Garden changes

[KathyS]

Gardens are forever changing.  First the seed, then the sprig, then the plant, then the bloom.  It always changes from day to day, from week to week, from month to month. There is green, then growth, then bloom.  Life never stops with a single flower that has a purpose in these gardens.

The flowers that bloom capture the sunlight.  The colors that radiate off of each petal becomes a beauty that nature provides for our souls.  Without color, without this life there to repeat itself from time to time, we have nothing to urge our own feelings to go to the next day, that day that shows us the newness that we have to find in ourselves.

Nature is there, the rain, the sun, the edges of nature, always a guess as to what will spur one moment to the next.   But we look, and watch in amazement.   Gardens are us, the perpetual changes through the ages of life.

[becke_davis]

I think it's interesting how often gardening turns our thoughts to poetry, prose and art.  That's one reason I call my blog The Garden Muse.

Loved this, Kathy -- thanks!

It's sunny here today, with blue skies and a hint of spring.  It's all a lie, of course, because we're probably going to get more snow in a couple of days.  Winter is far from over.  But it's nice to remember that spring is coming -- I can hardly wait! 

[KathyS]

---

becke_davis wrote:

I think it's interesting how often gardening turns our thoughts to poetry, prose and art.  That's one reason I call my blog The Garden Muse.

Loved this, Kathy -- thanks!

It's sunny here today, with blue skies and a hint of spring.  It's all a lie, of course, because we're probably going to get more snow in a couple of days.  Winter is far from over.  But it's nice to remember that spring is coming -- I can hardly wait! 

---

Becke, this week I've been wracking my brain, trying to come up with a poem for Valentine's day, and I've been at a loss trying to think of what this day means to me, or what it means to everyone.   It's too vast a thought, and too varied.   I sometimes go through all of these processes of thinking, like talking about gardens, and how they become an echo of us as we reflect on them as we age.  If we tend them, they flourish, if we ignore them, they turn to weeds.  And it's not just ourselves that we see in this light, but it's our relationships we have with each other.

You said something that I've been thinking, also. Do we claim these brighter days as lies?  One minute it's sunny, the next it's stormy.  What can you depend on?  Is it captured in nothing but memory? Do we look back, or is it all a looking forward to a brighter day. Is it a better day that we look forward to? 

Wishing wells, and gnome spells....  It's sunny, it's warm, it's a wish that is magical and hopeful.  I went to bed with the word, "muse" in my head.  I muse a lot before I write some of these poems.  I can't go directly to a poem when my mind is in winter mode.   It's painful at times.  It's when the trees appear in their dormant state.  I have to think spring.  I have to imagine it as now.

February 14th is not spring, as in seasons, but it is spring for thoughts of love.  I never can predict when my own heart will open and close.  That yearning that is always there, but laying dormant at times, and other times it pulls me into the seasons to find what is missing.  I can look at a flower, and it pulls me to it.  I can smell it, and sometimes taste it, without even touching it.

These are my thoughts at the moment. 

Lyrical thoughts of heather, of lilacs, of lavender, of love.

These are my feelings, of holding hands, of touching the tip of a nose, to kiss a cheek.

Music that sways these thoughts so I can see the sun, shining above.

Lyrical notes that tell me that someday our touch will meet.

Roses seem to be the symbol of love, but so many flowers are all around us

We pick not just one, or two or three

It's an ocean of color that is between you and me.

What would we give to stand under these bowers

If not to see all of these lovely flowers.

Happy Valentine's Day to everyone.  Simply, take time to smell all of those flowers!

Message Edited by KathyS on 02-13-2009 09:31 AM

[becke_davis]

Happy Valentine's Day, Kathy!  Thanks for your poetic contribution.  I'm afraid my poetry muse is a little fried at the moment, so I'll leave the honors to you!

[Choisya]

Thanks for a lovely Valentine's Day contribution KathyS and a happy day to you both!  Here is my contribution, still with our friendly gnomes.

And a poem by Swinburne about Heart's ease - or pansy to you and me:-

Heart's ease or pansy, pleasure or thought,

Which would the picture give of these?

Surely the heart that conceived it thought

         Heart's ease.

Surely by glad and divine degrees

The heart imprelling the hand that wrought

Wrought comfort here for a soul's disease.

Deep flowers, with lustre and darkness fraught,

From glass that gleams as the chill still seas

          Heart's ease.

Message Edited by Choisya on 02-14-2009 06:37 AM

[becke_davis]

Oh, that's lovely, Choisya!  I'll see if I can find a poem for Valentine's Day, too.

[becke_davis]

I will be the gladdest thing under the sun!
I will touch a hundred flowers
And not pick one.
-  Edna St. Vincent Millay

There came a time when the risk to remain tight in the bud
was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.

-   Anais Nin

Little flower, but if I could understand, what you are, root 
and all in all, I should know what God and man is.

-  Tennyson

If of thy mortal goods thou art bereft, 
And of thy meager store 
Two loaves alone to thee are left, 
Sell one, and with the dole 
Buy hyacinths to feed thy soul.

-   Sheikh Muslih-uddin Saadi Shirazi, The Gulistan of Saadi,   1270

And my favorite (although it's not for Valentine's Day):

The Little Ghost

I knew her for a little ghost
That in my garden walked;
The wall is high -- higher than most --
And the green gate was locked.

And yet I did not think of that
Till after she was gone --
I knew her by the broad white hat,
All ruffled, she had on.

By the dear ruffles round her feet,
By her small hands that hung
In their lace mitts, austere and sweet,
Her gown's white folds among.

I watched to see if she would stay,
What she would do -- and oh!
She looked as if she liked the way
I let my garden grow!

She bent above my favourite mint
With conscious garden grace,
She smiled and smiled -- there was no hint
Of sadness in her face.

She held her gown on either side
To let her slippers show,
And up the walk she went with pride,
The way great ladies go.

And where the wall is built in new
And is of ivy bare
She paused -- then opened and passed through

A gate that once was there. 

Message Edited by becke_davis on 02-14-2009 03:03 PM

[KathyS]

Becke, I like your original poems the best. I think you should post them.  Dog Days...The Lawn.....Garden Walks...  

[becke_davis]

Geez, Kathy, I'd forgotten all about those!

[becke_davis]

I didn't even have this one saved on the computer:

THE LAWN

The lawn stretched

green and broad,

an eminence of sod

A tapestry of green,

smooth, unflawed,

untouched by man or god

Acres, miles of lawn,

strictly mowed

uncultivated and unhoed

Unbent by farmer’s heavy tread,

rejecting children’s footsteps wholly

A masterpiece serene

in green

Summer passed over

the elegant gown

of emerald down

A hot iron, stamping

a trail on the ground

in brown 

Message Edited by becke_davis on 02-14-2009 05:02 PM

Message Edited by becke_davis on 02-14-2009 05:29 PM

[KathyS]

Seasons of Love

I loved you once in summer

I loved you once in spring

I saw you in the fall of day

When birds around would sing

We sailed away to oceans far

In winters of our past

I know we'll meet again in spring

To see a star at last

I'll hold you there within my sight

When bells again will ring

I loved you through all seasons

In comfort by your wing

When side by side love meets again

Leaving thoughts to fly and roam

Days apart without my love

Sighs further heart from home

I'll kiss you in the morning

We'll talk of dreams we've had

I'll hold you in the evening

And feel as passions fled

I'll walk with you through gardens vast

often times when shadows fall

I'll take your hand and see the past

To note the days I've heard you call

I go to you, you come to me

These seasons of eternal love

The muted notes within the sea

Cry longing from above

I love you more upon the season

The heart will tug and pull

The voice of summer's reason

These hearts forever full

It took me an hour to hammer this one out today, and another hour to get the darn thing lined up on this program!  I'm ready for my nap! A million poems later, and I think I've finally, and completely, run out of things to say about love!

K.S.

Message Edited by KathyS on 02-14-2009 02:08 PM

[becke_davis]

If there is a way to get special formatting to work here, I haven't figured it out.  I like what you've written, though!

Yeah, I just looked again and you've managed to get it laid out correctly.  Great job, Kathy! 

Message Edited by becke_davis on 02-14-2009 05:15 PM

[becke_davis]

DOG DAYS

Midsummer, morning, and the heat

thick and heavy,

knocks me from my feet

I sit amid the plants, all in a daze

while sidewalks bright as diamonds

catch the blaze

Looking for shade,

I kneel to clip the edge:

rock-lined, beveled

Sprawling with sedge and crabgrass,

invading the flowers that wilt

inside this border of gravel,

clay and silt

My hair sticks, lank and heavy, to my skin

as, among the rocks, my clippers quicken,

out and in

Mindless of the aching in myknees

I crouch and ponder on

the buzzing of the bees

Or the buzzing in my head,

which could suffice

to drown out thoughts of water,

and crushed ice

Hypnotized by heat,

the click of clippers neat,

alone

I ponder in confusion

as my blood drips

on the stone

Message Edited by becke_davis on 02-14-2009 05:17 PM

Message Edited by becke_davis on 02-14-2009 05:28 PM

[KathyS]

---

becke_davis wrote:
If there is a way to get special formatting to work here, I haven't figured it out.  I like what you've written, though!

---

I finally got it straighened out....now.  If I write it on the board, I have no problem, but with something this long, I have to write it in Word and take my time.  If you copy it from Word, you can past it in the text box, ...but, you will get lines that won't conform.  LARGE FONT, AND OFF CENTER!  You have to take those lines and delete the spaces between them, that will pull that large font line back to the right size...but then you have to put the space back between the lines.  Then post it.  It took me forever to figure it out, and you read it before I got finished!!!!  Grr...sorry.

[KathyS]

---

becke_davis wrote:

DOG DAYS

Midsummer, morning, and the heat

thick and heavy,

knocks me from my feet

I sit amid the plants, all in a daze

while sidewalks bright as diamonds

catch the blaze

Looking for shade,

I kneel to clip the edge:

rock-lined, beveled

Sprawling with sedge and crabgrass,

invading the flowers that wilt

inside this border of gravel,

clay and silt

My hair sticks, lank and heavy, to my skin

as, among the rocks, my clippers quicken,

out and in

Mindless of the aching in myknees

I crouch and ponder on

the buzzing of the bees

Or the buzzing in my head,

which could suffice

to drown out thoughts of water,

and crushed ice

Hypnotized by heat,

the click of clippers neat,

alone

I ponder in confusion

as my blood drips

on the stone

---

I love this one!!

[KathyS]

---

becke_davis wrote:

I didn't even have this one saved on the computer:

THE LAWN

The lawn stretched

green and broad,

an eminence of sod

A tapestry of green,

smooth, unflawed,

untouched by man or god

Acres, miles of lawn,

strictly mowed

uncultivated and unhoed

Unbent by farmer’s heavy tread,

rejecting children’s footsteps wholly

A masterpiece serene

in green

Summer passed over

the elegant gown

of emerald down

A hot iron, stamping

a trail on the ground

in brown 

---

Becke, I love your poems, your poems always remind me of how varied, how different, we all are.  No one writes the same words, in the same way, because the individual always shows through in the written word.  No two people are the same, no matter how anyone tries to slice it!

You do write beautifully in poetry, and don't ignore that.  There is something deep that goes on in a lot of us, but when I read these words of yours, I can feel it, just as I felt something in Choisya's few words about her gnome.  We can't get past it, or around it, or by it.  It's as simple as that.

I do hope that more people, who read this board, will contribute their own thoughts to ours.  The more, the merrier!  I think they could all be hiding out in the writing board!  I've seen them!  Great stuff!

Kathy

K.

[becke_davis]

That's so true about poetry, Kathy -- it's almost as unique as a fingerprint.  Choisya's poem was short and sweet, almost bittersweet.  Your poems are always lyrical, almost musical, and they evoke very clear images.  You're a very romantic writer.

My poetry is always a little dark and strange, but that should come as no surprise to you!  

I'd love to see more poetry and prose here.  I hope others will post their garden or flower related verses, too.  And, of course, gnome poems are always welcome! 

[KathyS]

C-

Since I have no rose to give you, please indulge me in giving you this one Laurel?  

A Laurel by any other name.....is a rose for you.

Kathy

---

Choisya wrote:

You might sit under toadstools in sunny California Kathy but here in colder climes toadstools have doors which lead to nice cosy rooms! Here is one for you to colour   Look how forlorn this poor guy looks because he is doorless!  In other poetic? words:-

A gnome without a door

Is poor

Without some warmth

He will be

No more

---

[KathyS]

This poem is for Megan.

She was deeply loved.

A Bird In Her Cage

Let me out, let me out!

She flutters and shouts!

I want to be free!

I want to be me!

I want to trill with the other birds

I want to sing with them all

I want to see other skies

To fly when they call

Little bird, little one

Your door is now open

Your wings can fly

Far and away

I am a free bird, I am okay!

I am that little bird

That once flew away

I am that caged bird

Now home free to stay

Little bird showing her color

As the tree sheds its leaves

I am here she sings!

And she opens her wings

This is my branch

this is my tree

This is my home

This place welcomes me

[becke_davis]

That's beautiful, Kathy.  It must be so hard to lose a friend -- most of my friends who have died lived overseas, and I hadn't seen them in awhile.  This is so close for you, I know it's hard.  Writing this poem was a gift to Megan.