Potting Poems | Examples

CMM Nikon Military Kevin adding passified resolution

The oblivious of technical school in Japan exist 
In speaking California 
Somehow people live with them

I am alive again
Perhaps to award self noble ink ignorance truth awards for forgotten reason folds?

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Variable = zero

Aggregated data illegal to allow no cleared thought

Capitalism variance pond scum scrutiny re potting nirvana chart
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Conclusion and resolved as impasse in the passed tense regarding agriculture builds have centered, stilled and stalemated upon inherent independence.  When a single dejection occurs the independent publisher of our next theory which decides itself the better ended.

Tomorrow God Willing

I knew when I was pulling on my turquoise boots  that Skunk would appear.
she is my semi-pet bunny; thinking herself feral, but I feed her kibble.
perfect gardening weather today; I till rows, mark them with seed packets.
peas, beans, carrots, radishes, lettuce, and one row of zinnias and sunflowers.

Mom always planted at least two rows of flowers in her garden.
fuchsia cone flowers, hollyhocks, bluebells, which came up “renegade.” Laugh.
by the time I returned to the potting shed, my autumn scarecrow was waving.
he does that on a breezy day. Tomorrow I told Skunk, seeing a fox yonder.

Potting Shed Catches Gossip

Sunlight entered the aquamarine potting shed from the east
Beating the master gardener by a few minutes or steps
Ruffled marigold seeds were waiting to be planted in seedling trays
It was March the fifteenth, an opportune time to get things started

Potting shed was feeling joyfully optimistic
She had been shivery cold for the past three months
Her owner had kept her heat at a steady sixty-seven degrees
Muskrats and field mice had left her crawlspace for warmer places. 

Mrs. G. arrived carrying armloads of sacks marked Lowes.
Two gorgeous African violets were pulled out first.
Their purple color was exquisite, they were dark and velvety.
Potting shed felt elated when she saw the floral tool bag

Here was her good friend, Jay, the Japanese hand hoe,
Sheila, the sierrated farmer’s dagger
And Hattie, the shiny new trowel – were all eager to talk.
Mrs. G. worked with fresh new dirt and pots for five hours.

The second she left the whispering began.
The tools had been shoved into a closet.
They had not seen much, but they had heard a lot.
Potting Shed sat back and listened to the latest gossip.

Single Track

A character trait that I find
One that would be best left behind
With a task, I'll confide
I push all else aside.
It seems I've a single-track mind

I guess it's a decent excuse
At least I'm not hitting the booze
Seems sometimes construction
Can trigger destruction
That potting shed murdered my muse

Potty Shed

A potty shed? That’s what she said;
Connects the head to the flower bed.

Tomatoes are the best around,
And that soil is nice and brown.

Come on in and have a seat;
Squash is waiting for a treat.

Beans are sprouting in a rush;
There’s ten more since the last big flush. 

Sell it down at the market square.
I ain’t eating; au contraire!

Potting shed? What you said?
Now my ears are burning red.

Potting Shed Redux

The Taj Mahal will one day fall,
They’ll build and tear down three more malls,
But one thing here when Jesus calls:
My wife’s new potting shed.

The concrete footers all are poured.
There’s even concrete for the floor.
The anchor bolts required more
For her new potting shed.

The surface bond cement’s applied;
I’ve got red patches on my hide.
It’s looking good, I must confide
(My wife’s new potting shed).

The roof will be brown standing seam
To match with our green acre theme.
Duality: nightmare and dream
Our little potting shed.

And if, by chance, tornadoes come,
We’ll head there quickly, in a run
And wait it out until they’re done
In our new potting shed.

And when I’m done from all my toil,
She’ll have a place to mix her soil.
If we kept records, we’d recoil
At her new potting shed.

Potting Shed

Seven years
I’ve tucked ‘em away
Seven years
Been hoarding it all
Seven years
For a rainy day
Seven years
Better get on the ball

Potting shed, potting shed
Gonna build me a potting shed
Potting shed, potting shed
Tears to the eyes of the newlywed
Potting shed, potting shed
Joy in the garden and all the beds
Potting shed, potting shed
Planting and potting, that’s what she said

A fool and his barns
In the back of my mind
A fool and his barn
Been storing too much
A fool and his barns
Lord’s words weren’t kind
A fool and his barns
His possessions a crutch

The one barn is full now
Seen this coming with dread
With all that I’ve hoarded
Need to  build me that shed
Better keep this one smaller
Don’t build bigger, He said
Hope my life’s not required
See the dawn here instead

Don’t assume, and don’t presume
Just because you’re making room
Might be building your very own tomb
But springtime’s coming, get ready to bloom

The Knitted Kitten

In a little country village
in a cottage near a farm,
was a curious little kitten
that was knitted out of yarn.

In a rainbow’s worth of colours
from its tail of strawberry red,
to the blue and yellow ears
which sat alert atop its head.

Created by a gentleman
who’d lived a long fine life,
and had taken up the hobby
to impress his darling wife.

It had whiskers long and dangly
its eyes were round and small,
from the top down to the bottom
it was all of four inch tall.

And in the country cottage
where the three of them reside,
there are lots of clever places
for a yarn kitten to hide.

In the kettle, or the flowerpots;
under cushions on the chairs;
inside the ladies’ slippers
at the bottom of the stairs.

High atop the cupboards;
or low beneath the bed;
and once inside a bucket 
in the little potting shed.

It’s a source of great amusement 
in the little country home,
to discover all the places
that the yarn kitten might roam.

As the lady and the gentleman 
take turns in their sweet game,
to find the little kitten 
and then hide it once again.

Things To Do

Walking into my garden,
I notice things need doing,
Fence needs painting,
Weeding and pruning,
And the grass needs cutting.

Do not !!!! Get me started on the decking,
I will cut the hedge instead,
Greenhouse needs washing,
Plants need potting,
Think I will forget the ... decking.

Hose pipes got a leak,
So has the shed,
Turf needs hoovering, 
Pebbles need  brushing,
I love my garden.

It all gets done in a week or two,
It's then sit back, relax and enjoy the view,
That's not the decking

Under the African Sun

Under the African sun

When loneliness bite’s and red wine doesn’t help
And mowing the lawn makes you feel a little green,
Red faced and hot! 
Winter it is not !
A tree with a shower
Cold water gives you power.
The wind has dropped the beetles are humming
Cumulous clouds are forming
A storm is coming ! 
Finish the potting rake over the soil
Plant the seeds of all your hard toil
Winter is coming the beds lie fallow 
But winter seeds only need to be shallow
A few months to come and a beautiful scene
Of Cosmos in bloom under the African sun
Gods peace and tranquillity settles the scene
At the end of the day everything is clean
All in its place and I’m still His Queen
A bride with a veil so pure and white
He’s forgiven my sins and given me light
I’m blessed by His blood
Now let’s call it a night.

By Maxie Macdonlad

Isaiah 61:10
I will rejoice greatly in the LORD, My soul will exult in my God; For He has clothed me with garments of salvation, He has wrapped me with a robe of righteousness, As a bridegroom decks himself with a garland, And as a bride adorns herself with her jewels.

Preoccupation

Preoccupation

The brain is a miraculous oddity
Roaming at will, out to play,
But returning to sober reality,
Preoccupation stilled for focusing
On the must-dos of the day.

Ah, but then there is that flower,
That beautiful bromeliad,
And the mind preoccupies to the child
Who thought it would make her glad.

Repot it to a larger container 
And she’s diverted to that task,
And the chicken breasts remain uncooked,
The brain is a miraculous oddity.

Where is the potting soil?

Preoccupying itself with raw chicken,
While the house goes unkempt,
Wandering to wonder where is the parchment,
Humming a song about children and flowers.

The brain is a miraculous oddity.

Haiku Series

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

the ocean
flaming orange.. red.. and gold
burning oil

~~

a fantasy
no… just nature being so
amazing... beauty..

~~

a gouldian finch
a rainless rainbow
dry food for some

~~

catch a falling star
don’t forget protection
or wait till it lands

~~

a cow jumped the moon
they meant a kangaroo
those Australians


green leaves falling
trees felled in anger… no
hungry elephants

~~

waterfalls dying
rivers struggling… lost their way
climate change is real

~~

water rat swimming
hungry otter hunting
another tail downed

~~

life on mars
probably… you should of checked…
before you ate it

~~

the worm turned
long…  thin… pointed both ends
how would you know

~~

springtime gardening
planting… potting… digging… burying
the police were called

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Despot

Desperate man
Potting a nation
in his oval head

At Home

I’m here at home
But I don’t care
‘Cause I don’t wanna
Leave the air.

The sun beats down;
The temps are high.
To venture out?
No reason why.

I’m reading books;
I’m potting plants.
Think I’ll get bored?
No, not a chance.

My closets wait
For me to clean.
A crossword’s in
The magazine.

Tomorrow heat
Will fizzle out;
Then I will leave,
Without a doubt.

Peaceful Bookstore, Interrupted

Clay saucer
clay pot
potting soil
striped triangular stone
tiny green bud
tall bamboo stalk
fleshy green leaves
held in place by
patio umbrella crank
sits on latticed
black round wrought iron
table at Bart’s Books
Ojai, California,
quiet, peaceful,
so serene
till a bookstore-hating baby
screams.

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