NOTE: This is National Poetry Month, so here are more rhymes. One is from Mary Lou Meyers, my “resident” poet, andÂ two are by me.
The Gardener Poet
by Mary Lou Meyers
Starting a garden is like writing a poem,
a vague notion in an overgrown patch of weeds,
hacking away at the deadwood, preparing a clean bed
to sprinkle words like seeds to see which take hold.
Dark Mysteries of dormancy and rebirth,
in tune with the phases of the moon,
beliefs tested, territory staked,
sense of taste acquired through boldness, time and space.
Inspired, you break through consciousness
like the crust of the over-wintered garden,
the turned-up ground breathes, lapsed words churn up.
Digging down into the rich reservoir of loam
you follow verbal scents,
hibernating there beyond cognition,
waiting for a stillborn thought to appear.
You tamp the germ of an idea into place,
it yields to the tender touch
with the sweetness of the bond you make,
but try not to worry it into shape
for it is fragile yet, and can dissolve into nothingness.
You water and nourish it with organic matter
until the first signs of greening,
gleaning the most promising,
trying not to get between natural growth and your dream,
patiently awaiting fruition.
Still subject to capricious wind and weather,
you try to keep it tight and together,
expose it to light-giving increments.
Like a short-lived flower,
expectant, upturned face,
you worship the color,
fragrance, form, and grace,
but know without a deep root network,
the poem will die a natural death.Â
Spring has Arrived!
Spring has arrived!
The forsythia are in bloom
Start the cleanup;
get out your mop and broom.
Sweep the cobwebs
from your head
Not just those
under your bed.
Change your hairstyle.
Walk in the light.
Get a new lipstick.
Look up; fly a kite.
Spring means new beginnings
Not just cleaning closets.
So look inside yourself
& make positive â€œdepositsâ€â€¦.
Of love and sharing,
Of doing & daring
To be who you are
every single day.
The forsythia are blooming, Hooray! Hooray!
Be still! and you will â€œhearâ€ the daffodil
reaching for the sun with petals bright—
Open-faced to gather in the light,
Bringing beauty everywhere it â€œsingsâ€
the song of all the April springs.