Monthly Archives: August 2016
My peat-free Grow-in-the-Bag has three new plants –
or implants – wound-in green plugs tied to willow canes.
‘Grown from seed?’ my friend asks, and I nod.
Truth is they’re as alien to this soil as I am.
I imagine their threaded roots unwinding from the ball,
separating, trying to spread, and wonder if they’ll hit
the bottom quickly. Well, what do I know about tomato roots?
For now they are pretty things, my Moneymakers
and Gardeners’ Delight – like three Scarlet O’Hara’s
dressed in their emerald curtains determined to grow food.
Though a little voice inside me says: you wait and see,
with no glasshouse and nothing but that fly-about willow
to cling to, this soil could easily spit them out. And you.
Root by root, toe by reddening toe.
Early May and half-bloomed,
green from the top down
to a burst of botoxed pink:
ballast for the thin green spires.
Leaves, broad as hands.
And all those flower-bells,
compact as a hive.
Something small could ring them.
Something small could live inside, or hide.
It could tremble them a while.
Become as mad as they,
A lovers heart beat ‘ can only beat once ‘ for the power of love ❤ ‘ will live on forever ‘ than a day .
I only saw her once ‘ and she stole my heart ‘ for I shall never love another ‘ as I do her ‘ for i shall marry her this night .🌃
Tis she is my angel ‘ she us my shining star 🌟 of my existence ‘ she is my love ‘ for my heart beat ‘ is for her alone ‘ as lovers at first sight .💏💘.
Patricia Bourne WordPress 2014.
This garden grows in a bed of shade
As the light is dim where the seeds were laid,
In places where the sun can only half invade…
So the flowers’ colors tend to fade.
From the rise of dawn till the start of night
There are more shadows than there is of light,
Yet this garden wills itself in spite
In the speckled patches where the shade is bright.
“How odd,” they said, “that you planted there
You could have planted anywhere.”
And even though that space was bare,
“What a waste,” they said, of time and care.”
But how many other things of matter
Whose initial worth were left in tatters,
Surpassed the first from beyond the latter;
Are now fertile grounds for furnished flatter?
No, this garden grows just where it should
Its roots took hold because they could.
Through droughts and storms it still withstood
To quiver light through trembling wood.
So by and by from time to time
That garden lingers in my mind,
On what else remains and poised to find…
Or what was lost when I was blind.
Still, I have a garden that lives in shade.
And it’s something pretty that I made
And though its colors tend to fade
Not for a 1000 other gardens would I trade.