And hope for melanoma