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.
Tag: soil
Those Trees (day 2524)
What trees came out of here?
What harm has been done before
How could we have ever saved you
Ten thousand miles away?
Chainsaws and axes thrown
Into your hearts of gold
Good soil twisted off again
Broken away and shipped beyond
Pretending another way.
Darkness returns in your future’s growth
Overstory large and bark
Grabbing at a curious mind
Peaks and valleys roughening
Softening along the floor
Moss returns again.
Bows (day 2484)
I’ve come along for the magic of night
Singing to my reflection ahead
Eyes wide open I’m inside myself
Forgetting all the bows I tied
While waiting by your side
A test I left unwritten, un-scribed
For distractions had taken the best of me
Towards an un-planted tree
Soil so deep I lost my shovel
And turned my soil to better ground
To grow the bio I dream of
Where magic of night shall leave behind
A day to open me up wide
Letters in her Name (day 2360)
Letters in her name were written
Softly in his hand
Two times he wrote them out
One for each their dearest pocket.
– Could it symbolize their path?
Sequestration of thy heart –
To each thy moon
Held, succumb’d to fate
Was at thee other’s
Fulfilling sun.
Though seasons matched,
Callused hands
Caused the ocean
To remain
Disunited.
– Seasoned seas could not forgive
Even as thy beggar holds –
Placed into canals
Where roses floated softly
Sat thoughts burgeoning
As if memory’s remains
Were fertile soil
To plant new clippings
Sitting abreast.
No More Trees, Money’s For Me (day 2064)
It’s ok that we cut down these trees for warmth
Let’s not get upset about our mountain
Turned crater, shipped to the moon,
Our water is a good memory, a clean memory
A clean memory for my dry lips
Afraid of this purple water
Maybe my dinosaur bones will take me home
To a land full of ten year old trees
Where water flushes the land clean
No more dirty top soil: eroded,
Home where the magical golden clouds
Hover just above the skyline, stinking
And water is just slightly brown
Mycelia? No, my bill fold needs more dinosaur bones
To sink into these fresh water lakes
Chopsticks, chopsticks, chopsticks trees
Get these poles off to the mill
Down that road of rubber and oil
More dinosaur bones and I’m ready to kill
Floating at 70 miles an hour
In plastic rocket ships, towing plastic bricks
And you there, strange looking person
How many toes do you have? You’re not one of us
Your skin is funny and your smell’s different
Let me see your papers that say many things
I don’t believe you can grow your beans here
See, my dead trees and stretched metal rings
Say: ‘NO TRESPASSING’
Get out, leave us alone
You’re filling us with lies
Unless you’ve got tits, beers, football, and guns
Money’s for me, and less of you.
Spoons of Sorrow (day 1959)
When I walk into an empty room
When I reach my palms for the sky
As essence, I’m a ghost
And sunrise brings tomorrow
With ten thousand spoons of sorrow.
I am a prophet in a rose
With two hands tied by thorns,
Fence posts painted white
Along dew kissed morning lawns.
When I sit amidst thousand year old trees
When I wave crookedly in heaven’s winds
My heart becomes a dead leaf
Integrating so effortlessly into a path
Dust to soil to earth to spring.
So long shall my stalk bend
Two ends of a hemp string crossed,
Seeds falling on gray wood
And harvest moon is my birth.
Saints (day 1865)
Call me lonesome blues
Inside a lost and wholesome moon
I’ve made a call
To all my saints
Left traces without an answer.
And if my phone were to ring out
And voices did talk back
Well, who would be a smoking stack
But the heart of my lonesome blues.
So get me upon a saddle, soon,
I’ve become the warrior long,
I’ve had my beans, cleaned in the stream,
And wishing now for soil.
Summer’s Butterfly (day 1832)
If for a moment your breath should be
Delicate, as summer’s butterfly floats
Then my mind should wander free
Upon full mountains of your slopes.
For blossom precludes summer’s growth,
Where upon our butterfly soaks
In unrelenting glow of Helios,
There, ’tis there I am to live
To cast my heavens stroke in soil
Upon our warmed hearth of serenity.
Ode to the Soil (day 1755)
Sweet dirt, my soil;
Great bounty of life.
Breathing and heaving and turning delight.
You break down my blossoms
And decompose your own waste
To help nurture all life
Balanced, and full of bugs and worms.
Your kindness is forgiving,
Your consistency is staggering,
Your patience is humbling,
Your vitality encouraging.
Even your air is enlivening –
Quite literally in fact.
And if until forever I had
Betwixt my fingernails and toes
Your rich presence to look at
Your heart in my hand,
I’d forever be full
Of everything I’d ever need
Until the day at last did come
For me to join thee, forever free.
Stealing Bravery (day 1472)
I had an anchor that crossed my row,
Two by two I’d say and go.
By mystery she held me close,
Just as a panther steals deep night.
But with my heart I brought bright sun
To cleanse the soil with rivers strong.
Running wild they’d overrun
Into a lake of sunken mystery.
Here I’d find her like a swan,
Carefully bathing amidst my song.
I watched her then, as I do now,
Willing my bravery into her lungs.
