Cats and dogs
Croaking bull frogs
Peas and beans
Dandelion greens
Oaks and pine
Maple trees fine
Lilac and rose
Azalea’s grow
Birds and bees
Two apple trees
Pond and lawn
A spotted fawn
Fence and stonewall
Framing it all
our yard is creeping with dandelions
clover and wild thistle growing too
soon it will be camouflage for full grown lions
black pumas, spotted leopards and king of the lions too
every blade of grass has a memory
each yellow dandelion has her own song to sing
I marvel at the miracle of the red clover with her circular leaves
purposeful ant marches past my musings, giving me a withering look
Gate of GODFORSAKEN GRAVE yard made sound.
A girl with GRIEF -STRICKEN face to enter.
Her long dress of GOSSAMER touched the ground.
She walked and reached almost at centre.
It was Moonlit night : Her tears to glisten.
She put flowers on the grave of her Mom.
Her silent GROANING, only to listen
by gate : Myriad of pain to fathom !
GHOSTLY silhouette is displayed on sky
The girl looked up above : Moon tends to hide !
Gate of grave yard made sound again, but why ?
The pet cat followed her and sat beside.
Gate of the graveyard witnessed the event.
The girl got her companion to lament.
Back Yard
Just sitting on my back porch.
In my back-yard.
Looking into the sky.
No worries.
Keep things simple.
Take it easy today and tomorrow.
Live alone.
That’s the way it goes.
See birds fly.
Skim through the air, by and by.
Just wondering.
Just relaxing.
Take in the air.
Smoke a cigar.
Live out in the country.
This is how it should be.
Spring in your eyes –
I feel it there,
the way they smile.
Like winter's heavy cloak,
the days of stress,
simply erased.
I fall in love every spring.
primavera –
the sound,
my hearts favourite word.
Flowers unfurl,
days stretch long and bright,
the sizzle of barbecue,
and your birthday light.
Woman's Day,
I carry blooms to Mom,
her smile, a sunbeam warm.
You also bring flowers to me,
and my heart feels soft,
and again I see your smile.
Birth of nature's green
long nights in the yard,
birth of the day,
and the quiet joy
of birthdays in the Spring.
My yard is full of useless things
Items I thought I had to have in my younger days
Some were used
Others were never used
My yard is a dumper-hoarder’s melting pot of stuff.
My dogs have an enormous play yard
Much better than being in a kennel or tied up
Still, I feel guilty when they are up there alone.
So, I trot up there to keep them company.
I sit in this play yard forty minutes at a time.
Writing while they settle into the play of dog.
We have six acres of land.
Our dogs used to stay on our six acres.
This new puppy is a social butterfly.
When anyone walks up or down the road he runs after them.
To socialize, be friendly, party.
A bad influence on his brother dog who is easily led.
Seven beautiful lines contest,
Sponsor Constance La France
Posted 21/3/25
Through the auld Kirk gate in the churchyard wall
The rough green field where my ancestors lie
Woodbine and ivy around the graves sprawl
With Rosemary and rue growing nearby
Where wild rabbits mutter when screech owls cry
Safe in the shadow of granite tombstones
A jewel I loved, my grandmother’s bones
The limericks piled in his yard
Made mowing and maintenance hard.
The blade would get stuck
When nonsense it struck,
The handle from hyperbole jarred.
The dogs are unfettered in this pen
It’s big enough for an army of a hundred and ten
No one has to wear a leash or be tied
The yard is long, the pen is wide
Still, I feel guilty leaving them here
Why this is, is in no way clear
They are safe here, they cannot chase cars
Yet leaving them here gives me anguish and scars
I have no idea why I feel this way
But I sit in the pen with them every day
This silly guilt I probably should not have
Yet I sit here, stone-faced, feeling bad.
I love pretty spring,
flowers it will bring,
now I want to sing.
Colors flowers wear,
in cool spring day air.
Pretty is my yard,
looking like a card,
fence will be a guard.
I really see,
a big yellow bee,
it's looking at me.
Look a butterfly,
flying real high,
is he saying hi?
The red ladybug,
I want a big hug.
Her grandfather called her to their front yard,
“Come here, my child.”
“I want to show you how to mend this net,”
he said tenderly,
his fingers weathered like the ropes he held,
gnarled and worn like ancient driftwood.
But her gaze drifted towards the horizon
the pull of its horizon stronger than the weight
of his quiet hopes.
“I don’t want to learn,”
she grumbled under her breath,
kicking the dust, a powdery veil
that crumbled and shifted beneath her feet,
to leave his pride untouched.
The old man sighed,
“One day you’ll wish you had,”
and left it at that.
his hands busy with the knot,
hers busy avoiding the duty
as she played with the hem of her dress.
Years later,
when the net sat coiled and brittle,
in a forgotten corner of her mind,
she found herself standing by the ocean
her hands clumsy,
wishing for the wisdom
she once refused to take.
She understood that minute
what he never said:
Some things are not for the moment-
but meant for when the moment has gone.
cracked concrete
gravel and tar
grimy and gritty
asphalt yard
put in by my husband
a non-mower
who would like the entire yard to be asphalt
turtles come up to my yard all the time
not sure why
or even if it is hundreds of turtles
or the same turtle hundreds of times
I have no lake or lagoon
I live in a meadow surrounded by woods
we are bordered on the south by a creek
a marsh lies to our east
are they traveling to
or traveling from?
I will never know
even if I reincarnate as a turtle
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