Oh, to look like him
Oh, to sail like him
Oh, to write like him
Oh, to fish like him
Oh, to paint like him
Oh, to sculpt like him
Oh, to act like him
— Oh, to be like him
(My Boyhood Hero: From the Greatest TV Show Ever – ‘Adventure’s In Paradise’ 1959 - 1962)
Adam Troy
He chartered the Tiki
straight into my dreams
And captained my sleep
on far away seas
His heart never waivered
his nose in the wind
To young boys who loved him
— a hero and friend
(Gardner McKay As Adam Troy)
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?
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
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 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
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
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