Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘Gardening’

A poem for these wet summer days…

 

Summer Lies

 

Splishy splashy sloshy days

wrung out, strung up, hung out to dry

on dismal damp summer lies.

 

Rotting strawberries, mounds of mould

beneath wet leaves. Bowed and broken

flower heads, hanging limp, all but dead.

 

Rolling, boiling, muddied stream

tumbling headlong in between

bulging banks, brim full. Bursting.

 

Squelching, belching, sodden fields

turned now to new wet worlds,

where sentinel trees stand stranded.

 

On the green, where party picnickers

should have been. The grass is flattened

churned to mud.

 

The carousel, draped in plastic,

hides fantastic flying horses, unicorns,

dinosaurs, now bedraggled, damp. Distorted.

 

Bright bunting slaps and smacks, hangs slack.

A river playing down our street,

a gurgling, dripping, drumming beat.

 

Again the rain, the waters rise.

Sandbag dams – front door reprise

of dismal drizzling summer lies.

Advertisements

Read Full Post »

I love to work in my garden and at this time of year it’s at its most delightful, with the swallows swooping and diving overhead, and mother woodpecker feeding her young the nuts from the hanger.

I have a series of raised beds, making it easier for me to work from the wheelchair.

Here is a poem I wrote about it. It  is a study of alliteration and rhyme.

View from the vegetable patch (taken by my daughter Beckie)

My Garden

In the dappled dusk of evening,

In summers sultry sun,

In autumns faded aging,

And winters wild and numb.

 

In the soft sunshine of spring time,

In the wild and windy night,

In the overgrown orchard,

Full of fresh fruit and delight.

 

In the bright blue of a bluebell,

In the freshness of it’s flower,

In the dampening dew at daybreak,

Through each and every hour.

 

In the twirling of a tendril,

In the fragile ferns young frond,

In the rampant rambling roses,

Through the trellis and beyond.

 

In the rich, soft, crumbling soil,

In the planting of a pea,

In the crickets chequered chirping,

Beneath the old oak tree.

 

In the pastel pink of petals,

In the dancing daisies play,

In the shady silent places,

Where the moistened mosses stay.

 

In the bright and blooming bustle,

In the colours crystal clear,

In the chirrup of a chaffinch,

Perched in the pear tree near.

 

In the beauty of a butterfly,

In the falling of a leaf,

In the clambering clinging ivy,

Which the beetles live beneath.

 

In the lovely lilac lavender,

In it’s dreamy drowsy scent,

In the hot house and herb bed,

Surely Heaven sent.

 

In my glorious gorgeous garden,

In my heart it’s healing me,

From the tangled twisted torture,

It has finally set me free.

Read Full Post »

%d bloggers like this: