Green Fingers
I wish I had green fingers,
so everything in my garden would grow.
The flowers would grow strong,
like my love for you.
The roses would blush at your beauty,
a sunflower to fill your day with brightness.
Oh, how I wish I had green fingers,
with the touch to make every flower grow.
There would be a cascade,
of colours and perfume to fill the air,
as we walked through my garden fair.
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Garden Lady
Her fingers long and slender
As to the rest of her
Wonder how such frailty could, labor
Seen with dirt under nails
Her drive is a better world
She has gone further
Than just a frail young woman
Her fingers long and slender
With the smell of future flowers
Soon will give you much to see
Exceeding your garden needs
The plants she sows
They are hardy
They will grow
Through heat
Through neglect
She will give you what you expect
And tell you not to neglect
Keeping them alive is nothing new
Seedlings comming through
In a secret garden
Away from the cruel....
She holds a thornless rose
Timeless and fragile
Pretty and pink
With other pastel inks
The blossoming is forever
In her heart
A model for all to know
For no other could grow
Another season begins
Life lush and green
That is her nature
Fingers long and slender
poem by Howard Johnson
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I Plucked A Rose From A Garden Green......
By Murtaza Abt
I plucked a rose from a garden green,
Of beauty never felt or seen,
Hoping that it would never wilt,
And always be as always been.
I plucked a rose from a garden green,
with a happy blissful heart,
And promised i would hold it tight,
And never would we part.
I plucked a rose from a garden green,
But little did i know,
That not in endless love and care,
But gardens do they grow.
I plucked a rose from a garden green,
And took it home with me,
But little did it stay the way,
The way t'was meant to be.
I plucked a rose from a garden green,
And it began to grieve,
Over gardens green and meadows lush,
As it was sad to leave.
I plucked a rose from a garden green,
And it began to wilt,
And wither in that unknown land,
it filled my heart with guilt.
I plucked a rose from a garden green,
And it began to die,
For happiness i had only asked,
But i began to cry.
....................................
I have p L ucked y O u from a garden green,
Your beauty i VE never felt or seen,
Hoping that YOU will never wilt,
And always be as always been.
09/Nov/09
poem by Murtaza Abt
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Gardner of beauty
Your beauty is like that of a Gardner tending to his flowers making life more beautiful with each day you tend to them. I could only wish to be one of your flowers in your garden and hope to feel your gentle hands as you would tend to me. Your beauty is to me as rain is to a flower, giving it nourishment for life. your beauty is my rain and it makes my love grow for you like that of the flower. Your loving soul is that of Gods warmth coming from the sun to a flower. Your love is my sun and feeling it's warmth to the touch it makes my soul grow as the flower would on a summer day. How I ask to be your flower and you be my gardener of life.
7-1-09
poem for my wife
poem by Timothy Honeycutt
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Desires Of The Heart
My desires run deeper than the deep blue,
You'll find my desires are so deep and true,
And my desires are always true,
I, a mermaid, swimming in waters blue,
Swimming for desires a garden rose could lose,
No frost or snow shall hit my bloom,
No frost or snow to let my heart forget you.
This flower is blooming in a garden dark,
A garden that will lead straight to your heart,
No prick shall harm the fingers that I touch,
Hands that touch this delicate rose,
As I spread my leaves in the soft moonlight,
The garden of dark waiting for this flower to grow and bloom,
Waiting for your touch, so that in pleasure I shall grow.
poem by Paula Glynn
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At Parting II
AND you could leave me now--
After the first remembered whispered vow
Which sings for ever and ever in my ears--
The vow which God among His Angels hears--
After the long-drawn years,
The slow hard tears,
Could break new ground, and wake
A new strange garden to blossom for your sake,
And leave me here alone,
In the old garden that was once our own?
How should I learn to bear
Our garden's pleasant ways and pleasant air,
Her flowers, her fruits, her lily, her rose and thorn,
When only in a picture these appear--
These, once alive, and always over-dear?
Ah--think again: the rose you used to wear
Must still be more than other roses be
The flower of flowers. Ah, pity, pity me!
For in my acres is no plot of ground
Whereon could any garden site be found,
I have but little skill
To water weed and till
And make the desert blossom like the rose;
Yet our old garden knows
If I have loved its ways and walks and kept
The garden watered, and the pleasance swept.
Yet--if you must--go now:
Go, with my blessing filling both your hands,
And, mid the desert sands
Which life drifts deep round every garden wall,
Make your new festival
Of bud and blossom--red rose and green leaf.
No blight born of my grief
Shall touch your garden, love; but my heart's prayer
Shall draw down blessings on you from the air,
And all we learned of leaf and plant and tree
Shall serve you when you walk no more with me
In garden ways; and when with her you tread
The pleasant ways with blossoms overhead
And when she asks, 'How did you come to know
The secrets of the ways these green things grow?'
Then you will answer--and I, please God, hear,
'I had another garden once, my dear'.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Roses
Roses grow on prickly vines,
most of the roses I have known
have been picked,
and in another’s garden grow.
Their perfume scents another’s home
to mature as time flows
bringing happiness as they grow
though summer’s sun
and winter’s snows.
My rose lives within my home
and still warms this heart of mine.
3 October 2009
poem by David Harris
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There Is A Secret Garden In My Heart
where i grow
some weeds
and flowers
with colors
and scents
not of your liking
i hide them
there
only for me
to see
and smell
and touch
you do not
know
i am more real
in this garden
my home
away from
you
where i can
be a weed
a grass
and not the
flower
that you always
love
in this garden
where
i am alone
where
i can be myself
away from
the clutches
of your choking
gaze
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Our Marriage Is Our Garden
Our marriage is our garden.
I want our garden to be beautiful.
With lush green grass,
With fragrant and colourful flowers.
A place of solace.
A place of peace.
A place of love.
Our garden must be watered.
Not watered too much.
As that would saturate the ground.
Not watered too little.
As that would leave the plants wilted.
And our grass barren.
But regularly.
So the flowers can stand tall
It must be weeded.
It must be maintained.
It must be loved.
We will plant seeds in our garden.
For new life makes any garden more beautiful and diverse.
We can harvest the fruit trees, but our harvest is limited
If we eat all the fruit too quick,
Then we must wait until the next harvest to eat again.
If we don't pick the fruit when it is right, it will spoil.
Our harvest is for our family.
If I eat all the fruit myself, then they will starve.
If we eat too much we will get sick.
If we eat what we are supposed to, then we will be healthy.
If we do not monitor the fruit,
Then someone might eat more than their share.
If we do not stand guard in our garden,
A thief might come into the garden to steal our fruit.
The fruit for our family.
For their garden must be barren and their crops have spoiled.
Our garden will stand the test of all seasons.
As all gardens do.
Another garden will also experience the same seasons.
Just at different times.
All gardens face rain.
All gardens get sun.
It is the rain that nourishes the garden and helps it's life to grow.
But our garden must be maintained regularly.
Only artificial things require no maintenance.
The artificial has no life.
It is fake, it is plastic.
Our garden needs to be real.
So life may grow and continue to grow.
So one day our children can enjoy a garden of their own.
For them and their children.
May their garden be overflowing with life and love.
And be the most beautiful garden in the world.
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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Margaret
I KNOW a garden where white lilies grow,
Under the grey sweet-laden apple boughs;
It is a garden where the roses blow,
And honeysuckle covers half the house.
O happy garden, do you keep the vows
Breathed in your quiet ear beneath the rose,
Or do you tell the tale to each soft wind that blows?
Across your grassy paths she used to stray,
She moved among you like a living flower,
Her beauty drank your beauty every day,
Your beauty decked her beauty every hour.
You gave her rose and lily for a dower,
With all sweet flowers and fruits your bosom bore--
She took them all--and now she comes not any more.
O garden, if you breathe such secret things
To the south wind who loves you, tell him this:
To spread the scented softness of his wings,
And seek that other garden where she is,
And bid him bear no blossom and no kiss;
Only, dear garden, tell the wind to say
How grey the world is grown since Margaret went away!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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In The Shade Of The Green Wood
In the shade of the green wood
The holly does grow,
While in soft rays of sunlight
The wild roses glow,
And I smell their sweet perfume
That gently floats by,
Past trees strong and mighty
That reach to the sky,
The pathway of gold autumn
Leaves still remain,
As I walk through the green wood again.
In the shade of the green wood
This bright sunny morn,
That's so cool in the shadows
A new day is born,
All the birds in the treetops
Are singing for me,
Sweet songs of the summer
Which fill me with glee,
And know from its beauty
I never shall part,
For the green wood does live in my heart.
In the shade of the green wood
A soft gentle breeze,
Now caresses the branches
And whispers through trees,
A sound reassuring
Shall carry me to,
All the scenes that exist
In each marvellous view,
It's here that my spirit
Shall always now stay,
And the green wood is guiding my way.
poem by Andrew Blakemore
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My Plant is in a Cage
Some of my friends say,
I have green fingers.
I just plant the seed and pray,
and watch, as time lingers.
Grow they do, green and lush
Don't tell no one hush, hush.
cause in Holland we grow 'Mary Jane'
In U.S.A. and Canada it's not quit the same.
The green sage is all the rage,
So I put my green plant in a cage
Locked up tight, 'Motion Detector' on! .
In the morning, no plant will be gone!
poem by David Darbyshire
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Green Branch
I want to be a green branch
In vineyards of the Lord
To grow in strength and beauty
As leaves to light unfold
To dwell close to the true vine
Refreshed by showers of faith
Amid a sea of flowers
No weeds, no seeds of wraith
I want to see the garden
That Jesus tends with love
The true vine of all living
Who blesses from above
I want to be a green branch
In vineyards of the Lord
To grow in strength and beauty
As leaves to light unfold.
poem by Liilia Talts Morrison
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The Rose
There was a Rose so warm and bright.
And from it smiles would grow.
It stood out from the other Plants.
It; s beauty was on show.
A Flower with such presence,
That all that came to see.
A Rose within a garden
Blooming happily.
Then one day it's leavs grew weak.
And the brightness seemed to fade.
How could a bud of beuaty,
Grow dull from day to day?
And suddenly the smiles grew weak.
No more stunning petals
No more standing tall.
Then one day the rose grew weak.
And to the ground it fell.
Such a loss to all around
Enchanted by it's spell.
And so a space in the garden
Where once beaty grew.
A space that could never be filled.
By a presence so strong and true
( not written by me but i liked the poem so much it makes me think of my dad)
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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Green Grow the Rashes
Green grow the rashes, O
Green grow the rashes, O
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,
Are spent among the lasses, O
There's nought but care on ev'ry han',
In every hour that passes, O
What signifies the life o' man,
An' 'twere na for the lasses, O.
Green grow the rashes, O
Green grow the rashes, O
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,
Are spent among the lasses, O
The warl'y race may riches chase,
An' riches still may fly them, O
An' tho' at last they catch them fast,
Their hearts can ne'er enjoy them, O.
Green grow the rashes, O
Green grow the rashes, O
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,
Are spent among the lasses, O
But gie me a cannie hour at e'en,
My arms about my dearie, O,
An' warl'y cares an' war'ly men
May a' gae tapsalteerie, O!
Green grow the rashes, O
Green grow the rashes, O
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,
Are spent among the lasses, O
For you sae douce, ye sneer at this
Ye're nought but senseless asses, O
The wisest man the warl' e'er saw,
He dearly lov'd the lasses, O.
Green grow the rashes, O
Green grow the rashes, O
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,
Are spent among the lasses, O
Auld Nature swears, the lovely dears
Her noblest work she classes, O
Her prentice han' she try'd on man,
An' then she made the lasses, O.
Green grow the rashes, O
Green grow the rashes, O
The sweetest hours that e'er I spend,
Are spent among the lasses, O
poem by Robert Burns
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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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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Carnations in the garden
There are carnations in the garden
in colours of ruby red,
pure white and blossom pink
and some pink with deep purple inside
and others purple-blue.
I smell the sweet fresh flowers
and look at colours
hue as if by magic
into each other.
Some grow in flowering pots,
some are planted in flowerbeds,
others even in the rock garden
and the flowers at places are mixed
to catch the eye
and everywhere there’s care
and a lot of love
that went into the tending of it.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Bright Fire
Written by bob welch.
Dont let waters of caution remove you
Dont let the fire of saints compel you
Dont let the lack of their spirit blind your life
Cause soon its all over, youre gonna come through alive
Well Ive been all over the world five times or more
And Ive seen the future burn blue before my eyes
And all through the dust and the green magnesium fire
Dont let the violence blind you, youre gonna come through alive
And the roses that are offing
They are real as evening wind
They are washed by love and suffering
Cause my love has colored them
Colored them
Oooooh oooohh-nothing but roses
Dont dam the river thats running through you
Stop saving up for time that may never become
Ive seen the future come true in twenty days
But dont let is scare you, stop thinking about yesterday
Ive had my share of blue revelations
And I know that time is a region to be passed
So all through the dust and green magnesium fire
I can rest easy now, and watch the carnival rolling by
Cause a rose that will be growing
In the place where I have hidden
It is washed by love and suffering
That my love has colored in
Look where the roses grow
Look where the roses grow
Look where the rooooooooses
Iiiiiieeeeeeiiiiiiaaaaahhhh
Look where the roses grow
Look where the roses grow
Look where the rooooooooses
Iiiiiieeeeeeiiiiiiaaaaahhhh
Look where the roses grow
Look where the roses grow
Look where the rooooooooses
Iiiiiieeeeeeiiiiiiaaaaahhhh
Look where the roses grow
Look where the roses grow
Look where the rooooooooses
Iiiiiieeeeeeiiiiiiaaaaahhhh
song performed by by Fleetwood Mac
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Wildflowers
The hills were alive with wildflowers
And I was as wild, even wilder than they
For at least I could run, they just died in the sun
And I refused to just wither in place
Just a wild mountain rose, needing freedom to grow
So I ran fearing not where Id go
When a flower grows wild, it can always survive
Wildflowers dont care where they grow
And the flowers I knew in the fields where I grew
Were content to be lost in the crowd
They were common and close, I had no room for growth
I wanted so much to branch out
I uprooted myself from home ground and left
Took my dreams and I took to the road
When a flower grows wild, it can always survive
Wildflowers dont care where they grow
I grew up fast and wild and I never felt right
In a garden so different from me
I just never belonged, I just longed to be gone
So the garden, one day, set me free
Hitched a ride with the wind and since he was my friend
I just let him decide where wed go
When a flower grows wild, it can always survive
Wildflowers dont care where they grow
Repeat chorus
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Garden Fair
Flowers are blooming in
my garden fair. Their
sweet perfume fills the
air. My Garden fair is
beautiful to see., with all
its glory surrounding me.
My garden fair is romantic
and bright, and so redeeming
in sunlight where song birds
nestle in the trees, and sing
with each flowing breeze.
My garden fair is a glorious
sight, that I rush to greet
at twilight my garden fair is
most supreme with such lovely
enchanting scenes.
poem by Dr. Janice Marie Murrell
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