in which the garden begins
to resemble the gardener
{and vice versa}

slightly disheveled
always busy
growing (old)
setting seed
rambunctious and tenacious
in equal measure

filled with promise
and hope
possibility and time
overcrowded and
under the weather
(quite literally)

birdsong soaring
on time’s
cheap passing
the same every year
but different
every hour

ants moving mountains
and thunder
looming large
butterflies
and dragons and
wrinkly toad kisses

wasps building nests
on the promise
of tomorrow
always at the ready
to sting you
today

drawn to the scent
of life lived hard
open and blooming
too enamored of the sun
to strive for anything
resembling

perfection

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8 Responses to “in which the garden begins
to resemble the gardener
{and vice versa}”

  • Steve King Says:
    May 23rd, 2013 at 9:05 am

    A great extended metaphor…nicely developed and with an outstanding finish. This is truly complete and satisfying. Very nice job.

    Reply
  • honey Says:
    May 23rd, 2013 at 9:13 am

    life lived hard is right. it is perfection. that is the best part! imperfectly perfect just like we are.

    Reply
  • Maery Rose Says:
    May 23rd, 2013 at 9:19 am

    I’m in a hard place today and this poem is a blessing of expression of how some days feel, and yet, feeling hopeful, knowing this is the season of growing no matter what comes.

    Reply
  • nana Says:
    May 23rd, 2013 at 9:40 am

    Your forgetting, we don’t get ‘old ‘ we only get ‘OLDER’, and your are one of the lucky ones because you not only get older, you keep getting wiser and more beautiful every day…

    Reply
  • brian miller Says:
    May 23rd, 2013 at 1:41 pm

    the same every year but different every hour…ha…that line jumped out at me…and life lived hard…it def isnt easy, but like the ant if we move one piece of dirt at a time we can move those mountains…perfection is an unattainable anyway…smiles.

    Reply
  • hedgewitch Says:
    May 23rd, 2013 at 4:40 pm

    Gardens(and gardeners) have a perfection without needing to strive, indeed. We are what we grow? I loved the play on words here: “…birdsong soaring
    on time’s
    cheap passing…”

    Reply
  • Buddah Moskowitz (@ihatepoetry) Says:
    May 24th, 2013 at 1:31 pm

    Ironically, in this verse

    “drawn to the scent
    of life lived hard
    open and blooming
    too enamored of the sun
    to strive for anything
    resembling

    perfection”

    you achieve perfection.

    Lovely.

    Reply
  • Barbara Says:
    May 25th, 2013 at 5:30 pm

    So beautiful and says so much. Thank you for your words!

    Reply

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