Between neighbours' gardens a hedge is not amiss.
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Cruel to hunt live hogs
fertilise into garden green
Hedge over neighbours
haiku by Ken e Hall
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Hedge-hogs abound in my gardens and fields.
quote by Gilbert White
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Quit My Gardens, O Crows!
quit my gardens, o crows!
&
o noisy quarrelsome crows!
quit my gardens-
o birds of all feathers!
of different melodies!
of lonely bushes and thickets!
of far-away lands!
come here! visit me!
grace my gardens and groves!
nay, all yours, your heavens!
no, ours!
sing singly; sing in chorus!
melt in sorrowful strains;
and in joyous tunes!
but o hoarse-throated crows!
vacate my gardens
and retreat to the forest!
poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
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Laburnums
OVER old walls the Laburnums
hang cones of fire;
Laburnums that grow out of old
mould in old gardens:
Old maids and old men who have savings or pensions have
Shuttered themselves in the pales of old gardens.
The gardens grow wild; out of their mould the Laburnums
Draw cones of fire.
And we, who've no lindens, no palms, no cedars of Lebanon,
Rejoice you have gardens with mould, old men and old maids:
The bare and the dusty streets have now the Laburnums,
Have now cones of fire!
poem by Padraic Colum
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These gardens may be called the gardens of the respectable working classes.
quote by Robert Fortune
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Field Path
The beams in blossom with their spots of jet
Smelt sweet as gardens wheresoever met;
The level meadow grass was in the swath;
The hedge briar rose hung right across the path,
White over with its flowers--the grass that lay
Bleaching beneath the twittering heat to hay
Smelt so deliciously, the puzzled bee
Went wondering where the honey sweets could be;
And passer-bye along the level rows
Stoopt down and whipt a bit beneath his nose.
poem by John Clare
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The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part II: To Juliet: XXXIII
REMINDING HER OF A PROMISE
Oh, Juliet, we have quarrelled with our fate,
And fate has struck us. Wherefore do we cry?
We prayed for liberty, and now too late
Find liberty is this, to say ``good--bye.''
The Winter which we loved not has gone by,
And Spring is come. The gardens, which were bare
When we first wandered through them, you and I,
The prisoners of our own vain wishes, are
Now full of golden flowers. The very lane
Down to the sea is green. The cactus hedge
We saw cut down has sprouted new again,
And swallows have their nests on the cliff's edge
Where we so often sat and dared complain
Because our joy was new, and called it pain.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Kiasu, what a hindrance
something is amiss
something is amiss
it is a piece of his brain
this kiasu society
is a hindrance to
growth of the most important kind
and steals the peace a little
he says what is not
from his heart
but where the masses run
not that they are wrong
but he is ignoring the light
the voice that is the
essence of the man
(kiasu - a malaysian word
about people who always
fear losing to the extent
that they follow the masses.)
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Before The Fair
'Lost,' 'lost,' the beeves and the bullocks,
The cattle men sell and buy,
Crowded upon the fair green,
Low to the lightless sky.
'Live,' 'live,' and 'Here,' 'here,' the blackbird
From the top of the bare ash-tree,
Over the acres whistles
With beak of yellow blee.
And climbing, turning, and climbing
His little stair of sound,
'Content,' 'content,' from the low hedge
The redbreast sings in a round.
And I who hear that hedge-song
Will fare with all the rest,
With thoughts of lust and labour,
And bargain in my breast.
The bare hedge bright with rain-drops
That have not fallen down,
The golden-crowded whin-bush
Nor know these things my own!
poem by Padraic Colum
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Lost Horizons
The last horizons I can see are filled with bars and factories
And in them all we fight to stay awake...
Drink enough of anything to make this world look new again
Drunk drunk drunk in the gardens and the graves
She had nothing left to say so she said she loved me
I stood there grateful for the lie...
Drink enough of anything to make this girl look new again
Drunk drunk drunk in the gardens and the graves
Turn summer trees to bones and ice
Turn insect songs against the night
With words we build and words we break
Im drunk drunk drunk in the gardens and the graves...
Drink enough of anything to make myself look new again
Drunk drunk drunk in the gardens and the graves
song performed by by Gin Blossoms
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Embracing the Roses
Crisp blue sky
Parks
The night
Their love
Rustled
In dewy
Greening gardens
…unobserved
(Mountaintop Gardens, Tennessee
July 27,2006)
poem by Debora Short
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Love Doth Come In Many Different ways
you see love on a babies face god blest
You hear love from the morning bird
mothering in her nest
To touch the one you love
the bond is so secure
As to smell love’s aroma
thru the rose of allure
Then taste love’s wonder
with sensations of a kiss
Travel love’s road
with the guide never amiss
For love doth come in
many many different ways
Pity will not solve
the downtrodden days
Help thy neighbours]
with a compassionate hand
Often needed in the financial
shifting sand
Smile at the old folk sat alone
humble in the park
Shine a light for those living
often in the dark
God’s reward
will lift your heart
so high in the sky
Your reasons for living
your inner self
Will surely fly
poem by Ken e Hall
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The Blue Flower
A little flower in the garden
Unnamed to all my knowledge
The faintness eggshell of blue
The colour of its petals
Shaded in midday it sits
Beneath the gardens hedge
A solitary flower so small
Yet so perfectly beautiful
That I have to stop and sit
Only to look upon its picture
I would love to share its beauty
Though I will not pick it
For soon it would wilt away
Taken from its mother earth
A little flower in the garden
Unnamed for all I known
An eggshell blue in colour
Shaded from the midday sun
poem by Matthew Holloway
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The Dunnocks Nest
A memory from the past I still recall
In the box hedge by the old garden wall
I saw two male dunnocks and a hen
Fly out of hedge and then with food fly in.
I heard their little nestlings for food cry
And I with the curiosity of a boy
Peered in the hedge a moss built cup shaped nest I see
With pink skinned nestlings in it I counted three.
To the ways of Nature I was young and green
And I marvelled at the wonder I had seen
Three blind and pink skinned nestlings the shy dunnock's brood
Thought I too was a carer with some food.
With their tiny mouths wide open for food they did plead
And when I did not satisfy their greed
They slumped back in their nest as in a heap
And within a few minutes were asleep.
It must have been close to fifty years ago
Yet of Nature little I still seem to know
But such a precious memory bound to stay
With me until the reaper has his way.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Revenente
The bells of memory sound this summer day
Down the long alleys of the blue-skied years;
Shy cowslip, thyme, the haunting scent of hay,
Pleached gardens nourished by a lover's tears,
And honeysuckle, shy maid in the hedge,
Are all Her handmaids; blessed is the sight
The mirror-pool caught of Her. So the stage
Is set for entrance, and a girl in white
Walks in my heart again, out of pale death,
Kingdom of shrivelled mouth and powdering bone,
Touching my cheek with flower-laden breath,
And whispering, 'Poor love, and still alone?'
Was any man so lucky, dear God?
It will be dawn before She takes the road.
poem by Henry Treece
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A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet I
Care killed a cat, and I have cares at home,
Which vex me nightly and disturb my bed.
The things I love have all grown wearisome;
The things that loved me are estranged or dead.
I have a house most fair, but tenanted
With shadows only, gardens of tall trees,
Fenced in and made secure from every dread
But this one terror, my soul's lack of ease.
I have much wealth of pleasure, horse and hound,
Woods broad for sport, and fields that are my own,
With neighbours of good cheer to greet me round,
And servants tried by whom my will is done.
Here all things live at peace in this dear place,
All but my pride, which goes companionless.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Hope Gardens Every Whisper
Hope gardens every whisper
Ever thought thoughtful flowers
A brocade of desire
Like dew-fall they are there to wander
The landscape of your dreams
To filter down and replenish
Every fallen leaf thereafter
Every jasmine is a star-gazer
White and pure in the now and hereafter
Hope gardens eternal
Just listen to the children's laughter
Their sudden mist of tears may fall
But search what happens after
Their limbs move gentler than the rain
When they in your arms are renewed
With your love again
Hope gardens every whisper
To a rainbows end we all must surrender
Pliant with; root in the earth, seeking heaven.
poem by Mark Heathcote
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Stay At Home
Outside these, four walls lies, anarchy babe
Unnatural acts and sights abound
Glass glaring, eyes staring, young pairing, maybe
What does the world care if Im not around
Cos, I think Id rather stay at home
With people I know
I could watch the whole thing on tv
And the neighbours never know
The bright lights, are like traps, for the unwary
You need a guard just to walk at night
Fights flaring, bombs scaring, pants tearing, maybe
How can you say it will be alright
And, I think Id rather stay at home
And my face not show
I could watch the whole thing on tv
And the neighbours never know, theyd never know
Cos, I think Id rather stay at home
Where cold winds dont blow
I could watch the whole thing on tv
And the neighbours never know, theyd never know
Outside these, four shores lie, countries of strangers
They have water that you shouldnt drink
Bad driving, crime thriving, lifes full of dangers
Its not that Im frightened to walk on the brink.
But I think Id rather stay at home
With people I know
I could watch the whole thing on tv
And the neighbours never know, theyd never know
Think Id rather stay at home
Where the bad guys never go, they never go
Stay at home
With people you know, people you know
Think Id rather stay at home
Where the pimples never show, they never show
Stay at home
Stay at home
song performed by by Men At Work
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Green Fingers
People have gardens, both large and small,
Whilst flat dwellers have no garden at all.
Some people love to surround their homes
With comical-looking, little garden gnomes.
A few gardens boast fantastic water-features,
Or a large array of stone, woodland creatures.
To make their garden nice, some folk really do try,
Whilst other gardens really are a sight for sore eyes.
Some folk really wish their garden was just not there,
And, about them, they, very obviously, just do not care.
Without a garden, some people would feel really lost,
And they keep them looking nice, whatever the cost.
Some people are blessed: they have green fingers,
And, in their gardens, for hours, they love to linger.
When some people pull on their gardening gloves,
They tend their gardens with such heartfelt love.
People love to spend their time sowing seeds,
Trimming their hedges, and pulling up weeds.
Some tend flower beds, upon bended knee.
Some grow delicious fruit upon their trees.
The gardener's nightmare is the garden pest:
To eradicate them all, they do their best.
Some people love to escape to their sheds,
Where they can think, and clear their heads.
In their gardens, people love to spend time,
But they like it best, when the weather is fine.
When all of their gardening chores are done,
Some people love to sit and relax in the sun.
Time spent in the garden, always really flies;
The benefits of gardening cannot be denied.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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