My mother had a way with green plants
They wanted to please her, and so they did.
She took cuttings and gave them to neighbors.
Millions of cuttings. Provided the town with cuttings.
We kids were gardening as soon as we could walk.
Out in the country, on grandpa’s land.
An enormous garden plowed by a tractor.
Our garden was the size of a small supermarket.
We planted our vegetables in rows
Slit the bottom of the seed packet and put it on a stake
Every second or third row was marked
So, I knew how to plant, weed, and hoe a garden
I learned how to grow my own food
After getting my own place, I realized I missed home-grown vegetables
I decided to plant my own garden.
I chose things I thought might be easy -carrots, radishes, and peas.
Corn takes too much room, and pumpkins are not early enough.
I had learned plenty from my parents; my garden was a hit.
I also had two rows of flowers.
Remembering much later....
My mother always planted two rows of flowers in her vegetable gardens.
Zinnias and Marigolds
The same two flowers I chose to plant.
I grew a rose from cuttings
pinched from a loved one's plot,
watered at ground-level, not at the top.
Dung and mulch kept well away,
from stems lest their collars rot.
In time, it grew buds that blossomed
into flowers, a bounteous bouquet,
with bursts of red petals, blood bled.
It started with a sprinkle
like from a watering can, but grew.
into a torrential shower
blasting the petals
onto the ground, all around the roses,
which were stripped bare,
to stems, buds, shredded leaves and thorns.
I cried to see all my endeavors lost.
All my efforts lost in vain
to sometimes rain, falling on my roses,
with disdain of rain, utter and complete.
But, when I looked again
I saw the petals all spread out
as a lovely bedspread quilt
surrounding the stems,
on the bare cold ground stained by rain.
Their beauty astounding still,
with red blooms shed, shredded, departed,
garlanded into a ring of petals
that arose to save our day.
Fifty years ago...the age of self-reflection
Hollow crumbs, shadows of proud vestiges
As minneapolis' jim crow vanished slowly,
Painfully, no longer admired at country club
Cocktail parties celebrating ribbon-cuttings
My family was inside and unaware of history
Working class achievement,
First deli in marble edifice
To corporate greed,
Connecting the longest Minneapolis
Skyway North to Washington Ave.
Dallas barons, puppet-masters
Guilding their empire on the backs
Of working class talent, eager to eat the
Crumbs of capitalism
Spoon (Mr Witherspoon) slaved to achieve the
Pinnacle of jim-crow "shoe-shine" stands in
Pillsbury's new world headquarters
Admired in his community
Proudly placed out front, then moved
To the back of a hair salon, ignoble-crushed
Under the weight of boardroom glare
jim-crow lost it's shine
Spoon
Lost
His
Leg
4-18-25
5:55am
Against the side fence,
four long planks of wood
ascended like steps supported
on pillars of old red bricks
serving as a stand
for my Grandmother's collection
of potted plants.
Cuttings from exotic species gifted
by friends, passed down family heirlooms
harboring memories of past lives,
feathery ferns and plump bellied cacti
battled South Australian
frosty winters and the baking heat
of a summer sun.
All throughout my childhood
they were sustained by love,
flowering on the cue of seasons
and erupting into green
in a yearly miracle of renewal.
I had this odd notion
that each plant found root and drew
from a medium beyond mere soil,
that a strange symbiosis existed
between plant and a human soul.
Not one succumbed to heat
or cold or fell victim to disease.
They grew as a constant, helping
to hold up a wall that gave
a safe and solid perimeter
to our lives.
When my Grandmother died,
they died too - at first
escaping notice in the shadow
of her passing. It was later
when bare spaces drew attention
to their absence and added
to the list of what was missed.
Time heals grief but memory
excavates the loss.
War without weapon
=================
War takes place with
The help of weapons,
Weapons win or fighters win.
God alone knows.
Can a fight take place
Without weapons?
Yes, fights do take place
Without weapons.
The weapon is your mouth.
At times the words
Come out of your mouth
Are more painful than the
Wounds created by swords.
Sharp weapon is nothing Compared to sharp mouth.
The wound created by a weapon can be healed.
But not the pain created by words.
Words and swords
Hardly any difference
Except the 's' in front of sword
Both are capable of the same job, hurting people
Also, both words and swords
Can help people in their own way and style.
Good and comforting words
Are a great solace to humans.
Similarly, swords can be used
For useful cuttings
War without weapon
=================
War takes place with
The help of weapons,
Weapons win or fighters win.
God alone knows.
Can a fight take place
Without weapons?
Yes, fights do take place
Without weapons.
The weapon is your mouth.
At times the words
Come out of your mouth
Are more painful than the
Wounds created by swords.
Sharp weapon is nothing Compared to sharp mouth.
The wound created by a weapon can be healed.
But not the pain created by words.
Words and swords
Hardly any difference
Except the 's' in front of sword
Both are capable of the same job, hurting people
Also, both words and swords
Can help people in their own way and style.
Good and comforting words
Are a great solace to humans.
Similarly, swords can be used
For useful cuttings
There are those special moments in life
That become etched in one's heart
Leaving a sweet precious memory
Etched….. never to depart
I have one so treasured memory
Though so simple in its act
Entered my heart and stayed
With a huge impact
We had a beautiful Magnolia tree
In the front garden of a past abode
A florist asked if she could prune it
Taking the cuttings to her florist to unload
Yearly she pruned the Magnolia tree
Always with an assistant there
This particular year it was a young girl
Lovely, pretty with dreadlock hair
When leaving the girl went to the front door
For what reason l did not know
What that sweet hearted girl did
Left my heart aglow
On the front doormat
She had placed one big beautiful magnolia flower
That innocent kind gesture
For me ….held so much power
It touched my soul in such a way
It has remained with me through time
Just a simple act of honest sweetness
Now forever etched in my mind
I bought a pair of garden shears,
The first I’ve ever used.
The shrubs looked much too tall and wild
So I was most enthused.
I have no training, but I thought
Some snipping here and there
Would make things look much neater;
If I messed up, who would care?
I trimmed away dead branches
Then I lopped some from the top.
Some left-side leaves, some right-side twigs;
I watched the cuttings drop.
The shears worked great and I felt proud
So after quite a spell,
I looked to see a job well done
But couldn’t even tell!
To Be A Poet, Oft Strong Commands Come At Night
Oh, gawd- comes raging middle of the night
This horrid current, rise up and now write
An electric jolt, firing through me bones
Of new fortress looming, huge granite stones
And that tingle surging from old waking soul
As pagan's carving of a totem pole
Words spilling out from a resistant heart
Pen and paper screaming, hurry let's start!
Stumbling amidst and across dim-lit room
Word flowing from life or else dreaded doom
Splash, splash as ink and paper newly wed
Old verses, that a spirited mind said
Some few flavored with Shakespearean awe
Other's cuttings from old lumberjack's saw!
And I, vessel to set these ravings down
Of love, a princess in her golden gown
Dancing slowing across a ballroom floor
One never knows what else comes through that door!
Robert J. Lindley, Nov. 2nd 1978
Rhyme,
( When Poetry Forces A Poet To Wake Up And Write )
I like to show up early
He was always late.
I planned my every move
While he relied on fate.
If I decided somethings wrong
He would decide it's right.
Like a willow I would sway
Like a maple he stood strong.
We pruned our likes and dislikes
Much as trimming a Bonsai.
We focused on the good parts
Tossing off the bad to die.
Our compost pile of cuttings
Began to set us free.
Eventually we both conceded
Love is simply meant to be.
sleeping Aurora
mowing smooth a lawn cutting
a John Deere motions
~
teeming green grasses
well kept this lawns cut
after being mowed
5/28/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr 2020
Summer times are spent in the orchard of apples and pears
That old wooden rope swing; all frayed, from over the years
Hazy days in the summer house, watching the children play
Puppy dogs running around chasing the butterflies all a gay
Homemade lemonade. and jam sandwiches cut into squares
How we all loved to go into the fruit orchard, over the years
Gals in their light cotton frocks, and the boys in short shorts
Gran; with her wicker basket, taking flower cuttings of sorts
Grandpa; in his shirt with sleeves rolled up sawing the wood
Making all the lost wooden tiles, on the summer house good
Papa would arrive after a long working day pop ices in hand
This home as his castle and the garden and orchard his land
Seen it all blossom, with a loving wife, watched it all expand
As loving gestures given between them; they so understand
That this beautiful dream was built; surrounded by true love
With praises given to HE, who blessed this home from above
Cheese & jelly sandwiches
Straws for short grilles
Pickled feet cannibal's refuse to eat
Frozen snow in your bowl
Dandelions greens I'm hypertension hold the fat back please
Winger washing machine
Candles burning on both ends
When you done dreaming
Wake up screaming
A lance injected a sword slices
Cuttings variables potato salad
What does all this mean
Don't eat food's out of the ordinary???
10/18/17
Written by James Edward Lee Sr 2017©
8/29/16
Swim
And live
Don't Give
In
Light or dim
Above and below the rim
Work hard and take care off your kin
Especially when times are grim
The same goes for her and him
We can't always win
As this planet continues to spin
Things blow away in the wind
The hedges got a trim
And the cuttings were put in a bin
Not a fan of hymns
Or any kind of gin
The silver lining was thin
But so much good it did
Went off a whim
And used my all even if i hurt some limbs
At times I have sinned
Washed the dirt off my skin
And spent time outside doing things that were like being at a gym
By: Dalton Ogletree
Deep down hidden!
Silence!!
As loneliness formed beauty,
Centuries of creativity,
Ebbing and flowing,
Sometimes so soft and gentle,
Others violently thrashing waters,
Against the rocks of time,
As the sea etches away in secret,
Forming and designing,
Diamond cuttings!
Art forming patterns,
Nature hid her extravagance,
Unseen by human eyes,
For thousands of years
Until her unveiling day,
When daylight enters,
Sun revealing colors,
Sculptured with magnificent shapes,
That make people bow their heads in honor,
As standing on holy ground.
When entering this cave!
02/08/2016
Related Poems