Best Lawnmowers Poems
August is almost a memory
Breezy cool nights are getting stronger
Colorful days of autumn soon will stay
Days are shorter, nights are longer
Each falling leaf brings us closer to winter
Finally time to put the lawnmowers away
Golden leaves flutter gently to the ground
Harvest season will be makings its round
Indian summer still has a chance
Jump into that pile of leaves with a prance
Kaleidoscope of colors, a sight so serene
Leave your worries behind you and celebrate
Michaelmas Day – as the harvest comes to an end
Nature’s palette as seen from above
Orchards begin to bloom with so much love
Put away your summer clothes and
Quietly admire the most colorful of seasons, a
Riot of colors on mountains so high
Shades of autumn brings sweet cool fall air
Tasking us to look up at the harvest moons flair
Under your feet the crackly crunch of leaves can be heard
Vivid and stark the trees should not be disturbed
Wind howling through them, echoing the past
Xerothermic days didn’t even last
Yielding to the season of storms without a fuss
Zany zero temps are almost upon us.
Some day, someone will change all this.
The yard, no longer mine,
having neither the work nor the fruits of my labor,
will go unappreciated and require change.
The pond, once filling mewith joy and quiet peace and solitude
will become undesirable.
The fruit trees, the garden no longer holding or displaying beauty,
will be distatseful, old and withered before its time.
Some day, someone
will erase my memory, once held dear
and emotionally held here.
Perhaps, that is a good thing
for nothing and no one can last forever,
and all things pass into an action of change.
One day it will be forgotten that I was even here.
These songbirds, nesting and retrieving their homes
for the next batch of fledglings will be gone as well.
left to spread their song in someone elses's garden.
The fish will become sustenance for the heron
and the pond life will die away.
The garden, untended will no longer bloom
to be replaced by weeds or simply grass.
My once filled, contemplative mornings
will forget my work and sweat.
The house,the land, the landscape
will fall to a whim for change.
Some one else, a new owner or renter,
will seek a different layout and design of less work
and all my wonder will disappear.
Someday, someone else
will see a new picture different from my own.
The litany of flowers and each of their names
will fade away like their blossoms and be ground down
by lawnmowers and weedwackers.
There is no permanence to life in this world,
only in the next.
So now, for and in this moment, this particular point in time,
this now that envelopes and embraces me
and gives life to the wonders and pleasures of my yard,
thank you God.
I was outside in my shed with my lawnmower in bits,
doing some repairs, for lately the mower’s miss and hits,
and getting me riled up because the darn thing wouldn’t start,
so that is the reason why I have pulled it all apart.
Lawnmowers can be fickle so can drive me damn insane,
so please do not come inside my shed, adding to the pain,
by asking what’s the matter before handing out advice;
if you do I promise you; you won’t get to tell me twice.
I was in a happy mood cleaning or replacing parts,
believing this could be my fixer and the mower starts.
With my first pull upon the rope and then complete the task,
then my daughter stepped into the shed, with something to ask.
It’s not a query I’ll admit that sits comfy with me.
My daughter wants to know how new born babies come to be.
I told her Adam and Eve made babies and it went from there.
Their babies grew; had babies too; now my daughter knows where.
She left leaving me to concentrate upon the mower,
and I’m sure my explanation had to be a goer,
but in no time at all, my girl pushed me into the mire;
glared at me with steely eyes and was calling me a liar.
“Mum told me you’re not being truthful and added in a flash,
we evolved from monkeys and what you said, was completely trash.
Why did you tell me lies?” But my reply has vindicated me,
“Your mum was talking about, her side of the family”.
I dreamed I was hanging out with Darroll near the train station. We entered a prison cafeteria and ate lunch. Then we looked in a junk store and I found two really cool vintage iron tools which I gave Darroll for his rusty iron tool collection (which, in my dream, he had). At some point a big book shelf fell over. We did some other stuff and then it was time for him to go so he revved up his shoes, leaned forward, and sped away to the sound of a pair of tiny lawnmowers.
Age old wisdom scarred not flamed. A dozen baked bees in an hour glass perturbed. And left undisturbed as a minotaur sunbathing on a single blade of grass on a sixty acre lawn. At dusk. At dawn. Week by week. But no lawnmowers. And it is to be ascertained that a fish bowl is not a serpent pulled inside out upon a circular globular glass. Ok then. One for memory bank but no banking involved in a skyscraper skim. For skimming stones is neither a scale, an octave, nor is it a radioactive material that smothers a bed. Manufactured by a slide. Wee then. Go on shout weeeeee. Surely western interfere of an uneven divide. Two ended manuscripts bow and scrape through the screening. Such interface.....wow......such ideas are neither neutral nor neutrophil. Ok. Great. Now the buds are areas nowadays and obsolete as a spelling test of ten twenty sixty on a business bus balancing over two hundred and forty five fish on a circuit of shape. Wow. Fantastic isn't it? And all the time a two millimeter choir boy sings alleluia and then eats porridge. Great. Oh haha so funny the people have arrived on time. Wow. Ha ha the pig is running around with a giant bread which has many wheels. Hahah playing piano with a timed tuned washing machine is quite remarkable and profound. For it is a diamond dish of display on a deity dish of difference. No ship now. Xxxxx bibliographical xxxxxx hexagon calling triangle to make a square. Xxxxxx z z z z z
The Florida sky
is a soft cotton canvas
over tart groves
that, in the late afternoon
break wide with thunder
and rain
I am so glad for that rain
it is daily
it is aloe vera
It makes me new
sinking
and carrying my year
out to the ocean
to become anonymous
to have no owner
The year ran deep
and broke my spirit
This tear fell often
As I learned and walked
with stony friends
and bruised feet
As I loved too hard
and trusted too much
As I let hands
lay hold of me
and pull my golden hair
As I blurred my days together
with wretching secrets
and shaking fingers....
I am finally glad
glad for the rain
and the hush of the world
between lawnmowers
and sun showers
between crunchy crab grass
and squeaky beach sand
between family smiles
and the miles I walked
to be here, away
in Florida
If I could be a plant, I would be a cauliflower, or a cabbage, or a flower.
Maybe just a flower, as they are not usually consumed.
But which one?
The daffodil is so arrogant and sunny, leading the spring parade, heralding Easter.
Perhaps a daffodil.
The lilac is so dainty and fragrant, and one of the first delights but she is gone so fast.
Almost before she fully blooms.
The geranium lasts all summer, unless she gets too hot.
The last few years the heat has not been kind to her.
The violets pop up where ever they want to pop, so close to the ground, even the
Lawnmowers do not touch them. They are lithe and light and encourage faerie visits.
I might want to be a violet.
But wait, what is that rabbit eating?
The marigolds are pretty and gay, variegated with color, perky and personable.
I could see being an orange and yellow marigold, with secret compartments.
Of course I would not come back next summer, being an annual.
Roses are revered by almost everyone, but the thorns are so exasperating!
I cannot see wanting to house thorns on my branches.
I am now considering the crepe myrtle. Beautiful, healthy, tall, statuesque,
But not as statuesque as the gorgeous Rose of Sharon.
Both get to be in the sun, and I do love that so.
Every year, I could grow tall and thick, be amazing to look at,
A home to wasps and bumble bees and butterflies.
Um…all bunnies do not eat violets, right?
Surest signs of spring arriving - sounds of lawnmowers and weed whackers.
Start now knowing joy,
that’s an order,
overcome a deepening solitude.
Like a bee at a bugle
or me at the deli
on Third Avenue.
I said to Joe when do you think this weather will break?
He jokes, April.
That’s no joke. Weak creatures die and the strong barely survive.
Half a year goes by
another cancer checkup.
Cheer up. Any weather’s
better than no weather at all.
There’s always governance
even when there is no government.
My candidate drops out
after Iowa. Why do I always lose
at politics and poker?
Peace at last!
No lawnmowers, no leafblowers.
Big comfy couch.
Meditate on this: Do what has to be done.
Find your lover gazing at the moon
and take your garbage to the dump.
Your web site evaporates
and your possessions are thrown in the dumpster
except your trumpet which finds its way to a future trumpeter.
Age old wisdom scarred not flamed. A dozen baked bees in an hour glass perturbed. And left undisturbed as a minotaur sunbathing on a single blade of grass on a sixty acre lawn. At dusk. At dawn. Week by week. But no lawnmowers. And it is to be ascertained that a fish bowl is not a serpent pulled inside out upon a circular globular glass. Ok then. One for memory bank but no banking involved in a skyscraper skim. For skimming stones is neither a scale, an octave, nor is it a radioactive material that smothers a bed. Manufactured by a slide. Wee then. Go on shout weeeeee. Surely western interfere of an uneven divide. Two ended manuscripts bow and scrape through the screening. Such interface.....wow......such ideas are neither neutral nor neutrophil. Ok. Great. Now the buds are areas nowadays and obsolete as a spelling test of ten twenty sixty on a business bus balancing over two hundred and forty five fish on a circuit of shape. Wow. Fantastic isn't it? And all the time a two millimeter choir boy sings alleluia and then eats porridge. Great. Oh haha so funny the people have arrived on time. Wow. Ha ha the pig is running around with a giant bread which has many wheels. Hahah playing piano with a timed tuned washing machine is quite remarkable and profound. For it is a diamond dish of display on a deity dish of difference. No ship now. Xxxxx bibliographical xxxxxx hexagon calling triangle to make a square. Xxxxxx z z z z z
dandelions were stretched out along the roadside spent
wild lavender thistles were shriveling into brown stalks
we had no air in our car, it felt like we were in a sauna
the first few seconds were great, then it felt stifling.
how hot is it? I asked my niece. She checked her phone.
Heat advisory, heat index, heat…..here it is. A hundred and one.
In Kansas a hundred and one feels like six hundred and twenty-one.
Especially if you have no air in your car.
The grass had turned as tan as sand; it crunched when we walked.
Lawnmowers were called off, dirt patches felt solar-heated.
Roses, lilies, lilacs, crepe myrtles, and rose of Sharon had given up.
dandelions were stretched out along the roadside spent
early morning &
they get together to load up the truck
with the lawnmowers, blowers, rakes,
digging tools of sorts, weed eaters,
trimmers, hedge clippers & their long arm
grabbers---
the four guys in their late teens & early twenties
work for a man who lives a couple counties away &
he pays them at the end of the week
for the contracted houses which they tend to
each day.
the work is easy in the morning but by noon
as the sun begins to beat down & the hazy air
gets thick with pollen,
their eyes begin to itch & each of them try not to
gouge them out of their sockets,
doing their best to make it through the day.
the fun comes round mid-afternoon,
when they begin to steal the balls from the back yards
where the children living at the contracted homes
lost them---
they collect them as if they were trophies for the day &
amass them in a couple big garbage bags---
when the work day is officially over,
they begin to destroy the kid’s balls
with sinister smiles on their faces
laughing at each other
as they
crush, pop, stab & slash them,
as well as shoot them from the blowers into a nearby wall.
the whole while,
the landscapers joke using different voices to sound like the
kids crying & whining to their parents that they had lost their
balls.
The trees lining the streets are filled with cherry blossoms
Mother Nature is letting us know that spring arrival is going to be awesome
Enjoying a walk along the breakwater bustling with people enjoying the new day's sun
After a long winter, it is wonderful to be able to get out and have some fun
Flowers will soon bring a wide variety of colours as they spring up from the ground
A tour of our dressers for shorts and tee shirts that need to be found
Lawnmowers are about to rise from their winter hibernation
Hair cuts for our lawns are soon to be our new form of recreation
Even our timepieces will be busy springing ahead
Let's get off our social devices and spend more of our day outdoors instead
Gather up the family and go enjoy some ice cream
Bid farewell to winter and go blow off some steam
Harvard asked, if I still have it!
A strange question due to my
Weird inquiry, from requirements
To attainments, life so entertaining
When you "been living"
Any how, giving myself a pat-
on the shoulder for such a-great-work,
From running away to chasing my dreams!
The parallel worlds, what can we do with out the other?
We all know the world is round
But it has rules: contours outlining my trajectories,
as I search for the ruler
From the equator to the atmospheres,
And gravity pulls me down...!
Like woman falling in love,
The law of attraction and I'm behind bars:
Magnetism and I'm strong as iron,
Hard love: so I plant roses
lawnmowers cutting my fine grasses
Now my land looks like deserts
Oh man, sand all over the show like
Ants...hahaha! kids laughing again:
O why don't you fly Peter pan?
Afternoon Snowstorm in January
David J Walker
What else would I dream about
in January
When the chill is enough to kill
All incentive
And the north wind huffs its wicked breath
In a cruel Laugh
What else would I dream about except
a certain day in a
Far away June
The 10 O’clock sun blazing its tune to
The roar of the lawnmowers
Joining the song
Shorts and a t-shirt is all we had on
And new flip flops that knew
to keep time all along
the sweet smell of fresh mown grass
and the shrilled laugh of children flying
On swings that become wings
against a summer sky
What else would I dream about when
An ice storm sets in
except the
Cherry Icee’s we bought
At Gordon Moore’s drug store
For a dime
There was Cherry and Cola
Root beer and Limon Lime
We started to notice that
Girls were different
A mystery that would never be
Solved
What else would I dream about
in the concession
to an afternoon snowstorm
in January long gone