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Daily Archives: July 8, 2016

In My Garden – Promote Yourself

robin_red_breast_bird_on_log

When I work in my garden

I feel the sun on my face

I listen to the birds singing

For my garden is a magical place

When I start to dig in my garden

The worms are tossed around

The robin sits down beside me

Eating the worms from the ground

When I cut my lawns with the mower

There’s a sweet aroma from the grass

Patterns made by the mower blades

Through time they will not last

I find peace within my garden

For there is so much beauty around

The sound of the songbirds singing

Creating such a melodious sound

Next time you are working in your garden

Remember you are not alone

Thank Mother Nature for her bounty

Allowing you to be working in her home

Malcolm Bradshaw

Gardening Poems – Promote Yourself

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Nothing has grown yet
in my one-week-old garden

I wonder will the little seeds
make it through early Spring’s late frost?

did I plant too soon?
was I over-anxious to begin?

I stick my finger in the ground –
it feels warm inside, underneath,

just half an inch deep where my seeds
rest – I think they will survive.

April 19, 2015

the garden is my primary place
for meditation these days,
in these majestic mountains,
in this place of serenity and beauty

I inherit an abandoned plot –
weeds have overgrown
last year’s plantings
and perennials –

preparing the beds for planting
i dig up old carrot roots,
unfound potatoes, decomposing,
and sundry forms of organic life

I crumble the good earth
with my fingers – I feel
the power in the soil
to sustain a new growth

with a shovel and a rake
I turn the old soil over,
exposing its underside
to sunlight and fresh air

then sprinkle a little mulch
in the furrows that form –
spread the mixture slowly,
evenly, to form a flat bed

it’s like an open wound,
exposed, that heals quickly
with sunshine and oxygen –
it’s time to place the seeds –

I punch holes gently, gently
in the heaping, heaving mound
and drop two or three seeds
into each little womb, and wait . . .

weeds grow like, well, weeds,
and must be plucked, removed –
and on dry days there is watering –
& waiting & hoping

today’s meditation is complete –
my body is tired from digging,
raking, bending, touching the soil –
I’ll sleep like a baby tonight.

another gardening poem – June 26, 2015

we are
the invasive species.
Like weeds,
our broad green leaves
block out sunlight
to the seeded plants –
our well-adapted root system
drains away nutrients
from below.

 

Raymond Maxwell <raymond.maxwell@gmail.com> P.S. A couple more gardening poems from Mountain Verse (copyright 2015): gardening – June 2, 2015 gardening has given me a different relationship with the environment than what I had before – weather

 
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