A varied year so far, I am looking forward to getting back into my garden, new plants, growth and sun trying its best. Think happy thoughts and dirty nails, love it! Though this poems does lend itself to sadder times, fictitious but long.lol. Too busy to write and so….hope you like it.
Within the garden – satisfyingly
green and monumentally trim –
there are those places; nooks
and crannies, rough creased hideaway
crevasses for creatures – a sanctuary
for bugs and the windswept soil
now stowed and packed tightly away,
right above the empty trails left
by birds, save for the heavier crumbs
scattered at lunch time and as if to say –
we know where you live.
The crumbs left at elevenses lie beside
a time before creaking bone reminders
that Rome wasn’t built in a day, and when
an internal lunchtime clock alarm signals
a mid way point of no return.
The hot sun causes a symbiotic relationship
with the beaded pad teetering on the brink,
and inharmoniously ill at ease on aching
shoulders – aching, but freestyle dancing
to the inevitable tune and building
crescendo of pain.
Chimes from my stomach sound
before the sun’s beams would definitely scour
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