We have quite enough to do weeding our own garden.
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Weeding
When weeding is done...
It's best to get every last one.
Because if you don't,
It will be like your weeding
Hasn't begun!
And that is no fun...
Especially,
When the 'heat' rises
And there is no Sun!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Garden Center
There she sits in the midst of my garden
beneath the roses and poses;
delighting in the daffodils like those on the hill.
The sun opened four eyes-
colorful tulips and her brown eyes
The sun just opened before my eyes.
Oh my, what a chore to reach the core!
Look at her hoeing and weeding,
flinging sweat from her brow;
to behold the beauty within.
Just clear the “stuff”-
hurts and pains;
blames and shames;
cruses and lies;
chameleonic righteous
and their exaggerated colors!
Destroy the lies, then
bury them in a sand hole.
only in her rich garden flowers grow
look at how she takes great pleasure
in tending her garden and share
the fruits of her labor.
Almedia S. Knight or ASK
poem by Almedia Knight Oliver
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Scions
She is pale in her flower garden.
Unlike the colorful earthbound tenants
populating the rows and beds.
Some uninvited and resisting eviction,
as she roughly snatches them like hair
from fecund scalp.
She is kneeling like a penitent
lost to her prayers.
Oblivious to the rest of it.
I watch her from the window
as I wrestle with form.
Choosing words over feelings.
Weeding desperately in my garden.
Trying to see the flowers
through the carnivorous weeds.
She is better in her work.
Drawing pleasure from the honesty and simplicity
of noble nurturing effort.
While I on the contrary,
an insane gardener, murdering
the flowers with my reach.
poem by George Murdock
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A Political Theory
the way you manage things
pertains to an ordinary garden
weeding out the bad ones
cultivating the ideals
the snakes are caught and
cut to pieces
and the rats poisoned
and the trees pruned
the paths cleaned of rocks
and pebbles
you level mountains
desiring the plains
and the neighborhood claps
their hand and shall make
new monuments for you
there are words of praises
but not from me
for in my garden
the snakes thrive with the rats
the moss grows well with the stone
the grasses and the buffaloes
the rivers and the reeds
the fish and crocodiles
the bees and the flowers
the mountains stay as is
and the plains spread as they wish
i just let themselves be
and they are all very happy.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Snag It From The Root
Snap and snag it from the root.
Use every resource you have got.
Clip and snip,
To replant.
If that's what you have to do!
Make up your mind,
You will do all the weeding that's done.
Make up your mind,
You will do all the weeding that's done.
Make up your mind,
You will do all the weeding that's done.
From Sunrise until Sunset comes.
Snag it back and get it from the root.
You can snap it back from the root.
Crack it back until you get the main thing done.
You can snag it from the root!
Snap,
And snag it from the root.
You can snap it back from the root.
Crack it back until you get the main thing done.
You can snag it from the root!
Make up your mind,
You will do all the weeding that's done.
Make up your mind,
You will do all the weeding that's done.
Make up your mind,
You will do all the weeding that's done.
From Sunrise until Sunset comes.
Snap,
And snag it from the root.
You can snap it back from the root.
Crack it back until you get the main thing done.
You can snag it from the root!
You can snag it from the root!
Snap,
And snag it from the root.
Crack it back until you get the main thing done.
You can snag it from the root!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Matins
You want to know how I spend my time?
I walk the front lawn, pretending
to be weeding. You ought to know
I'm never weeding, on my knees, pulling
clumps of clover from the flower beds: in fact
I'm looking for courage, for some evidence
my life will change, though
it takes forever, checking
each clump for the symbolic
leaf, and soon the summer is ending, already
the leaves turning, always the sick trees
going first, the dying turning
brilliant yellow, while a few dark birds perform
their curfew of music. You want to see my hands?
As empty now as at the first note.
Or was the point always
to continue without a sign?
poem by Louise Gluck
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Not For The Season
Springtime comes and the leaves are back on the trees again
Snipers are harder to see my friends
Weeding out the weekends
Summer comes and gravity undoes you
You're happy because of the lovely way the sunshine bends
Hiding from your close friends
Weeding out the weekends
Candy left over from Halloween
A unified theory of everything
Love left over from lovers leaving
Books, they all know they're not worth reading
It's not for the season
When autumn comes you sit in your chair and you stare
At the TV square
Hiding in the deep end
Weeding out the weekends
Winter comes and the days all start late
There's motion on the boughs where the dark shapes prowl
Feeling out the feelings
Feeling out the feeling
Candy left over from Halloween
A unified theory of everything
Love left over from lovers leaving
Books, they all know they're not worth reading
They're not worth reading
song performed by by Wilco
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Paroled
Gamed and played by racial hype,
Victims of a weeding done...
Have become wasted dudes with no insight.
Made to perceive themselves as beggars.
And perfecting this image,
Day long and through sleepless nights.
Fathers of the homeless with despair to teach.
Ex-cons motivated,
By a preaching learned to do outreach.
Trying to save themselves,
From unconscious misdeeds to prove...
A stupidity they have bought,
Has made them all look like fools.
And they do.
Gamed and played by racial hype,
Victims of a weeding done...
Have become wasted dudes with no insight.
Believing that the obtaining of 'bling' makes men.
These sad creatures couldn't make sense of two sentences.
And yet they believe their release from prisons,
Rehabilitates them back into a society...
To again associate with the same demons,
That hooked and trapped them...
To the ease of quick addictions.
Gamed and played by racial hype,
Victims of a weeding done...
Have become wasted dudes with no insight.
Hoping that a life spent in ignorance,
Will get their minds paroled.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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My Childhood Garden
my childhood garden
my childhood garden
lush and green
it was so happy it made me scream
my joy and hopes
and all my mopes
my childhood garden
my childhood garden
with the ups and downs
when i jumped i could not touch the ground
with my purle ponys
it made it homey
my childhood garden
my childhood garden
flying high
with the little lies
the grass fine
up in the sky my kite
my childhood garden
my childhood garden
now in the past
i now know that it can never last
now as i get taller
it was differnt when i was smaller
my childhood garden
poem by Danielle Eager
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When You Define A Thing
when you define
a thing, you limit it,
it is like fencing
your garden
the garden becomes
a set of exclusive
flowers, and anything
not like it becomes
a weed, and anything
that moves
becomes a pest
it is not that you
do not define, we do
it sometimes
only to understand
the limits of
understanding,
but we must be open
to other possibilities
of a garden,
a garden of stones
a garden of sand
of mud, of water
a fountain, a garden
of winds, of clouds
a garden of memories
like a poem
for instance, a garden
of words,
words with arms open
to the magic
of further creation
words still trying
to define themselves
in the garden
of the unknown
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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In the Garden, With My Father
It is spring.
As in my garden, I stand.
In the garden -
My father is there;
... though long since gone...
He IS there.
I tend to the weeds,
The veggies and flowers...
He is there.
I never understood him
(as I should have, could have) ...
Until now,
Here, in the garden.
Where I, like he, work the soil.
I've come just recently
(these last few years)
To enjoy and love my garden so.
- I am not as surprised afterall, as I would have thought,
To find him here.
Here, in the garden.
He loved his garden very much.......
I - at that early age of restless youth - had no use
For such slow moving things.
But now, I see, and myself move, at a much slower pace.
Therefore, it is him I am here and now able to see,
In the garden.
Watching it all grow, so peacefully.
It is somewhat sad, that now,
When I can no longer tell him,
I understand.
For I have come to find... I love the garden too,
Just as much as he;
And we both always will.
My father - standing in the garden -
I now know.
After all these long years.
And I've missed him so;
But, how wonderful to find,
He IS here...
In the garden, our garden,
Always, with me.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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April
No one's despair is like my despair--
You have no place in this garden
thinking such things, producing
the tiresome outward signs; the man
pointedly weeding an entire forest,
the woman limping, refusing to change clothes
or wash her hair.
Do you suppose I care
if you speak to one another?
But I mean you to know
I expected better of two creatures
who were given minds: if not
that you would actually care for each other
at least that you would understand
grief is distributed
between you, among all your kind, for me
to know you, as deep blue
marks the wild scilla, white
the wood violet.
poem by Louise Gluck
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Sonnet XLIV
Beloved, thou hast brought me many flowers
Plucked in the garden, all the summer through
And winter, and it seemed as if they grew
In this close room, nor missed the sun and showers.
So, in the like name of that love of ours,
Take back these thoughts which here unfolded too,
And which on warm and cold days I withdrew
From my heart's ground. Indeed, those beds and bowers
Be overgrown with bitter weeds and rue,
And wait thy weeding; yet here's eglantine,
Here 's ivy !--take them, as I used to do
Thy fowers, and keep them where they shall not pine.
Instruct thine eyes to keep their colors true,
And tell thy soul their roots are left in mine.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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Xliv
Beloved, thou hast brought me many flowers
Plucked in the garden, all the summer through
And winter, and it seemed as if they grew
In this close room, nor missed the sun and showers.
So, in the like name of that love of ours,
Take back these thoughts which here unfolded too,
And which on warm and cold days I withdrew
From my heart's ground. Indeed, those beds and bowers
Be overgrown with bitter weeds and rue,
And wait thy weeding; yet here's eglantine,
Here 's ivy !--take them, as I used to do
Thy fowers, and keep them where they shall not pine.
Instruct thine eyes to keep their colors true,
And tell thy soul their roots are left in mine.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet XLIV: Belovèd, Thou Hast Brought Me
Belovèd, thou hast brought me many flowers
Plucked in the garden, all the summer through
And winter, and it seemed as if they grew
In this close room, nor missed the sun and showers.
So, in the like name of that love of ours,
Take back these thoughts which here unfolded too,
And which on warm and cold days I withdrew
From my heart's ground. Indeed, those bed and bowers
Be overgrown with bitter weeds and rue,
And wait thy weeding; yet here's eglantine,
Here's ivy!--take them, as I used to do
Thy flowers, and keep them where they shall not pine.
Instruct thine eyes to keep their colours true,
And tell thy soul, their roots are left in mine.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Garden, The
do you believe in the man in the garden
Do you believe that he was there
Do you believe in the man in the garden
Do you believe or do you care
Did he rise from the ashes and lead the sky above
Did he lie in the name of love
....in the garden
Do you believe in the path that you follow
Do you believe it takes you where you want
Do you believe in the lies that you swallow
Do you believe it takes you where you go
See the man. he never lies he never will
Did he fight for the right to kill
....in the garden
....in the garden
There's a little man in a house alone...waiting
He doesn't lie.
He doesn't wait for love to hold on to
He doesn't lie. he doesn't wait...
Johnny's in the garden
I see the err in my ways
....in the garden
Do you believe in the man in the garden
song performed by by Five For Fighting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Garden
Do you believe in the man in the garden
Do you believe that he was there
Do you believe in the man in the garden
Do you believe or do you care
Did he rise from the ashes and lead the sky above
Did he lie in the name of love
....in the garden
Do you believe in the path that you follow
Do you believe it takes you where you want
Do you believe in the lies that you swallow
Do you believe it takes you where you go
See the man. he never lies he never will
Did he fight for the right to kill
....in the garden
....in the garden
Theres a little man in a house alone...waiting
He doesnt lie.
He doesnt wait for love to hold on to
He doesnt lie. he doesnt wait...
Johnnys in the garden
I see the err in my ways
....in the garden
Do you believe in the man in the garden
song performed by by Five For Fighting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Garden
Do you believe in the man in the garden
Do you believe that he was there
Do you believe in the man in the garden
Do you believe or do you care
Did he rise from the ashes and lead the sky above
Did he lie in the name of love
....in the garden
Do you believe in the path that you follow
Do you believe it takes you where you want
Do you believe in the lies that you swallow
Do you believe it takes you where you go
See the man. he never lies he never will
Did he fight for the right to kill
....in the garden
....in the garden
Theres a little man in a house alone...waiting
He doesnt lie.
He doesnt wait for love to hold on to
He doesnt lie. he doesnt wait...
Johnnys in the garden
I see the err in my ways
....in the garden
Do you believe in the man in the garden
song performed by by Five For Fighting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet 44 - Beloved, thou hast brought me many flowers
XLIV
Beloved, thou hast brought me many flowers
Plucked in the garden, all the summer through
And winter, and it seemed as if they grew
In this close room, nor missed the sun and showers.
So, in the like name of that love of ours,
Take back these thoughts which here unfolded too,
And which on warm and cold days I withdrew
From my heart's ground. Indeed, those beds and bowers
Be overgrown with bitter weeds and rue,
And wait thy weeding; yet here's eglantine,
Here 's ivy!—take them, as I used to do
Thy fowers, and keep them where they shall not pine.
Instruct thine eyes to keep their colors true,
And tell thy soul their roots are left in mine.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Garden
The Garden
By: Adam M. Snow
The garden blooms to your delight;
to and from this very night.
When you are but one;
this garden blooms until you're done.
Keep that in mind but out of sight;
this garden is full of roses so white.
Open up and let shine the sun;
for Springtime has only begun.
Show off your garden so bright;
for there is no need to fight.
Now go on, no need to run;
when you're in your garden my son.
poem by Adam M. Snow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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