Best Gardening Poems

“Wow! It’s Christmas, happiness coming
Now for the gift welcoming loving
Then to the church to bow before God
And to the market to buy me a gift
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I was pegging out your lime-green dress;
you were hoping the last of the sun
might sip the last few beads of drip-dry water
from its lime-green hem.
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MY father left a park to me,
But it is wild and barren,
A garden too with scarce a tree,
And waster than a warren:
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O, for that warning voice, which he, who saw
The Apocalypse, heard cry in Heaven aloud,
Then when the Dragon, put to second rout,
Came furious down to be revenged on men,
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No more of talk where God or Angel guest
With Man, as with his friend, familiar us'd,
To sit indulgent, and with him partake
Rural repast; permitting him the while
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This is a SHOUTING poem.
Not a gentle wildflower poem
not a whispering-of-love poem
A SHOUTING POEM.
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The last of summer gardening ends.
Hoe and trowel, knee pad and sunbonnet
Hang in the shed with the shears.
The final petals of the rose have fallen,
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All along, Vincent was under the impression
That Ursula liked him as much as he liked her.
They spent so much of time together
Talking, laughing, gardening, with gestures
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A plain tilt-bonnet on her head
She took the path across the leaze.
- Her spouse the vicar, gardening, said,
'Too dowdy that, for coquetries,
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In a little town in Devonshire, in the mellow September moonlight,
A gentleman passing along a street saw a pitiful sight,
A man bending over the form of a woman on the pavement.
He was uttering plaintive words and seemingly discontent.
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I should be more cordial
You know- take the nice lane
Not mention your darkness
Or your endless spreading of pain
...

Between the Gardening and the Cookery
Comes the brief Poetry shelf;
By the Nonesuch Donne, a thin anthology
Offers itself.
...

I search her face across a hemisphere,
embark on one more journey:

Will you come?
...

An average man was Private Flynn,
Good stuff for soldiering, no doubt;
Troublesome when the drink was in,
A quiet lad when it was out.
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You can take my hands in your hand
No matter how far Away
I'm from your land
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There's a looper caterpillar in my lupins,
There are weevils weaving strands about my stocks,
There are throngs of thieving thrips
On my seedlings and my slips,
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How often you visit museums to view the masterpieces of all those artists of long ago, sit on a tour bus and do not see that lady sitting there, framed with painted face and eyelids shaded cum sfumato, her hair curled with such as those of Leonardo. Ecco her eyes when she smiles.
How often you sit at a restaurant table and blink on pass the flowers dazzling their colors and shouting Van Gogh’s hello with the tableware so neatly arranged side by side and flowered napkin. You did not make to notice.
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I went by the Druid stone
That broods in the garden white and lone,
And I stopped and looked at the shifting shadows
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I didn't write that novel
I've dreamed of for many years
Nor did I climb Mt. Everest
(I'm really scared of heights)
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"What A Nice Life I Have" was, with Jez Brul, a 'hit'.
Now she wants a sequel.So today I'll write a BIT....
.....MORE.
Perhaps two** years of marriage has passed since what first....
...

If you feel life is mean,
Give life one more chance

Visit your mother
...

The Chance Operations Of The World Literature Into A Verse Paragraph
10 January, 2019

In the attempt to define the term 'literature', one can distinguish between two general directions: a broad and a narrow definition. The broad definition incorporates everything that has been written down in some form or another, i.e., all the written manifestations of a culture (hence, there are terms such as 'research literature', 'the literature on civil rights', etc.) . Needless to say that such a broad definition is problematic as it does not really facilitate communication about the topic. Furthermore, this concept neglects the fact that in many cultures in the past and for a number of indigenous peoples today, literature has not been captured in written media but has been passed down in a long oral tradition of storytelling, myths, ritual speeches, etc. Attempts to come up with a narrow definition have, however, led to such a diversity of approaches that one can hardly talk about 'the' narrow definition. Nevertheless, it is possible to sift out some of the criteria scholars have applied in order to demarcate 'literary texts' from 'non-literary texts'. These criteria include:
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My window looks upon a wood
That stands as tangled as it stood
When God was centuries too young
To care how right he worked, or wrong,
...

That was the year I planted tulip bulbs.
After a year of eager and patient waiting
The gorgeous red and yellow flowers
Of mellow beauty filled in the garden.
...

Thursday I picked plums, and.....I may have picked a peck,
but if it WEREN'T a peck I picked, "Who Cares? ". What the heck!
Some were soft, some still hard, some purple, some were green.
This year's is a "bumper crop", the best that Bri has seen.
...

Flower
Power
Healer
Cleanser,
...

Obscured by clouds
a hidden Orion

listens to your
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I had always adored purple lilacs, and never could get enough,
As wildflowers bloom abundantly, although times may get rough.

They had graced a backyard garden, that I'd known in childhood,
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Number ONE:

Eroticism: A Limerick …. [about Eroticism; VERY SHORT; well, it IS a LIMERICK! ]
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One afternoon last summer I
Sat at my local lake, as I once
Did with Clara, my now departed
Yellow Labrador.
...

Limping, nay, crawling towards her garden ……(
...half-DEAD) , [ the garden! ],
Carmi, in her overalls & floppy hat, to Bri said:
"Bri, old friend, bring my tools behind me now;
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One of Us

The aging Englishman
lived alone, and
...

Thank you, God
For this lovely day
I truly enjoyed it
In every single way.
...

It’s the flash of bright sunlight
reflected off a passing car
that stops me in my tracks –
picking out the teatime plate which
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It's a very, very, VERY rainy winter this year.
Someday I'll have to mow our lawn, I DO fear,
before our beloved St. Bernard gets lost inside of it …
when she strolls out back to take a BIG doggy shit.
...

I ran once to seize the time
I forgot that it's unable to seize the time lazily

Once I ran after to catch-
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Is it really so darn rude,
When you garden in the nude.

Does it drive the people crazy?
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Just below the blue horizon
all the earth is lush and green.
Digging, planting supervising
and busier we've never been.
...

This is a SHOUTING poem.
Not a gentle wildflower poem
not a whispering-of-love poem
A SHOUTING POEM.
...

Here I waters in my garden
The beautiful plants for colored flowers
Today I sees the buds on my jasmine plants
When it will blossom I wait to see
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I.
Back from dream, still in trance
Fire fights blazing in back streets
Making heart's fierce beats
...

Spring is like no other season for many reasons.

Good-bye cold,
Good-bye snow,
...

Today the soft rain is
not falling, rather blessing,
as gentle as mercy,
making the air
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No, the candle is not crying, it can not feel pain.
Even telescopes, like the rest of us, grow bored.
Bubblegum will not make the hair soft and shiny.
The duller the imagination, the faster the car,
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GARDENING is hardening
In every way you view it;
It makes a fellow hustle,
And it strengthens every muscle;
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A Rose Is, But A Rose by Kenny Davis

A rose is, but a rose
Its illustrious petals has me drawn to her
...

Sitting, now, on my garden bench,
relaxing, resting,
no longer toiling.
Quietly sitting,
...

Waiting for something
like a life, the life, mi life, anything
resembling something more than only the wait.
Are heroes patient or impatient?
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The Corrupted Garden
26 December, 2018

From side to side if you are there
...

GERMAN MERCHANT MARINE
In trouble radioed the shore:
"We are sinking! ... We are sinking! "
reply... "Und what are you sinking about? "
...

Poisoned by disease
flowers and plants die
deep roots hide underground
waiting again for the birds to fly
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I want to go back in time again and touch my mother's cheek,
I want to hug my grandmother, at her kitchen sink,
I want to touch her flowers, see Grandpa play dominoes,
See my dad at gardening, watch him work the rows..
...

gardening back the perennial shade,
no time or reason to follow the wholly
mammoth into his grave.
...

isn’t interesting enough
to be put into poetry it’s not worth saying;
if writing poetry makes life too tough,
you cannot solve your problem writing prose or praying.
...

I see them still
In the morning shower
Or during gardening in the summer
The faint scars of my past
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He seems to know my arrival time
Waiting at the gate every time
Seeing me jumps up and down
Barks announcing arrival, the whole town
...

Sowing
Planting
Hoeing
Cutting
...

Robin

Robin with your plump little red breast,
Our faithful companion in the garden,
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Soggy

Soggy bottoms on damp park benches,
Old English tradition of soggy cucumber sandwiches,
...

Love is made of flowers,
High up in the sky,
But sometimes gardens out of reach,
Will make us slowly die.
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Books, Books, Books,
Common-sense, a nice smile, a worthwhile chore
Books, Books, Books,
Never judge one by it's cover, a sign in a book store
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There is something great to gardening
and in these early days of spring
some birds do frolic and flutter
while others do sing
...

I am not a good poet for seniors
My peers, observations I have
Seniors are recycled teenagers
Very big portion of well behaved
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Although I had always adored flowers, I had never had a green thumb;
And while I tried awfully hard, my efforts always had sorry outcomes.

Like the sorrow of old garden roses, during the unanticipated drought,
...

I was a professional landscaper, with passion for nature, and a green thumb,
Like passions of smothering, dreamy nighttime, to which we gladly succumb.

My work took me to many gardens, set in the butterscotch zones of summer,
...

Mary was ten and she adored flowers, and she had three pretty sisters;
But, she never could make a garden grow; like stars, losing jade glitter.

Sisters Sarah, Martha and Alice spoiled Mary, for she was the youngest;
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I’d see strange lights in the garden shed
When I’d wake in the early hours,
Hanging out of the bedroom window,
Blowing smoke at the stars,
...

Her hair is spun pure gold,
Her pink dress is woven of silk,
Her eyes sparkle with delight,
And the moon shines at the start of the night.
...

Nonmowing turns empty lots
through time into forests
Sometimes the most powerful actions
involve inaction
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You ought to have a medal, Mrs. More,
The medal for the Coupon and the Queue,
The Cross for Courage on the Kitchen Floor,
The Order of the Scrubbing-Brush and Stew.
...

People have gardens, both large and small,
Whilst flat dwellers have no garden at all.
Some people love to surround their homes
With comical-looking, little garden gnomes.
...

Never let your knowledge work against you...
where it becomes weighty,
heavy with an edge of despair.
Too many carry around a chip on their shoulders.
...

If flowery words are being planted
And not just being driven by the air
I think that this world won’t be disgusted.
It will be a picture that we can bear.
...

Blistering sun, tanned skins
Playing in rain, on a muddy field
Gathering at midnight, we’d sing
Mud-clad bodies, mothers’ dread
...

belonging nowhere
for the first time in thirty six years

belonging nowhere
...

I was in my backyard sunning, while lost in warm daydreams,
Enjoying red raspberries, while listening to the birds sing.

Lying on afternoon chaise, in the golden midst of hot July,
...

Gardening is magic as seedlings grow into beautiful flowers that bloom with beautiful colors.
The fragrant smell of flowers are all around us.
Gardening is magic...
As one watches a flower grow from a tiny stem into a large beautiful plant and flower.
...

I love to hear the radio -
It's turned on all the time
It's playing when I fall asleep,
still on when I wake.
...

Old, tired, physically worn out,
With every move my muscles shout.
Woodworking, gardening, lazing about,
nothing to do but widdle and pout.
...

I have to have a holiday
I need to have a break
the housework and the gardening
are making my neck ache
...

I climb off the lawn mower, sweaty and hot
A cool glass of lemonade a refreshing thought.
As I walk to the house and survey the yard
By seed heads and dandelions no longer marred
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Last week Opal learned
she has cancer

might live six months
...

She’s been a gardener for years
but more and more she brings
flowers inside to arrange a
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Books! Books! Books! There are so many different designs.
There are some which, by the author, are personally signed.
Some books have pages with gilt edges, which look all posh.
Some have nice pictures on their covers, which are embossed.
...

Gardening the children
I get the personality-flower.
Right day right date and time
Right match right frame of mind
...

Not chill not chill
This is potter's wheel
Nihil nihil nil nil
This is potter's wheel
...

Just when I thought a miracle had occurred
and another would have the matriarch up for a sainthood,
her little sister said that the first sensible present
she'd ever got from her
...

For loss of life and honour, he didn't care
in some of his personal experiences.
But a loss in love that is worthless,
weightless and valueless, sinks him in sorrow.
...

Flower business is costly
As of the gardening
Always set a series of losses
Like life itself
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Copper leaves darker than holy wells
spin down from soundproof trees
where daisies burn the contour of the slope.
Indoors, amid cool corridors
...

This was the world of the nameless Russians,
who came but never grew
into leaf and flower in this rich country,
forests seen from the fifteenth floor,
...

Fearless—breaking through all obstacles:
Smashing down the walls that bind us all
And blazing trails that put us in total awe.
Reaching all your goals is your optimum.
...

Garden the light-guarding that mystery
Garden the stars of the night
Carry them close to your heart tonight
Garden the light-guarding that mystery.
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You've got apathy about worshipping the sun,
Gardening your flowers on your side of the fence,
Your head is hanging like it's a spent blossom.
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The Fireplace....(good times)

I was sitting in front of our fire place
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As if my sorrow knows no bound
Its roots are deep in my heart’s ground.
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The day seemed boring
Dull and dreary
I tried reading
Kept the book on the side
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I take
Life as it comes
Never depressed by
What may not come?
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I went to the chestnut tree
stripped bare by winter, where my mother
was gardening with potted plants.
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(for my wife, Daleen)

My life was dying in such slow degrees
that at times it seemed like the weathered trees,
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