Best Gardner Poems
I was thrown into a conflicted family
my boat tossing and turning until
my sails ripped rendering me immobile
and unprepared for life
and fearful of the instability of existence
Iike a plant adapting to toxic ground
I grew to have some toxic attributes
my experiences of myself and others always added
up to less then the ideals of my mind
while my heart cried blood
pumping into my veins
there was a breach between my head and my heart
when my identity was beginning to build
and I mistook this for the final product
but people are not things
they are ever evolving works in progress
it was simply a prototype I am now dismantling
piece by piece
to create a better me
The wisps of whispers of truths
echo in the patterns we create
while trying to make the same story good, better, different
we are caught in a spiral
but it is our choice as to whether we ascend or descend.
Souls should wing upwards
We are not fallen angels that should end in flame
The enigma of growth is beginning to unravel as we change
the juxtaposition of our way of seeing , being , and learning
This tapestry in translation always has an impact
like a historian piecing together the puzzle of a time
we can not only learn from our past in a mental way
but implement it in a way to change the future into
an unknowing shoreline waiting to be explored
We don't have to wait for divine intervention, the right lover,
or anything else to enter our lives
the waiting time has passed
retrace the routes you have traveled then
go for the unmarked trails new only to you.
See life as an adventure instead of a conquest
go on a treasure hunt for yourself
and harvest the sacred of you.
Life is full of windows and mirrors
some you look out of and others into
but once you can meet eyes with the very depth of your being with acceptance
true growth sprouts
you are your own history in the making
you are the gardner of your soul.
Across my street with sidewalks
shaded by fluttering oak trees,
there's a gardener with the army cap...
while rascals laugh and play nasty rap;
how well tends to his garden without weeds,
how glad he is when neighbors clap,
and he works serenely in this noiseless haven!
Then, Sterlings with colorful wings swap down
to steal his lavenders, he chases them away
with a voice that frightens playful squirrels:
" Leave them alone, let the buzzing bees
turn their mild nectar into sweet honey! "
In the middle of April he wears old camouflaged shorts,
he's amused by a passerby who flashes admiring looks;
" Good morning, Pete: your garden is too pretty! "
" Thank you, John: it makes me proud and happy! "
Each charming flower in his garden has a beauty of its own,
"Ah, youth is a beautiful flower but withers with time! "
He exclaims shedding tears that sunlight makes sparkle,
he has lived a full life and his adventurous days darkle,
and finding something to do boosts his esteem, he feels fine;
do regrets ever embitter him remembering his wife Sharon?
Lemons,
their squeezed
juice
that trickles
down
the chin,
and slides
through
the fingers,
is the
sunlight
that
warms
an
April
eve'
for
the first
time
since
the previous
April.
Lemon-
drops
are
sweet,
and you
want
to
just look
at
their
sunny
sugariness,
hold one
like
a little
jewelry bead-
and
in
your
mouth
every suck-
one
after
the other
like you
string the beads-
one
after
the other
on
a
long
thin
string
the color
of the moon,
is tasted
like
every
raindrop
falls
from
the
sky
is
felt
by
the Earth.
And
I guess
so many
flowers
are the color
of lemons.
And
on
the lemon tree,
the daubs
of
yellow
hardness
are
almost
the color
of
a wind-
blown
sail
in
a hot
late
Summer
afternoon
sunshine
on
a
sea.
The
lemon
tree
could
be
captive
of
an
artist
in
a painting-
with a
grey- blue cloudy sky-
the leaves
are a dark green.
The
leaves
are
almost
the hue
and shape
of pine needles-
not an actual
lemon
tree-
but
there
is
a
little
white
streak
of
paint
with
a
little
grey
on
the
streak's edge
painted by the artist
on the tree-
what
happened
to the lemons?
The lemons
were plucked
by
the Gardener.
The Records of Every Summer
David J Walker
I thought the last cold day of May
Had come and gone
50 feels like freezing when
100 was last Friday
I thought I was the authentic gardener
Who held each calendar day
within an experienced heart
the halcyon mornings are a congenial neighbor
gracious and
like-minded
but there is nothing to do except
bundle one more time
assuming June will come as planned
we can swim in
the warm air again
I have greeted each summers coming
with passion
hoping each will in turn
remember me by name
there is a library
with every record of
every summer
I have lived
It’s near a river running through a town
Whose name I don’t remember
Pity
My childhood is stored there
All contained in a
Single Summers day
If God is the Gardner, and He is, you know,
He wants only the best fruit from His children.
The good in goodbye is a tough row to hoe
but God's the Gardner and I'm content to know
there are wild weeds too in the hell of hello.
Planting seeds in good soil is what God's skilled in.
If He is the Gardner and He is, you know,
He wants only the best fruit from His children.
July 19, 2018
A roar
It's not the day of the gardener.
He appears today after skipping a holiday.
The morning coffee is lovely, joining KUSC, 91.5 FM at it.
A raucous mower goes on a binge of
Shaking a teacup and breaking the air.
I escort the vibration resonating to his home
As happiness in the sublimation of the dogged roar.
If you think you can fight Christ
Now walk and work on your own light
Or dark without any support, religion
Without hurting any or otherwise.
Know your mind not the matter
weigh your heart not the weight
Tend your own garden thriving
With integrity not with alliance
For manipulation but elevation.
When you wanna make a prey
Make sure you're looking up
Not down that's the weak and quickie's
You know what happens when
A goat is trying to prey
A lion just BC of love, impossible
Fight what you can overcome
Be fearless don't mean
You should burn yourself ablaze.
We ain't going backwards but
Forward onward and farther
Upward not downward deceased
Stagnant without direction
retribution journey not threat
But caution for actions and deeds.
Christianity promoting light
Christ light pure consciousness
Truth, for a man to attain
One need to Walk in faith
Walking and working
In your light and path
For God in growth for change.
Can one grow and establish business
A day on your own without connection
Can you be successful today without
Taking action even amidst uncertainty??
Religious war a distraction for exploiting
Krist lies dark lume ruin lust miscreant
Matters over mind true source, original creator
Just self reliance and deceit without resources
Claiming creature without creator but nature
Blaspheming love, faith and oneness not source
Blur vision attained imagination disruption delusion
mind reliance prophets of the dark, shadowing
Manipulating Breaking the good and kind hearten.
Criminology, wars threat and partiality corporate
Sentimentalism over purpose driven optimist
Discrimination over discernment, maneuver
Being desperate for power over another
Supremacy over authenticity rulers of dark world
There is nothing done in the dark without light
The Gardner is watching armed for harvest.
I've been troubled
As of late
Stumbling in the darkness
To the presence of a golden gate
The moment I reach
The glistening bars
I awake, irritated
That I can only go...so...far
~then Reality~
That feeling of want
Presses me to find
Perceived treasures
In my empty mind
There has to be a key
That will open what's closed
Beyond the boundaries
Of what this world knows
~about the Sacred~
Without the all from beyond
The confines of this place
I must reconcile my knowledge
To that locked gate
Imagination and dreams
Invite the bored to entertain
That life would be better
If you possessed all you COULD gain
~without unpleasantness~
Everything in this ground
Grows with weeds and fruit together
Each plant has to fight
To not allow self to be tethered
What is this place I'm in
It seems to be a garden of death
Where the withered and worn
Lay down their last breath
~to a black earth~
And the Grave Gardner
Collects the doomed soul
Awaiting the Revelation
Of a hidden goal
~there has to be a reason~
Written by Trudy Schrader on 07-08-2018