For weather calls
Present in a box
I wished no more
Growing straight and clean.
Lapping up a little mess
Flowing down the bank
Muddy underneath foot
Soaking into earth.
Gardening is for lovers
It is not for somebody who hates the world,
Cant stand to wait
Intermingling with chaos
In a fabric of life.
Gardening is for those who see the world,
Smell the sun,
Walk around with silent footsteps
To not scare the birds
Who sing so beautifully
For worms beneath the earth.
Gardening is for those who feel the wind,
A sweet summer lustre
Mixed with tobacco falsettos
Amongst little poplars.
Gardening is for the lovers
Who sit down side by side
And smile amidst sunflowers and cabbage
Like the silty loam soil
Made them to be.
Lost in the bliss of your overwhelm
A symphony of love culminating
Campfire roasting everything
Sounds like birds singing excellently
Around your symphony
A river through my heart
Through our heart
Through the heart of this earth
That feeds my generosity
As morning sun mounts the day
Awakening my symphony of love.
I dream of an apple that comes in many varieties
One so diverse it can only be spoken in gutteral movements
So loud it can hardly be swallowed
And so vivacious that even the clowns turn their heads and stare
And when this apple has come to life
A bounty shall follow freely
Where all that’s needed will carry forth
Fruitful seed in spring rains cracking
Momentum in earth so rich;
Deep into heart of gold forever fills the pallette
Like a warm cider by the fire
And my season of the sun well spent.
Born ten thousand years ago
Learned to see the moon
Carry a fire inside my soul
Lord, I’m coming home
Sitting alone in wild unknown
Breath of ten thousand breaths
Watched a leaf fall to earth
Felt it land so soft
Walked the path till I saw all clear
Deep in a medley hole
Called moon my mother’s name
Lord, I’m coming home
I’ve grown accustomed to leaves turning my memories from fresh to curled, a well understood paradox that changes the tide so romantically it hurts like the small spots beside the bulging veins growing inside.
My smile has grown lines, my heart has extended its beats, my hearing has begun to dance with angels upon the dead leaves blowing along the roughly trampled ground – are these our memories we have yet to experience, or have they been forgotten and left to dissolve into earth?
So I crouch down low and embrace the softly blowing wind that helps me to see my passing time I used to think I loved, I used to want to love, so here I’m hurting from spatial infrequencies that cup my involuntary spasms from underneath the table and remind me to forget to itch the pain.
Does this leaf know it crumbles within my palm so slowly softly? Did it reach for me in a pure moment of thought, expecting my return upon amber wings of a sun soaked day like an emotional Prometheus on a personal mission.
Then, like the ashes of memories crumbling in scaled hands of our Phoenix, so too shall sun rise again over the horizon of a small family farm to bring with it a wet spring full of insight and gratitude that runs the width and depth of a heart shaped leaf settling softly upon a well worn path of insight.