The single white rose captured the old gardener's attention,
He lovingly cared for it, like it was his own grand-daughter,
The roses were just like family and friends in his eyes,
He gave them bright sunshine, and plenty of fresh water.
He had always planted roses in reds, yellows, and pinks,
Yet, it was the one white rose that he favored most,
The old gardener admired it's innocence and elegance,
A quality that the other roses just could not boast.
This precious rose was pure white, like new fallen snow,
Which only a cold, late November day could bring,
It's delicate petals were soft to the finger's touch,
Similar to that of a feather, in an angel's wing.
The old gardener was perplexed and astonished,
Only this rose bloomed through spring, summer, and fall,
Each of the other roses had withered months ago,
The frost and cold weather did not affect it at all.
With a smile, the old gardener took one last look,
Unknowingly, death would soon come without warning,
After he had settled down for a nap in his chair,
He drew his last breath, later on that morning.
His funeral was held on the very next day,
Loving words were spoken, as he was laid to rest,
His grand-daughter approached, with tears in her eyes,
As she placed the single white rose upon his chest.
The cemetery was a quiet and peaceful place,
Where family and friends gathered to remember,
A gentle snow began to fall upon the casket lid,
Brightening the gloom on this final day of November.
The old gardener's soul departed from this earth,
Lead away by a choir of angels, on delicate wings,
Then on through the pearly gates of heaven's garden,
Where the white rose still blooms, in eternal springs.
November 25th, 2013
Written by: Kelly Deschler
Copyright © Kelly Deschler
Koorosh the Great, Friend
All of my heart
Or one Monsoon
No amount, no grandeur
Can express the sorrow
Oh yes, I am sad, I am saddened
I am in sorrow
I am swimming in the darkness
I am missing something
That can not be said in words
Koorosh the great was a prophecy
For only now have we seen
The truth of greatness
Not by Victory, but by kindness
We are blessed to have seen
How simple life can be
Love your life
Bring everyone laughter
Create, envision and dream
Everyone who knows you feels special
Your father taught you well
Kindness that transcended generations
In the end
A humble man
No god could make him bitter
He was as he always was and more
A kind man
Only when you remove a tree from the garden
Do you realize
The tree was the garden
The flowers bloomed for the tree
The people sought shade and comfort
Quietly, I weep
For his family
If all great leaders followed his path
What a beautiful world we would have
Corey, you are missed
Notes: Dedicated to my friend Corey Fazel who just recently passed away before his time. Corey, you will be missed by many many people. It is you with your friendly pertinence that got me to swim, and that alone has changed my life, I will remember the many evenings and dinners we talked about all things under the sun.
MSA is Multiple System Atrophy, a terrible and debilitating disease that attacks the nervous system. It has many of the symptoms of Parkinson, however from onset one has very few years of life left.
Copyright © arthur vaso
Skies so grey
Heart so blue
Flowers of the past come to bloom
Love has kissed the stems
Pain has poisoned the blooms
The flowers are black as death itself
They speak to no one
Living in a veiled garden of darkness
Shrouded in mourning
Lingering for autumns death to devour them
Flowers in waiting
Clouds dance in anticipation
The coliseum of life has another festival
Of the slaughtered flowers
Crushed back to dust
The stars above
Stare down in silence
Knowing their fate is sealed
In a billion years or so
Death shall devour them too
Copyright © arthur vaso
Beloved, lovely roses: gift of God and lover’s flower,
Spread your colored petals and cradle tender showers.
While admiring the blossoms with their beauty to behold,
Ought we not to know the Tender of such lovely garden groves?
For He lovingly and thoughtfully wields His pruning shears
To cut away the stems of old for fuller future years.
He cultivates and feeds them. He attends them as a Father
Looking daily to their needs; so faithfully He waters.
From the dawn of morning dew until the setting sun arrays
Caring always for His own until that great appointed day…
When the Gardener comes to claim each one the earth held as its own.
He gently picks it at its peak and for His pleasure takes it home.
As God did one glorious morning, when the Perfect Rose had bloomed.
He rolled away the stone and met with Mary at the tomb.
There the sweetest Rose of Sharon rose that we die not alone.
But be gathered for a garden grove, surrounding heavens throne.
Copyright © Tom Valles
Sometimes it all feels like a dream.
A dream full of love,
Full of life,
And full of happiness.
It is as though I am surrounded by flowers;
Yet, every pedal stings like the nick of a blade.
A sharp, jagged blade.
Carving every inch of my body. Could this really be a dream?
I lie here, trying to escape, but I keep drowning in the flowers.
Even through all of this pain, I still feel the joy of love.
With every tear I shed, I still feel happy.
My world seems empty and cold, but I still feel the warmth of life.
I wonder if this is the end. If my life
Could really be taken by a simple blade.
I begin to stray away from my happiness
And realize that this is no dream.
I thought I was draped with love,
But little did I know that this garden was filled with malicious flowers.
I once felt delighted in the presence of a flower.
The cheer it brought made me burst with life.
I thought I knew the meaning of love,
But I never knew the pain of a blade.
It helped me distinguish reality form a dream
And determine what would truly make me happy.
It seems so far away, the hope of happiness.
The pedals turned black, darkening the hate within the flowers.
I close my eyes, begging for it all to be a dream.
Praying for a prolonged life.
I lay in the garden of vengeance, awaiting the pierce of a blade.
Longing for the compassion of love.
Not even a moment later, I realize there is no love;
Nothing that can make me believe in the existence of happiness.
Again and again I feel the torment of the blades;
The misery that began in this garden of flowers.
I feel my grip loosening, about to let go of life.
I am beginning to disappear like the memory of a dream.
At that moment, the light shines through the flowers.
My body fills with life,
And I finally wake from that horrific dream.
Copyright © Corinne Meade
She was a loving gardner growing four boys, she was called home by God when her love had taken root, now she is a gardener for His flowers.
Copyright © tim bledsoe
Outside My Window
I sit on Dad's heavenly bed as I pen this write
The mournful heart looks outside
The window which for the moment is mine
I view with his eyes and the heart inflates
The orchard is blooming ready for fruiting, but
The hedges look wild while lawn's not mowed
His cane chair is empty while mother is beside
The newspaper lies folded on the tea-tray with specs
The tangerines in pots dangling near to death
None to tell my brooding dear mother
'Preserve them in bottles before the season is out'.
September 12, 2015
Contest: Outside My Window
Sponsor: Bev Smith
Copyright © Balveen Cheema
A beautiful lady lovingly growing flowers, grew nothing more precious to her than her sons while bound to earth. She was called home to be with God when her earthly plants had taken root and now she tends God's gardens.
Copyright © tim bledsoe
First of all, Eve took a bite.
Then Adam tried the delight.
The serpents plot.
Adam knew it was not right,
before he took that long plight.
The serpents shot.
Bible says God came that night,
they were hidden out of sight.
God called and they answered, "What?
We are naked on this lot."
"Who told you that?"
"When we ate the fruit we got
our eyes opened on the spot."
So there they sat.
Beside a fire so hot
with food cooking in a pot.
"Leave this garden habitat
there is no more welcome mat."
They had to leave.
Punishment would be no pat.
Adam toiled without a spat.
How they did grieve.
In the evenings they would chat
about their past garden flat.
Now they believe!
For David Williams Virelai contest
Copyright © Marty Owens
You wonder how you'll make it with too much sadness all around.
The way you thought that life would be as teardrops touch the ground.
Heaven sees the tears you cry and wants for you to know.
Every place a teardrop lands a flower someday will grow.
In honor of the memory of each tear you ever cried.
And for the heart God placed in you that you hold deep inside.
For each and every time He sees each heartache start unfolding.
Longing for the used to be's and those you should be holding.
All the love that's in your heart that all of heaven sent.
Is multiplied ten thousand times with each teardrop that is spent.
With heartbreak and with tragedy in all the things you do.
With love so in abundance it's love that will see you through.
So as you look around you. Don't let your poor heart harden.
For someday where you're standing now will be a flower garden.
Edwin C Hofert
Copyright © Edwin Hofert
Around The Garden
My mother’s health began to fail
I came to care and help her smile
She had a little Gardenia tree
But no flowers did she see.
I tended her with love and toil,
fertilized and loomed with soil,
was in the spring before she left,
Gardenia blooms to her I set.
Now, in the spring, she walks with me
among the garden, around the trees.
Graceful Gardenia, fragrance be,
You bloom for all eternity.
Copyright © Jeralynn Clark
Bringing novel flowers
To this multicolored Earth,
A really wretched place actually,
If you know the awful truth about it
Taking some flowers with it,
Upon these fortunate plants
Seventeen springs ago,
An ordinary flower blossomed
On this cursed land.
The worst of all curses,
Placed on this pitiful plant
And a fate worse than death
Seasons flew by
And the flower withstood
The immense force of the elements,
Debilitated by great adversity
Brought by the years
Now with spring close by,
If fate shall allow,
Hopefully this spring,
This dying flower will perish.
Its roots turned to ashes
And carried by the winds of freedom
To the promised eternal paradise
A garden greets my eyes
With its breath-taking beauty
And my suffering dies
Copyright © Andres Rocha
into warm EARTH
NO Chill of death
with LAND and SEA
NO need to search for ME
NO final BREATH
NO NEED for a grave
I have been SAVED
If you MUST cry
PLANT a garden
In the SUNLIGHT
START with a SEED
WATER the flowers with TEARS
Then cry NO MORE
Fertilize the SOIL
LIFE is RENEWED
Say a PRAYER for LOVE
PERFECT and ABIDING
Then KISS the SUNLIT SKY, say goodbye
(or till we meet AGAIN)
NEVER an END
Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders
There grew in a garden,
White flowers pale as death,
That grew in rows like tombstones,
Their odor; foul like dragons breath.
Flowers bent and brittle,
Stems with many a thorn,
No sweet fragrance, just a stench,
Their existence was one to mourn.
These deadly flowers spread,
The world was its domain,
Its roots had leeched all over,
And no other life could remain.
Only these flowers grew,
The earth’s soil was rotten,
This decay consumed all life.
Its plague could not be forgotten.
When it spread its poison,
Life on earth was finished,
All life had become extinct,
The whole world had been diminished.
Even though its fiction,
All this could become true,
These flowers merely symbols,
Of hate that could live within you.
Evil spreads so quickly,
To hearts that are hollow,
People want the easy life,
A route that’s easy to follow.
Evil tries to tempt you,
Disguised as a flower,
Don’t be tricked by its beauty,
Or you’ll fall under its power.
Take control of your life,
Don’t let your heart harden,
Or you’ll become this flower,
A spawn of this deadly garden.
Copyright © Marilyn Hernandez
Pardon my Gardens; they're withered and grey:
Unkempt and wild and quite defiled
Given my odd and reclusive ways:
Eccentric is my fashion style
Look at Life through special glass:
I see it all now magnified
But my gardens grey, my cage, alas!
Damn society- be defied!
You should truly be in pictures,
You were born for it, you see:
Nevermind your fear and stricture;
What a starlet you would be!
Come and visit my grey gardens:
Bring your cameras; we will talk
Mother and I have long been hardened
By the way the others balk!
Jackie O. was in the know,
And embarrassed by our home
We let her in since she was kin
Though we sought to be alone
I am Edith Bouvier Beale,
A model once I was
Did cabaret 'til my dying day
When the flies began to buzz
Copyright © Just That Archaic Poet
Oh hear thee well the music
It’s the Maggies lullaby
They’re warbling in that Banksia tree
As the day begins to die.
And their haunting goodnight serenade
Says goodbye to the day
As the Sun lies down to sleep the night away.
Just four weeks from our Spring
My heart feels so alive
As I’m sitting on my garden seat
It be an hour since five.
And as those maggies hush their song
The fountain carries on
She’ll still be heard when all be hushed and gone.
Six Buddha’s seem to sense the silence
There’s a certain kind of glow
As I melt into the evening time
And swim within the flow.
And the evening says “it’s time to rest
Until the blessed morn
Now each must die, on the morrow be reborn”.
17 July 2004
Copyright © Peter Duggan
A fragile mind breaks
Wake upon the rock laden shores
A muffled heart begs to echo
Whispers lost among a velvet chamber
Dusk comes premature time and again
Dropping the curtain on an optimistic sunrise
If you never witness dawn
There is no tomorrow
Always the dreamer aches
Never awake to make real what he desires
The restless corpse walks blind
Dead ends seem fitting for one of the kind
Lost in the labyrinth of strangling vines
Love is the motive and the weapon
Taking root in throats dry from weeping
Sprouts of amnesia in place of smiles
A garden called heartbreak holds onlookers captive
The comfort takes hold, sets in the bones weary of searching
A plea for rest lands on deaf ears
The hollow boy tires of himself
The last request he will ever make
Lost and tired
He wishes to be weak no more
Copyright © Alexander Schwartz
Mommy, I know I left you here.
Ring ring went the phone,
Little did we know never again would I answer
Ring ring went the phone.
I was eating breakfast when
Open slammed the door,
That morning how strongly I would have denied
I would end up on the floor.
I tried to scream, Mom, I really did.
But he had me. . .
He used my garden tools to beat me.
He had me.
Those tools used to bring me so much joy,
But his purpose was to aid him.
I had loved greeting visitors with garden so green
It's not the tools' fault though, I don't blame them.
I shielded my face with my hand,
But soon that was broken. . .
The simple trowel was my doom,
All too soon, my face shattered and broken. . .
There was blood everywhere;
Mom I was so scared.
To stop fighting though,
I never dare.
The sleek black laptop I had
Been given for Christmas
Which held all of my
Favorite pictures of us,
With it and my purse,
He ran away,
Not knowing I wouldn't
Be here today.
The white-washed walls
Of the hospital room
Only all too well reminded
Me of Amontillado's tomb.
I left you in the hospital
Though. All alone. . .
They caught him, have comfort,
Even if you're alone.
I'm sorry Mommy,
I didn't want to go. . .
But who ever gets a choice?
I had to go.
How little did we know, that
One day, ring ring,
Never again would I answer
That phone, ring ring.
Copyright © Elizabeth Johnson
For years no one ever had a clue...
Of the secret she hid..no one knew..
The child inside her never shed a tear...
Although she lived everyday with fear...
She grew up never knowing what love was...
Till that fateful day, when he met him on the bus..
He was tall and handsome and had a great smile...
Knew all the words making her feel worthwhile...
They fell in love and soon were married...
And that’s when things changed...the love got buried..
The days were long and the nights were lonely...
They seldom spoke, and if only...
She hadn’t seen that ad...this never would have happened..
Join the Garden Club today and...
wipe all your cares away
There’s more to this story..I must conceive...
So please follow this sequel and I believe....
You will stop and think of the words I wrote...
And perhaps even take your own personal note....
Copyright © kj force
Thus the world was ruined,
By the sin of a single man.
A tiny twist in the story,
Brought about a change in God’s plan.
For out of the garden they were thrown
With nothing but rags to cover themselves;
But with wisdom so dangerous yet powerful
That opened the gateway to hell.
Copyright © Samuel John
The serpent, being tricky, used truth for a lie
“Here Woman, eat. You will surely not die!”
So, she ate of the fruit and made up a plan,
Crying, “It's not my fault!” as to Adam she ran.
Adam and Eve both declaring, “I will show no shame!”
As Man took of the fruit, in like manner, the same.
When later they saw their nakedness, their innocence lost,
The serpent slithered away, leaving them to face the cost.
God came to commune with the couple when the day was cool.
Finding them covered with leaves, he knew they'd broken his rule.
When questioned, they pointed while saying, “I'm not to blame!”
While fearfully remembering how the serpent had presented his claim.
“You have no proof.” Eve stubbornly persisted to her disgrace.
God answered, “Untrue! See the seeds? There is still a trace.
Because you partook of the forbidden fruit from that one tree,
My Son also will die for these sins, and others, on Calvary.”
Copyright © Virginia Mitchell
A smile was what I got from you,
when you looked at me.
I cared for you each and every day,
and your bright eyes set me free.
Your laughter filled my entire house,
and filled my heart with song;
then one morning, without warning,
your tiny life was gone.
You'd become another angel,
in the choir of heavenly care,
and I am sure you played all day,
with your family way up there.
I missed you down on Earth,
but I hope one day to be,
a part of the Garden of Angels,
and in your company.
Copyright © Rick Eichelberg
I do not know?
-Garden in the Grave-
Watching as an orchid's
last petal drifts
helplessly to the ground,
I realize that I am
witnessing natural art
in the making...
For it's body;
frail, wilted, and dry,
withers within it's
seedlings vast plot.
Preserving the following
generations with it's
nourishing memories and
Forever more, this
orchid shall be know as nothing
less than a Garden within its
(Copyrighted to "DigitallyDefectiveArt")
Copyright © Jose Rodriguez
I suppose it is not for me to say
if I am truly,
if I have given sufficient sway and swag
to ecological and eco-normic We.
My redemptive measure,
merit follows permacultural design,
consumption balancing nutrient production standards,
decomposition harmonizing regenerating practice,
not polycultural perfection,
but permacultural Climax Community intention.
Some are messy and richly fruitful,
Some are orderly marching
toward their own future's demise.
Life gardens yang and yin,
out and inside
seeding back and forth across time's life-death boundary,
if here now
then not here tomorrow
outside memories still incarnating,
forming and dysfunctioning,
decaying and recaying,
make-haying while Earth's light shines bravely on
blending polycultured dreams
into gracefully encultured explication.
Copyright © Gerald Dillenbeck
How often I’ve thought , I’ll just stay in bed...
But that’s for sick folks my mother said
So I’ll just linger a little while...
And let my memories make me smile..
My mother was strong and rather petite.....
And my father so strict...and yet so sweet..
They knew how difficult life could be...
And passed that on to my siblings and me....
As they had experience throughout their life..
With all the usual stress and strife..
And the pair of them taught us all so well....
Though the way we act sometimes you couldn’t tell..
The lessons we learn from our parents you see...
Are what makes us special like you and me..
And as we grow and make our own way...
Leaving our homeland so far away....
Years later returning to the place where we were born...
To scatter their ashes amongst the Rose garden thorn...
Was across the sea we had to go..
The memories were already starting to flow...
As we stood outside of the garden gate....
We heard Mother’s voice, so articulate...
“ tea’s ready “....and Dad said I hope it’s Earl Grey...
It was then we realized this was the day..
As they were gone and you can never go back..
So we must face the fact....
Our mind plays the movies in our head...
So with that in mind .. guess I’d better get out of bed.....
Copyright © kj force
Accepting aloneness, incomplete solitude, imperfect rest. The garden
wasted, pumpkin patch planted late, potatoes untasted left in ground.
A thousand email addresses, each unique represents a flame of
passion, compassion, desperation or depression. To understand, to know's
impossible. It is therefore only reasonable to observe the shadows
on the mountain, the actions of the dreamer which tell us something,
little, nothing of his dream. It's a simple secret shared,
longevity. The half breed John Russell says it right, the
date and place don't matter, dry desert or cold mountainside,
lush bottomland, soulless or hospitable, contagious hospital.
The best laugh's death's, a perfect escape, perfect error, perfect
rest. Their solicitude's unnecessary, grief is temporary, life goes on,
you go under, underemployed, the undertaker's never unemployed.
Forensics prove an ovary with two chambers, ovule adnate to the funicle.
Copyright © Robert Ronnow
With strong feet i step into the battlefield
A gun in my hand behind gods shield
Leaving the dearest to my heart behind
I see the flowers at the side of the mourning streets
A part burned a part of them weeps
Sounds of thunder fall down from the sky
But i keep on moving with my eyes wide open
trying to keep my head up high
At some point i remember the smell of peace
At home in my garden where birds used to sing
I'll face death just to be born again
I will kill death with my own bare hands if i can
And if death might lay me down for an endless sleep
I'll wake up in my garden right at the centre of my dreams
And death in both ways i will defeat
Copyright © Mona Karaki
In the winter, when midnight's at five,
a broken clock ticks inside my head.
Cold bones ache, so I know I'm alive,
but my life-hung'ring soul is half dead.
Outside is bitten by frost and death.
The tired garden hides former needs.
Dormant plants lack color, vibe, and breath.
Resting hands enjoy a break from weeds.
Caged inside, I hide from endless night,
scrapbooking pictures of life now past,
sunning under unnatural light,
casting aside the stormy forecast.
Copyright © Juliet Ligon
There are just to many ghost here
To this haunted villa...
Another day, another month, another
Year well this is driving me crazy
I've got to get out of here
You make me nervous and I can't
Deal with the anxiety and be myself
So here's throwing all caution to the
Wind sometimes you have to just
Get away to find yourself...
I wanna live by the sea, I wanna be
Free, I want to be me...the real me
Of course I'll miss those few faces
I love but I'm tired of people telling me
What to do I'm not a child anymore
I'm all grown up now you can try to
Stop me and say it's for my own good
But you couldn't stop me now if you
Wanted to sometimes you've just got
To do what your heart tells you to do
I wanna be free, I wanna be me
And breathe the deep the clean open
Air of the sea...
There's just too many Ghost's here
In this haunted cottage in the shadows
Of Dead Tree Garden...
Copyright © Bo Lanier
I do not know?
A sole bagpiper
Waits to perform
For another soul
This must of been his last wish
Old comrades occupy
A well trodden path
And bid him farewell
What they must think of us
Standing in the cold
Waiting for Mum
We didn't know
Knocking on that door
Would see another life
Pass before our eyes
A kind gentleman
'Someone is coming to see to you'
A door closes
Left outside again
Not even a room
To wait in
The cold rain seemed insessent
It wasn't going to stop
My hands were turning blue
I knew in that instant
Mum would be saying to me
'You don't eat enough to warm you
So much like me, so much like you
A gentleman approaches
Carrying you in his arms
Wrapped all nice and warm
I want to carry you
Like you carried me
Keep you close to my heart
Keep you safe
The March garden approaches
We are given private time
Nobody can utter a word
Dad lays you into your beautiful resting place
And suddenly this little jar
Comes out from my pocket
And urges to catch you
Dad acknowledges my asking
And into that little jar
The heart of you falls
To stay with me forever
I quietly close the lid
And put you in my pocket
Never again for us to be apart
Copyright © Jo Hayton