The squeaky wheelbarrow
You can tell that spring is here
because of the gardeners all around
armed with their new forks and spades
digging away at the heavy ground.
The wheelbarrow that had the squeak
has been lobbed unwanted into the skip
along with the trusty old lawnmower
ready to be taken down to the tip.
The conifer trees are skyscraper tall
so high they block out the light
the hedge and lawn are overgrown
and there are insects in search of a bite.
And watch what your pulling out
before you put in those new seeds
because some weeds look like plants
and some plants resemble weeds.
You've read lots of gardening books
and watched hours of D.V.D'S
but nothing is ever mentioned
about backache and arthritic knees.
Still they say it's very therapeutic
relaxing and good for the soul
but not if your gardens been ravaged
by bloody Foxes, Badgers, and Mole!
poem by Kevin Halls
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Tickets
The ticket was sold, in the soil of waters and roots,
Profiting from the sale of plants, a real awakening.
The gardeners travelled to a gathering so great,
Locomotion no problem, making progress against the weeds.
What are these plants? Plants give soil a trouble,
When do flowers reckon their demise?
The tickets have cancelled the talk of the nation,
Then the stages ended for the whole conversation.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Garden of Soul
My soul’s garden must grow those plants
And trees and shrubs that yield good fruits;
Sin grows like weeds that stifle growth
Of virtues and more vices grow.
The grace of Almighty God comes
Down on soul’s garden as sun, rain,
As virtues grow in more numbers,
And sin-weeds turn a scarce member.
poem by John Celes
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The greatest thing
I put the seed
into ground that I
mingled with dark black compost.
Rows of beans,
some carrots, some pumpkins
and spinach
I sowed into the orange brown earth.
Some small tomato plants,
I planted in blocks
and pressed small
frames of reeds
on top
for them to crawl over.
Every day I sprayed water
and tended the weeds
and in time
little green plants
sprang out of the ground
and the tomatoes crept
and crawled all over
their reeds.
It was great to be part
of spring and see
living things sprout
from the ground,
but a dog dug
some carrots out
and a flock of mice
came to eat
tomatoes from the plants.
Yet in time
some great vegetables
came to my table
and spring was awesome
and so was summer
and to tend my own garden
is the greatest thing.
poem by Gert Strydom
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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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Star-Nosed Mole
Mole, angel-dog of the pit,
digging six miles a night,
what's up with you in your sooty suit,
where's your kitchen at?
I find you at the edge of our pond,
drowned, numb drainer of weeds,
insects floating in your belly,
grubs like little fetuses bobbing
and your dear face with its fifth hand,
doesn't it know it's the end of the war?
It's all over, no need to go deep into ponds,
no fires, no cripples left.
Mole dog,
I wish your mother would wake you up
and you wouldn't lie there like the Pieta
wearing your cross on your nose.
poem by Anne Sexton
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Tenacity Of Dandelions
Living in a rain forest has its challenges;
Here self perpetuation reigns supreme.
I’m convinced that if we do not fight for every inch of space in this forest of trees our house will be swallowed up in a few short years.
One of the best examples natures self perpetuation is the venerable dandelion, who seems to have a knack for survival second to none.
The war begins;
Although the young tender leaves of dandelions are edible, unless harvested early they quickly turn bitter…so eating all of them is not really an option.
So I attack my enemy with a smoke belching weed eating machine.
There’s a morbid satisfaction in lopping off dandelions at soil level.
Little do I know that the deep tap root remains and within a few days will push new growth above ground.
The ones missed getting whacked by now have gone to seed. I’ve never really taken the time to count the number of seeds that comprise that cute puff ball, but they must number in the hundreds One single plant gone to seed can replenish what others fail to accomplish.
My next assault is the lawnmower;
The whirling blades make short work of these tenacious weeds. Little do I know that some have already seeded the lawn with their spawn and in a short while the cycle begins all over again. The ones that get cut quickly learn to hug the ground just below the mower blades, ready to shoot up stalks that provide flowers that seemingly overnight turn into seed balls. They only need a mild wind to scatter them afar.
There is a local fellow that makes specialty garden tools. He sold me a long handled, pronged weed extractor. Works like a charm, reaching far enough into the soil, that the taproot can be removed. Although I make a valiant effort to remove all the dandelions I miss a few that are hiding beneath ferns or other larger plants. Seemingly overnight yellow flowers reappear.
The war presses on…I’m losing, so spraying with “Roundup” looks more inviting. After considering this option for about two seconds, the idea is abandoned.
Defeated I sue for peace, but the Dandelion King offers no quarter.
Weighing the lessons of my defeat I quickly realize that there are no “weeds”, rather a host of plants that live in harmony and balance with each other. I’m the one that foolishly believed that I could prevail over a primordial cycle of life that I cannot begin to understand, and that will be here long after I’m gone.
Now when I walk across the lawn and encounter a dandelion I tip my weathered cap and acknowledge that in war “To the victor belong the spoils”.
ROTMS
poem by Ray Lucero
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The Lofty Sky
To-day I want the sky,
The tops of the high hills,
Above the last man's house,
His hedges, and his cows,
Where, if I will, I look
Down even on sheep and rook,
And of all things that move
See buzzards only above:-
Past all trees, past furze
And thorn, where nought deters
The desire of the eye
For sky, nothing but sky.
I sicken of the woods
And all the multitudes
Of hedge-trees. They are no more
Than weeds upon this floor
Of the river of air
Leagues deep, leagues wide, where
I am like a fish that lives
In weeds and mud and gives
What's above him no thought.
I might be a tench for aught
That I can do to-day
Down on the wealden clay.
Even the tench has days
When he floats up and plays
Among the lily leaves
And sees the sky, or grieves
Not if he nothing sees:
While I, I know that trees
Under that lofty sky
Are weeds, fields mud, and I
Would arise and go far
To where the lilies are.
poem by Edward Thomas
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Become Food!
your hand on the wheel,
Mayan bolt nonwithstanding...
where do we go from here?
my fingernails still dirty,
from digging and planting the seeds.
your eyes cloud over...
the promise of rain?
another chapter finished,
boots laced, and my hat,
your smile, a cup of coffee...
the dog waits at the door.
the mailman passes without slowing down.
the world keeps turning,
from dawn to setting sun.
and seeds become plants...
plants become food!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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A Frog
There stands upon a leaf,
A tiny frog,
With yellow skin,
And large round eyes,
In search of insects-food!
The little frog can camouflage,
And appear dead,
Or look like flowers,
To escape foes,
And predators that strike.
Like energized spring-box,
The frog can leap;
The frog can fly;
The frog won’t fall,
As they hold on
To weeds and stalks of plants.
Oh, what a queer Amphibian
Are frogs born free!
Some are big too;
Their tongues are long,
And so sticky;
They flick it out and catch their prey.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 3-12-2008
poem by John Celes
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In River Of Time
Grains on the ground
With water blossom
Blossom into plants
Plants blossom into tree
The tree become grey
The grey will fall
In the river of time
Books were created
They should be open
Open to be read
Read to understand
Understood when finish
In the river of time
Candles give light
In the river of time
Their stem will shorten
When shorten, we see dark
The books will close
The trees will fall
Candles blow away
Sometimes eyes cry
Memories we hold
But soon we will fall
In the river of time
Dedicated: (To Her late Father in law)
Publish work of Eyan Desir
poem by Eyan Desir
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Thankful To God
(2/23/12)
Ashes to ashes - dust to dust
I put my life in gods trust
He has watched me every step of the way
And from him I will not stray.
When my life seems to be going wrong
He comes and makes me strong.
Just say a little mental prayer
And with god his love you'll share.
Look at the beauties all around
In the sky and on the ground
The birds that fly high above
Spreading their wings with his love.
Many of the two and four legged
Animals on the ground
Is the food that we have found.
He supplies us with all our needs
And on which plants we could feed.
Plants for food, plants to cure
Everything here, rest assured.
Why do we worry so
He takes care of us - this we know.
So be thankful to god above
For he is the one true love.
poem by Louis Rams
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The Nurturing Of Beautiful Plants
Why would weeds seen growing,
Get on anyone's nerves who watch them...
Flourish.
And within distance.
Without getting rid of them in minutes.
If they have stated...
They wish to encourage,
The nurturing of beautiful plants.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The seeds of the garden
I grew a garden with seeds brought from some. I alone know from where I got those seeds.
I do not know to which gardens have gone
The seeds of mine for growing plants of theirs.
13.10.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Green Home
Green Home
By Lori Triggs
Copyrighted 2009
I wish to have a green home to look like
A sinter block stucco 4 or 5 bedroom Italian villa home
With one floor even two master bedrooms and master baths.
I wish to have a green home made of
Reclaimed light woods with marbles,
Glass tiles even gradients the look of new.
I wish for many long with wide windows even
Long with wide double windows to see from,
And with fancy French doors in the bedrooms even den.
I want reclaimed blue jeans for installation for the home
With solar panels even water wells are off the grid with
Energy saving appliances and furnace that is very green to me.
I want a green home with polished brass faucets even fancy knobs
With towel racks of the same to look sleek and shiny even new,
Sinter block stucco wall 10 to 20 feet high with iron gates opens as sliders.
I want allot of lush gardens with
Butterfly bushes, all butterfly plants, even
Hummingbird plants even dragonfly planets with palm trees too
So I can sit and write in the lay Nile or by the pool even in the gardens.
poem by Lori Triggs
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A Red Palm
You're in this dream of cotton plants.
You raise a hoe, swing, and the first weeds
Fall with a sigh. You take another step,
Chop, and the sigh comes again,
Until you yourself are breathing that way
With each step, a sigh that will follow you into town.
That's hours later. The sun is a red blister
Coming up in your palm. Your back is strong,
Young, not yet the broken chair
In an abandoned school of dry spiders.
Dust settles on your forehead, dirt
Smiles under each fingernail.
You chop, step, and by the end of the first row,
You can buy one splendid fish for wife
And three sons. Another row, another fish,
Until you have enough and move on to milk,
Bread, meat. Ten hours and the cupboards creak.
You can rest in the back yard under a tree.
Your hands twitch on your lap,
Not unlike the fish on a pier or the bottom
Of a boat. You drink iced tea. The minutes jerk
Like flies.
It's dusk, now night,
And the lights in your home are on.
That costs money, yellow light
In the kitchen. That's thirty steps,
You say to your hands,
Now shaped into binoculars.
You could raise them to your eyes:
You were a fool in school, now look at you.
You're a giant among cotton plants.
Now you see your oldest boy, also running.
Papa, he says, it's time to come in.
You pull him into your lap
And ask, What's forty times nine?
He knows as well as you, and you smile.
The wind makes peace with the trees,
The stars strike themselves in the dark.
You get up and walk with the sigh of cotton plants.
You go to sleep with a red sun on your palm,
The sore light you see when you first stir in bed.
Dentistry And Reflections
The dentist and Reflections
Up there in the continuous darkness of the universe
I saw a streak of light... a dying comets last hurrah.
Bedroom very dark couldn’t sleep too much death
for one night. Got up and read an article that plants
speak to each other. “Warning a heavy footed man
is coming your way.” “Duck a lawn mower is at large.”
Amputated roses and tulips chafes in a vase kept
alive for a few days... admire beauty in death agony.
Carrots screaming in distress when pulled from soil...
good for your health, dieticians says.
Everything we like, what we eat are, hurting plants
and animals. Which, reminds me I’ve an appointment
with my dentist tomorrow, gardener of my glum teeth,
he will speak softly as he pulls up out another tooth.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Plants, Insects And Animals
Plants, insects and animals
Are many times more intelligent
Than most of the people think!
Most of the times
Plants, insects and animals
Say things they want to say to others
In their own minds in human languages!
From a close distance they can hear
What others say in their minds!
From a close distance they can hear
What humans say with their mouth as well!
They learn the human languages
From human race and other plants, insects and animals!
God communicates with them -
They remember God and prostrate in imagination!
poem by Asif Andalib
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The plants are principally kept in large pots arranged in rows along the sides of narrow paved walks, with the houses of the gardeners at the entrance through which the visitors pass to the gardens.
quote by Robert Fortune
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Song
And when our streets are green again
When metalled roads are green
And girls walk barefoot through the weeds
Of Regent Street, Saint Martin's Lane
And children hide in factories
Where burdock blooms and vetch and rust,
And elms and oaks and chestnut trees
Are tall again and hope is lost
When up the Strand the foxes glide
And hedgehogs sniff and wildcats yell
And golden orioles come back
To flash through Barnes and Clerkenwell
When governments and industries
Lie choked by weeds in fertile rain
For sure the few who stay alive
Will laugh and grow to love again
poem by John Mcgrath
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