Best Gardening Poems
Started in lockdown when a little bored,
with tender care planted hundreds of seeds.
To create a garden to be adored,
spent days removing the most ugly weeds.
Bought plants to attract butterflies and bees.
Sowed tulip and daffodil bulbs for spring.
Nurtured the soil, so they would grow with ease,
to bloom in colours to make the heart sing.
For summer, I prepared baskets and beds,
as an array of roses spread their scent.
In white, lilac, orange and mix of reds,
gardening was a blessing - heaven sent.
Four years later and each season still shows,
how nature's pure art spreads radiant glows.
Now that spring has arrived on the scene
to get out in the garden I'm keen
can't let one more day pass
without cutting the grass
since the light through my window is green!
A flower beginning with A is easy you see, an Aster I would sow
Bluebells of every colour and size in most gardens grow
Colourful Cornflower and Coneflower fills the scene,
Dianthus and Daisy look bright and so clean.
English lavender whose perfume fills the air,
Foxglove of many hues love to see them there.
Gladioli grow tall, look great cos of their beauty,
Hostas loved by the slugs til pellets do their duty.
Iris, so elegant, in wet areas love to shine,
Jasmine, whose heady perfume is divine.
Kalanchoe is a pretty plant likes to live indoors,
Lilac means Spring is here, buy lilac soap in the store.
Marigolds and Mistflower have their place in most gardens we see,
Nasturtium, a pretty old flower, yet smells like cats wee.
Orchids so majestic shout, look at me, I'm the prettiest of all,
Poppies of all colours, lovely to see them wafting so tall.
Quitensis is a plant that loves dusty conditions,
Roses, love to bloom wherever it's positioned.
Spring-flowers so beautiful heralding winter is over,
Tubs of tulips so elegant amongst the clovers.
Umbrella plant have leaves that look like a brolly,
Violets used to be made into posies and sold on a tray.
Wall flowers look good but the perfume's not the best,
Xeromena is a poor mans lily, to grow it, is a test.
Yarrow you will find in the spring,
Zinnia the last one, hope my list a smile will bring.
Penned. 3 July 2015
In Phoenix, a story was told
That Tom Cunningham stashed his gold
Since Tom is a bard
They dug up his yard
Marmite in hand, Tom laughed, "You're cold!"
Jim starts the day with good intention
Jobs need doing that require his attention.
The garden needs a good sprucing up
His vegetation 'triffids' are running amok.
He mows the lawn, trims the hedges,
Creates those nice, neat lined edges.
Weeds the borders, deadheads the flowers,
Feeds the plants their nutritional powers.
The hard soil is dug, ready and prepped
To sow the seeds for home grown veg.
Must not forget to prune back the tree
A labour of love is what it can be.
Hours of work that seemed never ending
His body and limbs, stretching and bending.
Sun burnt skin, his head now aches
Back is killing him, so takes a break.
Joints and muscles moan and groan
Weeds now gone are finally dethroned.
Jim's bones applaud with clicks and cracks
His badge was the sting when a wasp attacked.
Admiring his garden that he has served
His body felt it carried every ache in the world.
The thing Jim will remember and quickly did learn
To wear factor fifty to avoid the sunburn.
29.08.24
*ODE TO MY GARDENING GLOVES
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Alas, beautiful gardening gloves, I knew you well. I remember that early March morn; I opened your package and slipped you onto my hands. At first you were a bit stiff and uncomfortable. Over time you softened and became my weekly companion, pulling weeds, cutting flowers, and guiding the nozzle on the water hose allowing our foliage to flourish even during the hot summer months.
You've faded, though, from our days together in the sun. Your bubble grippers are worn, and your fingers are tattered and torn, worse for the wear. I will surely miss you as I will miss the warm, languid summer days we shared together.
Soon, I'll cover my hands with woolen mittens or furry gloves. But you'll hold a special place in my heart as I stand on my front porch shivering and yearning for next spring's arrival. Inside my desk drawer I've placed my new pair of gardening gloves, already purchased for next spring.
Each morning during the seemingly endless dreary winter months, I’ll open my desk drawer and slip them onto my hands, embracing the hope they symbolize.
oh! frost in the air
mist is on the nearby hills
plant dead, ugly bulbs
once bulbs are planted
they slumber peacefully while
faithfully waiting
in silent darkness
locked in winter's frozen sleep
secretly they grow
bulbs work mystery
some morning soon in springtime
pale, green tips appear
soon scarlet blossoms
slowly emerge, gracefully
beauty to behold
The weather will soon be getting warmer.
Watching economics and politics,
I’m teaching myself to be a farmer--
Anticipating an Apocalypse.
It’s time to rototill my backyard lawn,
And remove decorative plants and weeds.
My ‘raised bed’ ‘square foot’ garden plans are drawn;
Ready to plant heirloom vegetable seeds.
It’s time we start providing for ourselves!
The government’s nearly in bankruptcy.
It’s foolish to expect grocery store shelves
To have food during a catastrophe.
Go buy your trellises and garden string.
Plant your future meals, because here comes Spring.
A drop ... of possible future garden
yet unaware of its own splendor
Who said ...
that the bird sings from morning to evening
That's when things seem worst
that you must not give up
Everything will evolve over time
... long time
03/08/2021
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
I have a dream of.....
Meandering paths and water lillies
Topiary hedges and mazes of green
Splashes of color across the lawn
Succulent fruits all for the picking
Bleeding hearts, buttercups
Elephant ears, paperwhites
Canna, easter, and daylillies
Caladiums and flowering grasses
Perfect meter, perfect rhyme
Balanced into beautiful blossoms
Ressurection of perrenials
Springtime treasures and autumns follies
I was turning the bed,
knife-deep in dirt when I felt it:
that ache in the wrists
from too much tending.
And there she was again—
not in the muscle,
in the memory.
Being her friend was like this:
feeding a ghost with phantom limbs,
never full, never proof enough.
She wore collapse like a weather system
borrowing against good nature,
demanded every last bit of attention—
prostration over a missed text,
a misunderstanding—
I miss her.
Not that she'd ask,
too committed to the bit: bad marriage.
It’s a loss—
how she wears his damage
like it’s all that’s left of her.
I loved that woman,
but it forced me
into the role of indentured meteorologist.
It felt like violence.
For my part in this,
the reason it lasted so long is simple:
I kept watering the weeds,
drenching her with active listening.
(The desire to be needed is intoxicating.)
It's a mercy for us both
that I didn’t get addicted.
I hope you understand
it wasn’t kindness,
nurturing that climate—
just the worst version of nice—
kept her stuck,
left me starved for reciprocity.
I had to walk away
before my spine bent
to match her trellis.
In light of today,
tomorrow I’ll plant marigold and mint,
lay down bone meal—
small things
that mind their own business.
Anything to keep my hands full
when the memory of her
breaks through soil again.
World Naked Gardening Day
What’s this world coming to
I read it just today
They’re promoting naked gardening
On the 14th day of May
It started back in 05
But has spread around the world
It’s all about the great outdoors
And doing it unfurled
It celebrates the weeding
Planting flowers in the buff
And trimming more than hedges
As if that’s not enough
It’s soaking up the sunshine
Big doses of vitamin D
And trimming trees and bushes
For everyone to see
It’s best to warn your neighbors
Or to work behind a fence
It’s not for the faint-hearted
But for those with confidence
But take it slow and steady
Don’t get in a big rush
Be sure to use some sunscreen
Or your cheeks will surely blush
If you’re handling a tool
Be careful of its edge
If your neighbor also gardens
Don’t linger near her hedge
Beware of poison ivy
Watch out for poison oak
Be careful what you pull on
Be careful what you poke
Come on – join the movement
The sun will do you good
You can beautify your own yard
Or your whole neighborhood
So now you know the story
I’ve laid the gauntlet down
It started in Seattle
You can bring it to your town
And all your friends and neighbors
Will stop – and then who knows
Maybe they will join you
(Be wary then of those!)
Mdailey
The primrose and the primula
Are really very simula
But out in Wales
The slugs and snails
Make both of them look grimula
Her eyes begin to sparkle
With joy from within
Pleasure only found from
Sharing the heart with a friend
Elation only known with
The whisper of intimacy baptized
In laughter, smiles, euphoria
Left on the heart who listens
Silently, to the roar of solitary
Gratification taken from the spirit
Who knows the sweetest blessings,
The greatest gift from God’s
Genius, His expressions of care.
Her wonder is alive on her grin
As she digs, plants and weeds
Clearing away debris from the past
Renewing the deep, dark earth
With fresh mulch and bits of protection
From the frost that still could pour over
The lives who have only just begun
As Spring light flavors the dirt
In rich, nutritious sunshine
Her heart is betrayed by the delicate
Growth, the bulbs poking their heads
Through the earth, reminding us all
That the life of the garden is nearly
Ready to spring into this season
With heady, fragrant gifts from
Our Creator, the One who knows us
The way the seasons know the plants
And rain down hope, faith and peace
Through the spiritual light lingering
On prayers and praise poured out from
Those who know the amazing, tantalizing
Charm of the tulips, daffodils and roses
The lupine, the delphinium and dahlia
The luscious love from a quiet, smooth
Poppy, a marigold, a lily or a pansy
All the ones who drench the earth
In persuasive blooms, delicately planned
To color the world in vibrant designs
Her spirit is soaring like the cardinal
Alive with the moments of preparation
Forming cool, dark holes for roots
To awaken to, dig into, forage for
The nourishment that will always bring
Peace like rain falling softly, soothing
Healing the mind of all its anxieties
Sighing like the winds through the branches
Of oak, birch and emerald pine trees
Laurels alive with arising ferns
Exhaling psalms that emerge from the
Caress of God’s breath falling gently
Over the garden where she dances
With flowers who only know her as
The grower, the one with the power
To make even the wildflowers bend
To her will, to her gift for gardening
With a love that is inspired by Him
Giver of the sunshine and the rainfall!
4/18/22
I never wanted it to happen,
I allowed loves seed to sow,
So here we're in the garden,
But there's a drought to stop the growth.
When we plant our gardens, we plant what we wish to grow,
Like vegetables and flowers are the seeds of we sow.
Then we tend to our gardens, nourishment, we feed,
Because we wish to reap the good from every little seed.
We do not plant in mind to destroy our garden bed.
We plant to bring forth fruit of good seeds, instead.
Part of our role as gardener is to watch for toxic weeds
Growing to rob our garden of all that our garden needs.
We do not plant our gardens with seeds that are destructive,
Because we know good seeds are the only seeds productive.
There would be no point at all or any valid, sane reason
To grow a garden where good fruits would not come into season.
As we grow our gardens we know they need sunshine and some rain;
We know some hard work involves some hardships bringing pain.
Yet, still we persevere through times our hope is in a drought,
If our faith in God is strong enough to keep the devil out.
In our hearts as well we grow a garden to represent our life
And what we plant and nurture both with joy and strife,
Produces fruit and flowers in our character and deeds
Or our garden is a place that produces only bitter weeds.
We each have a garden we must tend to, care for, cultivate.
As the gardener we decide what we grow, what we propagate.
We tend not others' gardens, only the garden of our own.
As the gardener we're responsible for what we grow, alone.
If with our garden we are lazy, with tending, negligent,
Our character will reflect our lack of time and effort spent.
Bitter weeds of darker traits and hate then begin to grow
And our garden's beauty fades away for the pride of our ego.
If we tend to and till our garden with tender loving care,
Our garden will bloom vividly with lots of Love to share.
Should a seed of Love land and grow in a bed filled with weeds,
Perhaps, the gardener of will then see what their garden needs.
So, if we choose to garden and plant seeds of Love,
Tend to our garden carefully with the same fruits of,
We can rest assured our garden will have worth and beauty,
Which our character will reflect for keeping with our duty.
Written by Artsieladie/Sharon Donnelly
©2018-05-09 03:00:00 (EDT)
All rights reserved.