Long Watering can Poems
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One day I had a magical seed. I carried it around in my pocket like a special key. It had the power to change humanity and yet it remained unplanted. The Creator placed it upon my heart to grab a shovel. He instructed me to bury the special seed on a hill where no crows could find it. He instructed me to gingerly care for it and water it each and every day. He was the One who created the seed. I found the most sacred place in my entire town to bury this seed. I sat and watched to see how the wind would blow over this spot too. I knew from past experiences that the elements can be very harsh on a thing so delicate and tiny. I loved this seed and wanted it to succeed.
One day as I gathered at the sacred place I saw a tiny seedling emerge. I raised my hands to the Creator thanking him for his miraculous workings. I said a prayer over the fragile plant emerging and wondered what it would be like several months from now. Oh the potential for its growth!
I came back to view the seedling a few months later and it had grown into a budding sapling. There were the most elegant heart-shaped flowers upon it and the aroma of a true friendship had sprung from the soil in which it was planted. I was enraptured with this tree in wait. I was optimistic how grand it would grow to be!
Years had passed and time was on my side. The tree and I had become the best of friends. I even sat beneath its branches one day and had the grandest nap! I dreamed of miracles and joy and butterflies descending upon its branches. I nurtured it with love and prayers over the years and it was standing before me a miracle from the Creator!
The lessons that I learned from this tree of love were great. I learned that time and patience are truly on our side if we have our hearts in the right place. I also learned that just a little water goes a long way when you consistently take the time to bring your watering can to the seed and stretch out your faith. I also learned that it is good to dream with your friends along the way and hope for the miracles around the bend.
All things are possible with God, a seed, and a watering can!
Gwendolen Rix
11-1-14
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My garden today, suffering. No rain for weeks, hosepipe ban expected anytime soon. Unfortunately, I only have one water butt and that's dangerous low. Using a watering can, time-consuming but its a question of needs must. I'd hate for my butterfly bushes to not bloom. Many species of butterfly are under threat of extinction in the United Kingdom, in my locale I have not recorded the wall brown for over twenty years, used to be quite common, even in my garden. This day, even though we are all experiencing a glorious summer, the butterflies are struggling to recover from the recent bad springtimes' and non-existent summers. The heavy rainfalls and colder than average temperatures being a big factor in their demise. Today, I have up to 1500 hours, (21st July 2018), only recorded one speckled wood, one holly blue, several cabbage whites, both large and small, a very poor day indeed, however, better than none at all, of course, I do mean butterflies! The latter being the only two that I can describe as abundant. No peacocks, green veined, brimstones since late spring
pretty butterflies
many in the UK... gone
fickle summertime weather
Click Me!
Ponded and becalmed after the downpour, lying in shining stillness, I reflect an earthly existence; above me newly leafed limbs, and beyond, the wild beauty of motley skies in the afternoon’s brightening quietude. On the side of a country back road, I daydream. As leftover clouds drift in light and dark moods across my mirrored face, I ponder the possibilities of ‘what ifs’. What if life had taken me elsewhere - to a different time and place, filling another space, in another form and shape? What if I had fallen soft as a summer drizzle instead, dressing spider webs in misty strings of mini crystal beads.. or had filled a rusty-relic watering can, left behind ages ago beside an ivy-smothered stump.. or maybe had been wind-whipped with a vengeance into a swollen river rough and ready to ride the rapids.. What if, I had fallen as snow eons ago and now was found deep in an ice core in Antarctica.. how exotic! Straying cumulus find themselves captured in my imagination as well as in my liquid looking-glass oval, and my thoughts stray back to the soothing smoothness of my present reality. I know my time here, though sweet, is short-lived; and so I set my pondering aside and decide to seize upon the moment with contentment in my tranquil state of repose.
placid puddle mulls
lost in reflections of clouds -
spring rains laid to rest
Susan Ashley
May 1, 2019
~Third Place~
Contest: Happy Haibun
Sponsor: Caren Krutsinger
There was a little angel, her name was Bella Blue,
She wasn’t always perfect, for she knew not what to do.
She couldn’t fly, she couldn’t sing, no-one knew just why.
There she sat all day long, on a cloud up in the sky.
Her mummy and her daddy told her everything was fine,
That one day she would learn to fly, she only needed time.
But there she sat, all alone, crying very loud,
All she wanted was to fly, to make her mummy proud.
So, one day after breakfast, she tried to fly again,
But Bella hadn’t noticed, it had just begun to rain.
What happened next was very strange, she soon began to fly,
Her wings had never worked before, for they were far too dry.
She flapped her wings and flew so high, way above the cloud.
Now she was a happy angel, she sang her songs so loud.
She flew for hours and hours but suddenly forgot,
Her wings would dry up very soon, the sun was far too hot.
Poor Bella had a problem, for she could only fly,
If it rained enough to wet her wings, so she gave a great big sigh.
The angels got together to help poor Bella out,
They just needed a big watering can, with one gigantic spout.
The angels used the watering can to wet her wings each day
And once she’d had her breakfast she could then go out to play.
So, if you see an angel, singing loudly just for you,
Then give a wave, you never know, it might be Bella Blue.
**written for my beautiful Granddaughter Bella aged 5.
Beneath billowing sack cloth tent
An auctioneer jibber-jabbers his words.
Below his red mahogany dais
Sit Fifty Amish American women and girls.
Black-bonnet-ed, bidder-number in hand,
they chirp for cowl or coat, yelp for yarn,
raise bid card for church books, wool hats, many lengths of linen,
plethora of patches to sew into quilts.
Each lady bides her time until she points or winks or nods.
Calling to mind a measure of a time past.
Suspender-ed men inspect implements laid firm against gray fence,
even to the unused chamber pot still pure and winter white.
Rake, hoe, watering can, all is offered, noticed, taken for a price by love.
Untimely winds spin dust from the fallow fields, through the tent.
Coarse black garments now dressed in manure brown.
The whole crowd moves down
at the last to the front yard to bid home the furniture.
Magnificent bed- one hundred years old-, mahogany desk,
cherry wood breakfront seven feet tall,
shaker chairs, porch rocker and a modern recliner are claimed.
Auction done, the cows, horses, dogs and cats are led away.
As Kate and I walk to our van, an old man speaks English to me
saying most items stayed in her family.
Leaving, we were only strangers looking for a bargain,
happy with a four dollar end-table we took from her friends .
Summer is here - how I love this time of year! My garden’s filled with sweet scented wallflowers and pretty pansies. Vibrant butterflies are flitting from flower to flower and bees are busy buzzing, pollinating the xanthic melon and courgette flowers. Purple and pink petunias are cascading like a colourful waterfall from two wall baskets. I grab my gardening gloves and set to work with my red watering can giving the parched flowers a much needed drink. Using my garden kneeler is a blessing as I find weeding the fruit and vegetable patches is such backbreaking work!. As I'm weeding I listen to a blackbird singing sweetly as she bathes in the bird bath. I can't help smiling as a friendly robin redbreast flutters down next to me, pecking at caterpillars which are chomping away at the foliage. The summer sun is beating down and I am feeling exhausted, so it's time to sit in a deckchair and relax with a cooling drink, enjoying the natural beauty that surrounds me.
scarlet strawberries
ripe and ready for picking
scarecrow waves straw arms
Haibun contest
Sponsored by Mick Talbot
Entered into Favourite Poem of June 2018
Sponsored by Dear heart a.k.a Broken Wings
There is a good deal of poetic licence in the poem!
6/8/18
By the Sun and Moon, we see our home; Mother Earth and Father Sky.
These are the four corners of the gardens.
Teardrops from the sky sprinkle the rosemary, sage, and lavender during the Moon’s reign.
As the Moon resigns for the day, hues of golden light arise from the dusky clouds.
Dew droplets dance as the winds whisper through the sacred grounds.
Mixes of the scents in the damp, early dawn are a temptation too desirable to ignore.
Four old statues look after the four corners. These were the Great Elders.
Each elder looking after its children in unison; One can’t be without the others.
The River of Life runs through the garden like veins giving action to idleness.
The choirs of songbirds fill the air with songs that travel through the winds.
A wise gardener tends to his children; speaking softly and fanning fragrances.
“Life is a garden;” said the wise gardener. “Filled with both life and death.”
“Life is very memorable but death is only temporal. For every new season, we are born again.”
The wise gardener continued “But, what is life without the proper nourishment?”
“Be the water in the watering can. Be the minerals in the soil. Care for your own garden…”
“…because no one else plants the same life as you do.”
I like to make things grow
I’m very good at it.
I use my spade and dig quite deep
All sorts of bugs I like to meet.
Ladybirds live together just like in a kibutz
They are very friendly, but each other they don’t trust
I’ve never seen a wedding,they do not seem to mind
Sharing love with each other. I’ve seen them from behind.
Worms all wrapped around each other, I can’t tell them apart
Wrapped in ecstasy they seem, not wanting to move apart
The dragon flys are all around promiscuous they seem.
Hopping from dragon to dragon,I hope they are all clean.
The frogs they are, amazing, many partners they hold on too.
It really wears me out to see, the splashing that even reaches me.
The spiders I have never seen "At it",
"At it" anywhere,
That’s because they scare me to much
And they might get in my hair.
I walk around the garden digging where I can
But am I really stalking, the snails in the watering can?
They twist and squirm together it really looks quite odd
I would have made it different if I had been a god.
My day of gardening is nearly done, I’m tired and need a rest,
But look at those two birds over there "At it" in the nest.
Oh woe is me a peeping Tom, I think I am becoming
Its going on all around me, I think it's time to go back in.
There telling me it’s in my brain
Neuro cells have gone astray
Can’t get them back, it’s in the genes
Now I’m paying for all his sins
They say to imagine a watering can
Tipping the scales to keep me sane
Medication-here we go
Bye bye to the Recina we have known
Don’t want to take it
Please, please, don’t
This makes dull
And each time I go.
I go to a place so dark and sombre
A place where im all alone to wonder
Wonder about how it came to this
And wonder about all the things I miss
I miss being able to laugh all day
I miss having friends that would never go away
I miss not having a care in the world
I miss just being a normal girl
They say it will get better with time
But time is not one on my side
You see my thoughts get darker as each does pass
I’m afraid one day I must succumb
Succumb to the voice in my head
The one that’s telling me I’m better off dead
I fight with this voice everyday
Why will it not go away?
I make my plans every night
On how I’m gonna give up this fight
As each night passes I say a prayer
“Oh Babaji I’ll meet you there”.
But then I wake and start again
The voices are back, so I again I must say
“There telling me it’s in my brain
Neuro cells have gone astray”.
they talk under their breath, murmuring
and the wind sighs and whispers
my garden speaks softly in the rising sun of dawn
in low voices they hum and thrum calling me
come- see how green and lush we are today
see all our brilliant magenta blooms
and the deep purple and yellow trimmed petunia
the herbs grumble we are beautiful too_
and I go- still in my night clothes on tip toes
touching the fragile leaves with love
I whisper to each and caress them
do you need a drink- I mumble still sleepy
oh yes, please they grumble (so spoiled)
and the sun bursts forth and we turn our faces up
and the wind sighs and whispers
I let them drink from my watering can
as they drone a morning song
but they rustle with anger when kitty cat bites a leaf
oh no, no kitty_ I whisper, leading her
to her very own painted pot of oat grass
__________________________
June 10, 2020
Poetry/Free Verse/Garden whispers
Copyright Protected, ID 20-1259-467-03
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
Written for the Premier contest, Whisper To Me II
sponsor, Regina Riddle
Second Place