Short Potting Poems

Desperate man
Potting a nation
in his oval head...

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At the top of the garden
A sanctuary hidden
The old hen house is converted to
A potting shed
Stone floor, a window, a door
Your secret bolt hole
Nurturing beloved seedlings
Readying them for planting
While you order those thoughts that beset you -...

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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...

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Listen to poem:

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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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....

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Imagine

Yellow socks tambourines pretty girls and fax machines
Sunshine waves Heinz baked beans and black tinted windowed limousines 
Garbage anarchy wasps that sting and red currant jam potting magazines
Madness purity wedding rings and watching Mary Berry’s tips on the finest 
cuisines
Ice cubes tweed ping pong pings and the gold dust of a magic monkey blowing 
over your sleeping dreams...

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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....

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See, see the splurptious sky
Marvel at its big Mauve depths.
Tell me, dingle, do you
Wonder why the Aardvark ignores you?

Why its foobly stare
makes you feel Crappy.
I can tell you, it is
Worried by your crumbobulous facial growth

That looks like
A Rotten fish.
What's more, it knows
Your flarpgurgle potting shed

Smells of a ball of snot.
Everything under the big splurptious sky
Asks why, why do you even bother?
You only charm aliens?...

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