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Garden Poetry

 

 Forever and a Day

 

If I could trek across the sea

 And sail the billowing hay

 I’d travel on through sun and storm

 Forever and a day.

 

 If I could snare the cloud ships down

 And catch the wind at play

 I’d hunt among the moonlit fields

 Forever and a day.

 

 If I could echo the autumn’s call

 And the rock’s low roundelay

 I’d sing a wild, enchanted song

 Forever and a day.

 

 If I could love, but once, all things

 That come or go or stay

 I’d lie peaceful in the earth’s dark arms

 Forever and a day.

 

 

 Gardening

 

I drew a garden in my mind

 Of such beauty, grace and ease

 That even sorrow turned to joy

 Among the dancing leaves.

 

 I drifted lovely as a mist

 And trilled birds into my palm

 I sat upon a sun-warmed bench

 Surrounded by the calm

 

 But I tend the garden on my knees

 My sweat drips in the dirt

 My nails are black, my neck is red

 I never wear a skirt.

 

 And yet my garden brings to me

 The blessings I had wished

 Of beauty and serenity

 Of life I might have missed.

 

 

The Things I Need

Not too much: 

 

A shovel and seeds. 

That's all I need.

 

And I suppose I must confess,

A humble seat on which to rest. 

 

A stake for this, the shears for that, 

And goodness, I forgot my hat.

 

A rake for leaves, a fork for roots, 

It's wet- I guess I'll get my boots

 

I'll start the instant I get the trowel.

 

But I think I need the bathroom, now.

 

 

 

 

Next Year

Pessimists don’t garden.

 

They never learned the gardener’s secret chant:

 

Next Year, Next Year, Next Year-

( bigger, brighter, bushier, better)

 

Certainly, Next Year.

 

 

              

 

December Dreams

 

No sooner does the frozen ground

bring end to gardening pleasures

Than I am lost in splendid thought

Of evenings filled with leisure.

 

Of perfect blooms and willing forms

Of rain in gentle measures

Of liquid light and drowsy bees

Of earth and all it’s treasures.

 

 

 

 

Birthday Wishes

If kisses were raindrops, I'd send you a shower,

If hugs last a second, I'd send you an hour,

If laughter and tears could be gathered with twine,

I'd bale them like hay, and keep you for mine.

 

 

 

 

Neglected Garden

 

Sweet burden waiting crossways to my doom

A drift of lavender

The frothing white of spume

In star-crossed lovers bound

with chains of green, with grey-white down

With arching umbrelled royal heads,

Magenta columns, Lacy threads.

 

These ragged beggars come to me

A hand outstretched, a bended knee.

And in my pity I allow,

a corner, or a shady bower

To call their own which once was all

And find them bent upon my fall

From order’s grace to wilder place

Til laughing, I behead them all.

 

 

Central Ohio gardeners will recognize the 'chains of green' as Hedge Bindweed, the 'grey-white down' as blown Dandelion, and the 'royal heads' are Queen Ann's Lace. 'Magenta columns' is our magnificent Pokeweed, which people would pay lots of money for if it weren't as common as dirt, and the lacy threads are the awful Stickery Bob.

 

Garden Variety Magic
 

When I came out to see the dawn
Unfurl across the sky
A spider web shone with diamond threads
On a sequined bush nearby.
 
A glittering tear was suspended there,
I squinted a wishful eye,
To catch a glimpse of a Fairy King
As he kissed his Queen good-bye.
 
Or perhaps it was a single drop
Of dragon's breath I spied
As the woods resounded loudly
With a raven's echoing cry.
 
I held a misty breath in close
And crept down where shadows lie
But the garden was emptied of magic
As sunworks burst in the sky.

***
 
I worked that day as I always do
(though some days harder than others)
Until at last the night drew in
And I snuggled beneath my covers
My book fell soft, I must have dreamed
For I walked in a band of brothers:
 
***
 
They were hooded and cloaked and a quiet hiss
Was all the sound they made
I could almost smell their desperate fear
In the whispering plans they laid.
 
Their brother was captive! held fast in chains
And though he was proud and brave
Before the distant morning came
He'd lie cold in the Spider King's grave.
 
An urgent voice broke through the night
Nor hushed as the leader bade.
"He's my brother, my friend, it is my right
To offer my life in trade!"
 
A rose spur gripped in a shaking hand
Was torn from a stalk overhead
The daggered point was poison-tipped
From a mushroom's dusky bed.
 
His brother's reluctance was overcome
Though many shivered with dread
And the tiny Elf Prince went on alone
Though his doom was waiting ahead.
 

***
 
I woke in the dark, and hurried out
I couldn't have answered why
My dreams were full of an Elven Prince
And dawn was drawing nigh!
 
Already my visions wisped away
As I flew to the bush by the stream
Frantic I looked for my Elvish Prince
And was drawn by a gleam of green.
 
A moth was caught in the sticky web
I'd admired in yesterdays dew
But tonight it was only a ghostly trap
Its victim hanging askew.
 
The luna moth laid quietly
Among the skeletal crew
And I crouched beside the helpless thing
Knowing it wrong to do.
 
(For the ugly must eat too.)
 
As gently as the thistledown,
My fingers traced the rings
Of silk that bound him to his death
And graced the backs of kings.
 
I snapped the threads that held him there
Easy enough for a being
As huge and clumsy as all the world
We're used to usually seeing.
 
His eyes were bright as tiny stars
And palely glittering
And what I took for a hooded cloak
Was a deftly swaddled wing.
 
I wielded a needle with all my skill
As I carefully loosened the strings
Til he clasped my hand and and stretched out full
His wildly fluttering wings.
 
He covered my palm and each graceful part
Was of purest, palest, green
The violet tatoo on his moon cold back
Was a memory of runes unseen.
 
My hands were shining with fairy dust
As I stripped the cobwebs bare
I raised my arm in a trembling salute
And launched him into the air
 
Though this dark held nothing of magic
I couldn't help but stare
My heart beat hard with a foolish hope
That my prince would be standing there.
 
But the memory of magic I'd conjured
I swallowed along with my pride.
Thank heaven that magic's for children--
I am dumpy and old for a bride.
 
As I slid back into my waiting bed
I was grateful enough it would seem
With the ordinary-garden-variety magic
That woke me to rescue a dream.
 

 

 

   

That's Tomalina and me in the hammock, probably working hard on a poem.

 

 

Cider House Hostas is owned and operated by:

Loretta Pierfelice, 8489 Wesleyan Church Road, Pataskala, Ohio 43062, 614-496-3501
For email please replace the 'at' with @ in my email address: loretta'at'ciderhousehostas.com

Member of The Ohio Farm Bureau and of The Central Ohio Hosta Society

Last updated 4/8/2006.