If I was a fuchsia flower you’d be kind to me
Watering my spirit with kindness and dreams
As you are not a people person it seems
When you are throwing shade and yelling
How you love plants is very interesting
You fuss over them lovingly giving
Yet soon as you see your flesh and blood
How your voice changes words low as mud
If people were plants you’d grow them well
Your plant romance is amazing like a spell
You speak kindly to your beloved greenery
Saving thorns for your kids to see and eat
Is it because plants don’t talk back
Is it because they are green not black
And you’re miserable inside you lack
The pink instincts with which to stack
Grow green words that indigo inspire
Float like butterfly with flowery desire
If you have such a green thumb especially
Why inspire numbness when you talk to me
I see you there all withered
a victim of neglect,
intended something better
a life I may have wrecked,
As we know plants have lives
and most do well with care,
its not like I was trying,
no plant, should I be near.
I see them being happy
in places I might go,
I cannot be the tender
if plants are gonna grow!
At the bottom of our garden
there's a wayward wandering Jew
but I have yet to spot
a crawling Christian or dot a hiking Hindu
I'm adding to the landscape
if it takes me all week
going in steadfast search of
a meandering Moslem or a sauntering Sikh
yet as no rockery looks good without
and planting both who could really resist
for the ladybirds bees and butterflies
a creeping Catholic and a bustling Buddhist
gorgeous African violets
pink, periwinkle, and the deepest purple
yellow centers and dainty dark green veined flowers
we were in awe of Edna, for none of us could grow them
There was a time when only weeds survived
My green thumb as I tended soil and seeds
Plants so stunning, my nurturing deprived
Of the sunshine’s love, the sprinkling who feeds
Only mom’s gentleness and grace revived
The lingering of the droughts and the weeds
Bringing grace to the soil with kind showers
Healing my plants so they would bring flowers
Over time, plants I nurtured often sighed
Wishing for a gentling touch, so tender
Their subtle beauty would surely abide
Amazing with buds stirring such splendor
With many years of hopelessness, I tried
Forcing my green thumb into surrender
There would be silent days of drought and dread
Days of raising the lovely flower bed
With all said and done, I had just begun
To know the joy of playing in the dirt
So there beneath the quiet morning sun
I learned to let go, let my heart exert
All the work of my hands with so much fun
Inspiring, the flowers grew a convert
For all my days I would always remain
Expert in flowers, my green thumb did reign
With green fingers the gardener worked
Hence the garden thrived and perked,
Ironically when blueberries collected
Thumbs were stained from fruit selected.
'Motto Matters Poetry Contest' Sponsored by Natasha L Scragg
As I went for a walk in Soup's green field,
many sterling poems caught my appeal.
Planting of fresh new ideas I saw
but the patina on some puts me in awe.
In my editor's eye, what makes pieces shine
is attention, the editing, line by line.
Wandering this field over and over
I've found outstanding four-leafed clover.
Metaphor, hyperbole, rhythm and rhyme
alliteration, twists and climax take time
as patina develops on each unique write.
Polish for poems is like plant’s water and light.
written June 30, 2018
She has magic hands,
Persephone's touch.
Everything she plants,
thrives vigorously.
I recall the time
she unwittingly produced
blossoms from dead limbs.
Wish I could do that!
She stuck the twigs,
broken off a nearby tree,
in dirt to mark the spots
where she planted seeds.
In Spring, peach trees
sprang up like JohnnyJump-ups,
eager to do my mother's bidding.
"I don't need those any more,"
she said. as she pulled
the markers out of the ground.
The sticks had taken root.
They soon became trees,
thriving in my yard,
blooming white in summer.
(A Shadow Sonnet)
Earth mother, now return to Mother Earth
for time has taken what you were born for.
Listen for its call, oh dear one, listen,
and answer, before it pulls both thee and
me. As rain washes earth's green over me,
I remember your thumb, stained green as I.
Sun brightened the hue, rain chased the sun.
hands tilled the soil, but dirt clung on hands
to flake from green fingertips, and thus to
spread the seed; bring back life to deathlike spread,
"green up" our world as your spade cast forth green,
too singled in purpose to compass two
who work together— as partners will— who
eye the same plot of land with reaper's eye.
There once was a cougar named Rose
who kept the young men on their toes.
Working in her garden
they'd say "beg your pardon
I'll bet you could use a good hose!"
for Bawdy Limericks Two contest
sponsored by Roy Jerden
Gardening pursuits
A green and healthy income
Seeds into flowers
My Green Thumb
Whenever I bought a plant and tried
To keep it watered and well fed
The plant just shrivelled up and died
Now all the plants I have are dead.
I gave them light or lots of shade
Did everything I was told
Talked to them when they seemed to fade
Kept them free from bugs and mould.
I babied them and gave them drops
The best earth is what I used
Made sure their roots had spacious pots
But they died, I’m so confused.
Well, nothing seems to work for me
A green thumb I can’t make
So if I want a plant or tree
I guess it will be fake.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.