Like an Asian name scattered into the wind,
We merely gaze upon the flower.
Yet you sever the blossom,
Transplanting it into your own soil.
And we remain searching for the lost bloom,
Wandering still.
Violet’s blue spruce, which we bought this year
the same time we cut down our Christmas tree
has been planted in the yard and is doing beautifully.
The planting came with its share of celebration and festivity…
as all ten members of our family who were here
had a hand in transplanting Violet’s tree.
All ten people took a turn on the shovel…
which was our ultimate goal…
and answers that pressing question:
How many family members does it take just to dig one hole!
With every family member participating…
I can say with certainty…
we planted more than just a blue spruce
we planted a family tree.
We have given Violet and her tree the best start…
as all families try to do
and we pledge to do our best to raise that tree…
and little violet too.
To provide them both with sunlight, air and water..
nurture them through the summer heat and winter snow…
to give them both the care they need…
and enough space in which to grow.
We are happy to have planted in both of them
roots that will extend and solidify…
which will give them the strength and determination they need
to reach up to the sky
Artificial blooms cause delight!
Exquisite freesias, geraniums, hellebores
Iris, jasmine, kaffir lilies.
My neighbour Oscar
plants quirky realistic stems.
Transplanting unkempt verges
with xanthic yellow zinnias.
As I sat at the table in the cafeteria I was eager to feast on the food staring at me. I was oblivious to anyone around. A hysterical laughter caught my attention and pulled me out of my cocooned world. I looked towards the direction from where the laughter came. There were three men seated deep into a cesspool of friendliness. It wasn’t that that was the highlight of that summer noon. It was the table adjacent to theirs. I was frozen for some minutes. The old lady and the young lad in the middle of a conversation threw me off balance. I could see my grandmother talking to me, telling me pastime stories and teaching me my fast-eroding culture. I could hear her calling out to me to come to her garden to aid her in transplanting her purple flowers. Tears streamed down my eyes.
Tomato King
(self proclaimed)
Written: by Miracle man
2-5-2020
Temps changed quickly from seventies to thirties,
from sunny to snow in just twenty-four hours.
Trees are still naked, holding no singing birdies,
but beds will soon burst with wild violet flowers.
Now is the time for planning tomato planting,
planting time comes beyond average frost date.
While huge Goliath tomatoes do sound enchanting,
I may chance planting early, sometimes I can’t wait.
I get my first ripe tomato before the end of June,
this comes about when transplanting was chancy.
Generally, I plant tomatoes during a waxing moon,
and like my tomatoes big, red, globular, and fancy.
I plant, apply Epson salts, mulch, water, and fertilize,
stake, cage, and cover to protect from strong wind.
Then a fleeting time later I start picking my prize,
those who enjoy them think they’re a Godsend.
Due to high potassium and heart problems I can’t eat’em but I can sure grow’em.
(Except when I cheat a little).
Tom
Rice seedlings in hand, I transplant rice in the paddy field,
And as I lower my head I see the sky that water does yield.
For a good harvest, the roots must be kept pure and clean,
Moving forward is what stepping back does really mean.
(tran.)
Spring, Where Are You?
The cold wind is blowing,
with no sunshine showing,
and now it is snowing!
Spring, where are you?
Plant life should be teaming
new stems and buds streaming,
yet, Spring is daydreaming
midst the cold brew.
We've held off our planting,
no seedlings transplanting.
More nor'easters ranting!
What can we do?
This Winter's still fighting
the Springtime we're sighting...
long days, the sun lighting
flowers in view.
Cold Winter days clinging,
as Spring's out there winging;
our hopeful hearts singing,
let Spring come through!
Sandra M. Haight
~1st Place~
Contest: Early March 2019
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Judged: 03/02/2019
Far from home in warfront a soldier dies
His son a soldier receives the body
Decorated with national honors.
Mother’s arms around her son
Her head reposed on his chest
Finds the support she needs.
The sleepless eyes closed
Dry tear drops in the corner
And on the disheveled eyelashes
Encase the grief and the loss of her husband.
The listless lips pursed
Faintly curved in contours of trust
Define the pride and the love for her son.
On the face of contrasting duality
Petrified emotions of a widow and a mother
Converge in hope of continuity
Of seeing the departed enclosed in her arms
Of transplanting the past to the present.
February 21, 2018.
The wall clock--
Imitating minutes to hours
Of anxiousness, while
The man
Of the year
Standing around in silent wait
As my hope fades
To the unknown grave
The transporter that’ll make
His blank faced
Client sing
A new song this summer, breezes in
With a box
Of spare part gasping
In rhythmic tune, so eager
To welcome--
Its new owner, my Dad
‘Neath a silky sheet, like he’s sleeping
The things we seldom know
can always trip us up,
until it is too late
to make amends.
When insight starts to dawn
like a crystal bullet in the brain,
time has wound it's course
with cruel twists and bends.
Lady Luck has smiled on me,
radiant bomb blast of the truth,
slowing up the heady rush
of breakneck speed.
She has shone so hard her light
with self awareness rays,
made me know down in my heart
you're all I need.
The things we seldom know
caught me in the nick of time,
blinding ghosts of Christmas past
transplanting eyes.
The only thing I need to know
is I love you more than life,
'till the end of time itself
I realise…
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