Gardeners Grouch
There's a looper caterpillar in my lupins,
There are weevils weaving strands about my stocks,
There are throngs of thieving thrips
On my seedlings and my slips,
And the hoppers hop around my hollyhocks.
While the aphis eats my early antirrhinums,
All oblivious to the dreadful damage done,
And the jassids, jazzing gaily
Round dead jonquils, jar me daily ....
Yet I'd thought to take up gardening 'just for fun.'
I have blown 'em with a bellows filled with sulphur;
I've assaulted 'em with arsenate of lead;
I have prayed a vengeful prayer
As I sprayed 'em with a sprayer;
But the cross-grained little cuses won't stay dead!
I have bathed 'em with enough benzole emulsion
And deadly drugs to dropp them in their tracks;
Then I vainly sought their slaughter
With a stong tobacco water ....
And I'd thought to take up gardening 'to relax.'
Now the strange, unlovely scent of lime-and-sulphur
Outvies the sweet bouquet of bud and bloom.
And the smell of Bordeaux mixture
On my person is a fixture;
So my wife won't let me in our drawing room.
Dark odors hang about herbaceous borders
Where I seek the stealthy sluglet after dark.
But my garden has undone me:
Even little children shun me ....
And I'd thought to take up gardening 'for a lark.'
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Song of Insane Gardener
Oh, I dance upon the lawn in the cold, white dawn,
And I gloat upon the corpses of a countless million slain;
Where the frost about my feet spreads its winter winding sheet
There I chuckle and I chortle as I chant my mad refrain;
'Lime and sulphur, Paris green, arsenate of lead,
Benzole couldn't kill 'em; but they're dead, dead, dead.'
Men have said I went insane when the Summer brought its bane:
Beetle, bug, and butterfly, weevil, wog and worm,
And a thousand million thrips with my garden came to grips
Plus a plague of things that fly and creep and crawl and squirm.
Lime and sulphur, Paris green, arsenate of lead,
They sneered at 'em, and leered at 'em, and gaily gorged ahead.
They fell upon my fancy phlox, hyacinths and hollyhocks;
Amaryllis, antirrhinum, lupin, lily, all were lost.
All my garden's vanished glory now remained a sorry story,
While, dismayed, I sprayed and sprayed and reckoned not the cost.
Lime and sulphur, Paris green, arsenate of lead -
Vain were these till nights afreeze dire destruction spread.
Lifeless lie the pupa cases, larvae leave no least lone traces.
Apphis eggs (if there be any) are a pest now haply past.
With a mad song in my throat, in the dawn I dance, I gloat;
For my eveil days have ended, and revenge is here at last.
Vain the Paris green, the sulphur; vain the arsenate of lead;
Fourteen frosty nights have finsihed all the olden dread.
So I dance upon the lawn in the cold, white dawn,
And I chortle o'er cadavers of a countless million slain.
Men may moan and deem it sad, vowing that I am as mad
As a hatter. what's it matter? Join my maniac's refrain:
'Lime and sulphur, Paris green, arsenate of lead,
Benzole couldn't kill 'em; but they're dead, dead, dead.'
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Gardening At Night
I see your money on the floor, I felt the pocket change.
Though all the feelings that broke through that door
Just didnt seem to be too real.
The yard is nothing but a fence, the sun just hurts my eyes.
Somewhere it must be time for penitence. gardening at night is never where.
Gardening at night. gardening at night. gardening at night.
The neighbors go to bed at ten.
Call the prayer line for a change.
The charge is changing every month.
They said it couldnt be arranged.
We ankled up the garbage sound, but they were busy in the rows.
We fell up, not to see the sun, gardening at night just didnt grow.
I see your money on the floor, I felt the pocket change.
Though all the feelings that broke through that door
Just didnt seem to be too real.
Gardening at night. gardening at night. gardening at night
Your sister said that youre too young.
They should know theyve been there twice.
The call was 2 and 51.
They said it couldnt be arranged.
I see your money on the floor, I felt the pocket change.
Though all the feelings that broke through that door
Just didnt seem to be too real.
We ankled up the garbage sound, but they were busy in the rows.
We fell up not to see the sun, gardening at night just didnt grow.
Gardening at night. gardening at night. gardening at night
song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Gardening At Night (Acoustic 2)
I see your money on the floor I felt the pocket change.
Though all the feelings that broke through that door
just didn't seem to be too real.
The yard is nothing but a fence the sun just hurts my eyes.
Somewhere it must be time for penitence. Gardening at night is never where.
Gardening at night. Gardening at night. Gardening at night.
The neighbors go to bed at ten.
Call the prayer line for a change.
The charge is changing every month.
They said it couldn't be arranged.
We ankled up the garbage sound, but they were busy in the rows.
We fell up, not to see the sun, gardening at night just didn't grow.
I see your money on the floor, I felt the pocket change.
Though all the feelings that broke through that door
just didn't seem to be too real.
Gardening at night. Gardening at night. Gardening at night
Your sister said that you're too young.
They should know they've been there twice.
The call was 2 and 51.
They said it couldn't be arranged.
I see your money on the floor, I felt the pocket change.
Though all the feelings that broke through that door
just didn't seem to be too real.
We ankled up the garbage sound, but they were busy in the rows.
We fell up not to see the sun, gardening at night just didn't grow.
Gardening at night. Gardening at night. Gardening at night
song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If there was a big gardening convention, and you got up and gave a speech in favor of fast-motion gardening, I bet you would get booed right off the stage. They're just not ready.
Jack Handey in Deep Thoughts
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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Unconventional
The day was cold but she was not in point of fact she was too hot.
So she stripped off all of her clothes because she chose to I suppose
Her neighbours thought it rather quaint but only one raised a complaint
The vicar did not think she should do her gardening in the nude
But she replied acerbically that if he did not want to see
Then he should look the other way. She did not tell him how to pray
He should not tell her how she must dress. For all his show of piousness
She had seen him gazing lustfully when he was no one could see
Upon young school girls passing by from whom he could not tear his eye. What right has he to condemn me when I display quite openly
All that I have quite naturally with no false show of modesty
I’m not ashamed why should I be.I am the way that God made me
But he conceals his prurience behind an air of innocence
By advocating nudity at least I’m acting honestly.
I have no time for pious frauds who secretly gain their rewards
by using their imagination to enjoy what they would dearly like to do.
I told the vicar to his face I thought he was a black disgrace
He mumbled something in reply but could not look me in the eye.
He knew I had divined his lustfulness. He knew I knew no need to guess.
He thought it best to move away but where he went I cannot say.
We have a lady vicar now who does not try to tell me how
I ought to dress for gardening.content to let me do my own thing.
She says that sometimes she, wishes she could act as naturally.
26-Oct-08
http: // blog my space.com.poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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My Garden
I guard my gardener
Who is me, and just me.
Opening a lawn is
To grow grass with seeds alone.
My thinking is safely
Being thought by the roots
And the plants seem to be
A lot of pleasure then.
Hosing is fine this time
As well as watering.
My garden skills are best
But is my gardening
Any good, or all bad?
poem by Naveed Akram
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Cinnamon + = plus
Since Xmas time it seemed I'd seen
The + on hot cross bun,
But hadn't bought a one.
I thought I wouldn't bother,
But brought back two on Maundy Day,
Ate one, left out the other.
I now can tell the sight of cross
Is nothing to the smell:
For breeding thought of body dead
+ dread sweet smell of hell.
And you who've had the scent around
Since bun first hit the shelf?
You who notice hell no more?
Your hell will hit next Tuesday when
There's bun no more in store.
poem by Douglas Scotney
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Very Last Thought
What is the very last thought
that will cross my mind?
Drawing last breath, that thought
not anyone will find.
I'll take it with me
and let it inspire me
to keep me soaring high,
higher than the deep blue sky.
The thought alone is filled with love.
It will not break apart.
It will escape the body I leave behind
and seek a brand new start.
That thought will find its way
and travel to where you'll be
and when it finds its dsetination
that thought will become me.
The question in my last thought
will most probably be
whether or not you'll recognize
that the thought contains me?
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Gardening is how I relax. It's another form of creating and playing with colors.
quote by Oscar de la Renta
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Darkness! !
I am alone in this dark room
waiting for the sunlight to appear
but its obvious it won't
i am living in a dark world filled with dark people
the sky is dark the houses are dark
my life...........is dark
who am i?
well they always call me the queen of the dark
because i am a dark person as i write this i realize
the sun should not come because i love the dark
i breathe it, i live it, i smell it, and feel it
so i say to the sun stay where you are
because i love my life filled with darkness
poem by Tyreesha Smith
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Crazy Tradesmen Rhymes No1
I once knew a man in the gardening trade,
Bob Green was his name
He was surly, he was staid;
He thought he knew it all
But between you and me
He couldn't tell a lettuce
From a lilac tree.
Written Autumn 1995
poem by John Carter Brown
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You have no set in my thought
.
The Sun is set;
It slips out of my thought.
The Moon is set;
It slips out of my thought.
When you exited
You stay put in my thought.
When I hear some
By your name, you’re my thought.
You have not set
In my memory and thoughts.
You are not set
To my fervour and thoughts.
When I see some
As lean, you come to my thought.
When some one is
Coy, you strike my thought.
You cannot set
Though there is twilight.
I cannot let
You slip out of my concept.
For you have met
All needs of my amorous thought.
27.04.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The garden is a metaphor for life, and gardening is a symbol of the spiritual path.
quote by Larry Dossey
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Devil or Angel
Sitting here alone, in the swarthy night,
Watching the star along with the crescent moonlight,
I feel I’ve fell down to a dark side of my heart,
I thought I’ve become a horrific person,
I don’t even know who I am,
I thought I’ve became lunatic,
I thought the sun would never rise again,
I thought the night would lead this world to the dark,
But it’s only bundle of my mind,
I’m not lunatic yet,
The sun still rise in the east,
Shines bright to the world,
But I realize something,
I’ve become a horrific person,
The darkness has lead me to the virulence,
Burry down my holy side,
Lead me to the devil,
Lead me to the hell,
Lead me to the eternal torture flame,
I need my angel come back,
Lead me to the light,
Lead me to the benevolence,
Burry down my evil side of my heart,
I really need my angel to come back,
Help me to seize the light,
Help me to get out of this darkness,
Help me find the eternal happiness
But I don’t know where is my angel,
I don’t know who is my angel,
May be my angel is at the cross of these oceans,
Or may be my angel is you…
Fin
poem by Chris Natalius
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The Shadow On The Stone
I went by the Druid stone
That broods in the garden white and lone,
And I stopped and looked at the shifting shadows
That at some moments fall thereon
From the tree hard by with a rhythmic swing,
And they shaped in my imagining
To the shade that a well-known head and shoulders
Threw there when she was gardening.
I thought her behind my back,
Yea, her I long had learned to lack,
And I said: ‘I am sure you are standing behind me,
Though how do you get into this old track?’
And there was no sound but the fall of a leaf
As a sad response; and to keep down grief
I would not turn my head to discover
That there was nothing in my belief.
Yet I wanted to look and see
That nobody stood at the back of me;
But I thought once more: ‘Nay, I’ll not unvision
A shape which, somehow, there may be.’
So I went on softly from the glade,
And left her behind me throwing her shade,
As she were indeed an apparition—
My head unturned lest my dream should fade.
poem by Thomas Hardy
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The glory of gardening: hands in the dirt, head in the sun, heart with nature. To nurture a garden is to feed not just on the body, but the soul.
quote by Alfred Austin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Down At The End Of Your Road
I am your neighbor. I seem most respectable,
But underneath Im an iniquitous toad.
So many dreadful mishaps have befallen you ---
Down at the end of your road.
And I live down the end of your road.
Im working on ways to remove you from paradise ---
From your striped lawn and your new swimming pool.
I place broken bottles in your geraniums ---
Sabotage your gardening tools.
And I live down the end of your road.
By day I am a real estate gentleman.
I deal in fine properties --- cheap at the price.
After dark, I plan my most devious practices
Which you might think are not very nice.
Designing a system to reverse your plumbing ---
Welling up, as you sit on your private throne.
Will come up all kinds of vile and despicable nasties
You would rather not have in your home.
And I live down the end of your road.
Dispensed loathsome creatures in your drawing room,
Sent doggy poo-poos in your morning mail.
Rats heads and larks wings should set your tums turning
And your houses will soon be for sale.
And I live down the end of your road.
I live down the end of your road.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You Thought Wrong
I see how your trying to weasel
your way in
boy I know how you maneuveur
with your confusion
you tell me that I'm your only
and how bad that you want me
well then why are you so shady
if I'm supposed to be your lady
why should I believe anything you say
and how could you shame me that way
tell me where where did you get the nerve
to even think that you you could
play me wrong
you thought we didn't know
you thought we were in the dark
but boy your covers blown
cause we both know now
you thought you had us fooled
at your beck & call
but now who's the joke
and look who's laughing now
now your trying to use us against one another
but it won't work
I see right though your game boy
and I know exactly where to play boy
you tried to deny all your actions
for once in your life be a real man
at least give me the proper respect
of the truth I already know you did it
why should I believe anyting you say
and how could you shame me that way
tell me where did you get the nerve
to even think that you could
play me wrong
you thought we didn't know
you thought we were in the dark
but boy your covers blown
cause we both know now
you thought you had us fooled
at your beck & call
but now who's the joke
and look who's laughing now
I see right through you baby
try not to be like you don't want me
why don't you get it through your thick head
cause I've seen this game before
and I'm not trying to see it no more
SHUT YOUR MOUTH
I'm not trying to hear your lies
no not again
sorry you couldn't be a better man
you thought we didn't know
you thought we were in the dark
but boy your covers blown
cause we both know now
you thought you had us fooled
at your beck & call
but now who's the joke
and look who's laughing now
Guess you thought wrong
look who's laughing now
You stupid
song performed by by Kelly Clarkson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You, the Dark
Dark, She is the mind of yours.
Icy chill of thought becomes
A steely shimmer.
Behold a glimmer in the black -
A flash of grey, that even glows
In show against the hallowed dark of you.
And that is why you scream in jarring tones
'I have no heart for joy!
My white and brittle bones have died'
You cried in dark and fractured moans.
So now the Queen of Black you writhe,
Whence from dark of shade
That honed an evil form afar;
In curse of me you bade:
'I, the wave shall rape the shore!
Violence will there be in glares I'll throw
At all who prey, and more:
A dark and fetid sea I'll bleed.'
And now, the bitter tinge
And bleak of waste
That eyed the death of once your soul
Will here forever be!
Indeed you tell:
'The cramping pain is here!
Eternal spasm, infinite chasm,
The Devil's chaplain plays!
We'll climax in a tortured glee
As all my love decays.'
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
Dark dark dark dark dark dark dark
Dark dark dark dark dark dark
Dark dark dark dark dark
Dark dark dark dark
Dark dark dark
Dark dark dark dark dark
dark dark dark dark dark dark dark darkdarkdarkdark
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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