Gardeners Poems - Poems about Gardeners

Laboring gardeners, sowing seeds of love daily, cultivate its peace:-...

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In the realm of words, where knowledge thrives, Teachers guide with wisdom, where the ink arrives. Enhancing writing, a guiding light they bear, To elevate students, their written tales to share. They mould the process, each stage they steer, Prewriting, revising, the path to steer. Through drafting and editing, teachers impart, Crafting brilliance, each writer's art. Authentic tasks, connections profound, Teachers weave worlds where...

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If you care to listen, I am on a mission, To get more people into the garden, And away from Satan, Where the good can stay clean, By joining an army that wants no weeds to be seen, So the young and keen don't have to carry a gun, In a place where the trees can keep us out of the...

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Please be my Valentine! I'm getting desperate now That you will never notice me Somewhere, sometime, somehow Even though I've tried To get some of your attention I'm nowhere on your radar I never seem to get a mention I'm feeling quite neglected And I'm always overlooked I wish you would spend time with me Instead...

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Dog gone gardeners so long in the tooth. They are planting beans today along with old Ruth. Their overalls are straight, their tails are a wagg’n. By six o’clock tonight, they may both be dragg’n. Dog gone gardeners, their faces are long. They are hoeing up the earth, barking a song. They each have a hankie for the sweat that will...

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Those bloody slugs have ate my spuds, Not one leaf left in sight. I sit all day with my gun, They must only come out at night. I've got a plan to catch them, With nets and traps and snares. Set my alarm for three AM, And quietly creep down the stairs. I set my plan in motion, Traps around my vegetable plot. Come on...

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The Gardener’s Roses by Michael R. Burch Mary Magdalene, supposing him to be the gardener, saith unto him, “Sir, if thou have borne him hence, tell me where thou hast laid him, and I will take him away.” I too have come to the cave; within: strange, half-glimpsed forms and ghostly paradigms of things. Here, nothing warms this lightening moment of the...

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Yard work guys Could not do enough on their first visit. They did so much weeding I went out and helped until they shooed me away. There were three or four of them. Expensive? Yes, but they stayed three or four hours. The entire first season they took care of the yard this way Every single week but they were expensive. We...

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A gardener’s soul Eventually becomes One with the garden. Melding with the plants And the soil, gardeners raise Living beings from The tiniest seeds; Their beauty is astounding; Lovely blossoms smile. ...

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I watch the gardeners at work And as they rake and mow I wonder, when their workday ends, About where they all go. I doubt if they have homes with lawns As lush as those they tend Or flower beds like ones to which Their talents they do lend. It's possible the only place Their spirits may be buoyed By what they do...

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I’ve a garden full of uninvited guests; time to weed. Tobacco worm, on my tomato plant, don’t spit at me; you were not invited to partake of my produce! Mr. Milkweed, why do you love my yard? Your sticky secretions make me itch; I do not want you in my cabbage. Mr. Beetle, I gave no permission for...

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A GARDENERS DAY ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ A gardener's day starts at dawn, their hobby. To feed the birds and water plants, and perhaps a chat with the local Bobby? Then exterminate some red ants. To feed the birds and water plants, plus weeding. Check greenhouse temperatures right. What weeds were pulled composted if the needing? Then to clean his tools shiny bright. Check greenhouse temperatures right, warm...

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You small community of men devoted to the gentle arts why would you cross those foreign seas where war awaits to break all hearts. Stay in those gardens you make green, sustain your rank amongst the trees and don’t donate to wars grim scene, the wages of your liberties. Ignore the rant of those fool lips that sanctify wars fight and kill, always the...

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I've noticed since early years on the family farm with large matriarchally planted and harvested gardens, that food, for moms, is a natural, and yet also spiritual, communion relationship. Nutrition evolves from and for communal relatives of which we are ourselves made and nurtured into healthy interdependent maturity. By remarkably disappointing contrast, food, for the agribusiness farmer, is a commodity, owned, to be used, sold for cash profit. Food, on this patriarchal side...

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There are roses in my garden. I love their sweet perfume. I pick their blooms and take them in to brighten up my room. There are spring bulbs in my garden. Oh how I like to see their first green spears and then their flowers as a spring gift to me. There are butterflies in my garden. They've come to have a nip. I help...

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