Ode To My Container Garden
Bee balm bristles hummingbirds lift her three- tiered magenta skirts jasmine quietly fills her pot with starry-eyed blossoms honeysuckle's sinewy arms tangle and twist through my primitive crossbows of branch no taming this shrew tight buds will soon shriek with high notes of sweetness parsley so polite sits in her pot leggy stems crossed ruffled small bouquets in hand waiting a warm marinara or cold couscous clematis and its walking stick I've planted in her soil a heavenly climb, to the empty eaves of the porch lavender addresses honey bees with confidence knowing she'll be intimate with drawers of bedsheets and underwear and yes, there have been failures... Asian basil that turned spindly and sparse too small to fulfill my exotic dreams of Thai dishes pungent with herbs my oregano is looking like a sad old Italian its tiny oval leaves fading a lonely aria left standing on my stone bench never to share in the wedded bliss of basil, olive and Romaine. Margaret
Earth Aromatica
Normally such a filthy, stinky place. Smokestack, marsh, bovine flatulence, and us so near to running out of air. Back in time, at start of Her bluer era, the taint of salty wind kept going for weeks, but soon, at every gust, the candle flickered, nearly snapped. The normal day ran gray. To heal herself, She made to quickly lait a wholesome, watermelon-like sweetness, an antimony air that sways and melts. That day, Her leafy breath, by its reverent, Dedalus-gifted intelligence, created an elegant dance of ripened fruit, thyme, jasmine vine, and piney shoot. Robert
Seasonal Zen
Spring explodes in almost painful colors like bright posterboards holding children’s presentations. “Look at me!” “No, look at me!” Butterflies and hummingbirds hardly know where to perch first. Gently seasons turn. Leaves brown, thin, and only the spiderweb skeletons remain. Blackeyed Susans’ bee stripe costumes drop leaving sticks, and haunted bones. This piques my interest. What remains when color rests? This must be what is true. Maureen Kane
The Gardener Within
In realms of verdant grace, where sunlight spills, a tapestry unfolds on gentle hills. The garden wakes, a sanctuary fair, where blossoms breathe their perfumes onto the air. A myriad of hues, a painter's grand design, from ruby depths to amethystine shine, And sun-kissed petals, gold in their embrace, a silent symphony in this enchanted space.
The silken touch of textures, soft and deep, where velvet folds and fragile surfaces sleep. A tactile wonder, whispering delight, beneath the gaze of morning's pearly light, And fragrant sighs that subtly intertwine, of jasmine's breath and eglantine so fine, A sweet libation, borne on zephyr's wing, the garden's whispered, aromatic spring.
Where painted wings of butterflies take flight, and jeweled hummingbirds, a dazzling sight, Sip nectar sweet, a vital, vibrant quest, from bloom to bloom, on sunbeams they are blessed. The patient hand that cultivates with love, a partnership with earth, sent from above, To coax the verdant bounty from the soil, and share the joy of beauty's gentle toil.
For beauty's reign is fleeting, swift, and brief. Yet every bloom fulfills its destined leaf. And in their diversity, a truth we find, that varied spirits grace all humankind. No two alike, in strength or subtle shade, yet in this union, richer hues are made. Embrace the growth, the change that seasons bring, and offer solace on a helping wing.
Like rooted flowers, steadfast in their place, we draw our strength and bloom with quiet grace. And as the gardener tends with watchful eye, we nurture self, beneath the boundless sky. In shifting grounds, we learn to rise anew, resilient, where vibrant dreams accrue. For like the blossoms, needing sun and rain, we thrive with care, and rise to bloom again.
And in the pause, to breathe the fragrant air, to find the beauty blossoming everywhere, These diverse blooms, in harmony displayed, teach open hearts, where peace can be arrayed, To understand each neighbor's unique grace, and build an equitable, tranquil space. For in the garden's elegance, we see, a mirrored truth of what we all can be.
Susan