Best Conservatory Poems
Such dusty mats of coconut, and hats,
and wicker chairs that creak; and chats, and cats
on sills that suck the early sun that spills
through glass to pass into the frills and twills
that talk and twitter, pass the time till tiffin,
pass the time of day this way until
the chills of morning pass; and cups and saucers
clink and find the sink.
The daily round’s
begun and yarns are spun in sun and shade
until the fading light brings night; and glass
that’s black as peat reflects the hats and cats
upon themselves while vats of black-tar dark
and bats are kept outside; and clinks announce
that time again that brings the hour for drinks.
[Conservatory: A glorified greenhouse stuck
on the side of your house.
This really happened yesterday, and today…
Okay, the cactus is poetic license]
*
Well, he pooped over here and he pooped over there
That dumb pigeon pooped almost EV-ERY-WHERE
I couldn’t believe what came out of his ass
Each time that pigeon crashed into the glass
He couldn’t get out and got really irate
And head butting glass made that bird defacate
There’s poop on the windows, the chairs and the floor
Cos that stupid pigeon kept missing the door
The worst of it wasn’t the mess on the mat
But the chaotic outcome when pigeon woke cat
House plants and lamp stands were flying around
With light bulbs and compost strewn over the ground
I was left cut and bleeding from scratches and stabs
And I’m smothered in band aids and numerous scabs
But it was neither pigeon nor cat that attacked us
It’s simply what happens when catching a cactus
It grew dark and I switched the outside light on
And then when I looked, that mad pigeon was gone
I felt rather smug and a little bit clever
Til my cat started coughing… and spat out a feather
And that should have been the end of my story
Of the pigeon that ransacked my conservatory
But it’s hot today, I’ve got doors open wide
And two psycho pigeons have just flown inside!
Well, sod them… if they want to cave their heads in
By dive bombing windows, I’ll watch them and grin
But a conservatory, I think I should say
Is a really bad place for a cat litter tray!
*
[Apologies to UK Soupers; apparently, we can say ‘ass’ but not ‘A.r.s.e.’]
Tis' life I bring to my garden gate
On a palette of colors by my front door
Each day I can play as I cultivate
Many blooms I have spawned as a grower
Many suns, many moons have sweated and swooned
In the coming and going of seasons
But now even more the old metaphor
Has me thinking of all the wrong reasons
For now as I gaze on the flowery state
The day has drawn long and lost its mettle
As the giving up of the ghost Gladiola's fate
And the rankled Rose is shedding its petals
The collapsing Chrysanthemum has irritated the Iris
While the perishing Peony has drawn to conclusion
The senescent Sunflower floundered its prowess
The tired Tiger Lily needs an infusion
Drooping Dahlias and doddering Daffodils
Are waning with dwindling demeanor
No enterprise or miracle can save them with sheer will
Their disposition will never be lusty or keener
It gives a small comfort though to know
That even if beauty fades with the turning of the seasons
It gathers in blossoms of the moments that in our hearts grow
And lasts as true love always fresh, ever pleasing
Tis life I bring to my garden gate
Each day I can play as I cultivate
On a palette of colors by my front door
Many blooms I have spawned as a grower
June 19, 2019
My Quiet Place The Conservatory
Its early, the mist is just lifting as I open the conservatory doors, the spider webs are everywhere just hanging from every plant twig and the gazebo, all trailing a million jewels of dew as the sun rises through the disappearing clouds. I wonder once again if the sun will sit in this layer for the day or give us some late summer warmth that we have missed this year. I always wonder at this time of year if the webs are here all year and we just don’t see them, and I don’t like that idea for two reasons, one is that I am scared of spiders, not scared they attack, but they just creep me out and even though I am a gardener and I know all the benefits of them, I just can’t stand them. The other reason I don’t like to think I have walked through all their hard work of the night spinning their webs as homes and food nets and we just barge through willy-nilly not caring.
I open the doors wide once more
The webs hang as jewels
The new sunrise I gaze in awe
Dew drips, drop, in small pools
My spider fear makes me shiver
But wonder takes its place
Bejewelled forms of art quiver
The spider’s daily resting place
4/09/2012
Contest Entry: My Quiet Place, sponsored By S Kendrick
Do you remember the night sky conservatory?
The time we picked the lock at the gate
Snuck in after dark?
So innocent we felt like criminals.
Little did we know we were stealing
Each other's hearts.
Do you remember the blanket I spread out
Beneath the stars that slowly revealed themselves
One constellation at a time?
Learning that darkness and light
Can really coexist quite beautifully,
Each gaining significance from the other.
Do you remember the bats
Scattering their silhouettes
Across our unhindered gaze?
Do you remember the creature
Moving not far away?
Do you wonder as I do,
If it was our budding affection manifest
To warn us we were falling?
Do you remember when you said,
“That was my first kiss”
And your very words
Altered my body chemistry?
Do you remember from all the years gone by
Amidst the tangled breaths and foggy windows,
All the vapours of pleasure
Turning into solid child?
How could I not believe in magic?
When what I’ve known with you
Is the opposite of tragic.
Colorful male peacocks flew in when the glass door opened.
They took up posts designated by themselves.
What do we feed them? The princess asked her guards.
It is unknown, they reported. We have never seen this.
The peacocks stayed the rest of their lives.
And the cooks figured out what they liked to eat.
The conservatory became a spectacular tourist attraction.
Thanks to three peacocks, a cook and an attentive gardener.
Tho' not with a dagger in the library
nor candlestick in the conservatory
someone done the dirty deed
and yet of bodies none were found
perhaps the evidence had been concealed
interred deep down underground
so no one's doing time
it was eventually revealed
for the heinous crime
of thuggery and skullduggery
terrible as it may be
where the skeletons are buried
only the gravedigger knows
and after all allegedly it was purportedly
merely a murder of crows