Battle of the Gardener

Her days were filled with gardens of delight
more flowers bloomed against a field of green
if only the deer would not come in at night
there would be more to pluck or to be seen
but these animals some slugs and even blight
make their way into her beds and in-between
on pathways laid out narrow and some wide
she labors the days away to stem the tide

Battle of the Gardener


see it running on the floor

it went down flat under the door

before long it’s running back

here or there to find a crack

this is a most peculiar bug

as I see it going under the rug

whenever we meet in the hall

it darts towards me and not the wall

no way I am going to step on its shell

the sound of a crunch will make me yell

I step aside and let it go by

it will have to find a new way to die



How can I not write after all these years, these months, these days.  Now the avoidance of time.  I am no longer in a hurry.  The poems will right themselves or disappear never to be seen.  Either way is a blessing.  Only when the work is done can we rest and there is so much work to do.  I am tried of procrastinating my life, of not believing.  Tried of every sunset where nothing was done and the morning comes undone.  Breaking the inertia is the hardest moment of my life.

See the alpenglow

What better sign than this one

To start a great task