In spring and summer most of my time is used in the garden
at times I think I have too much garden
Picking and plucking along the ground
weeds are like words in my garden
Time to share with hummingbirds and bees
who bury themselves in plants of the garden
Slugs don’t stand a chance if they climb through my fence
I will murder them if they enter green garden
I could buy a bag of peppers from the grocery store
would rather I harvest from plants in the garden
Joy of seeing a chipmunk or black-capped chickadee
as they pick out seeds from the garden
Now I know why my beans didn’t grow
because of that mole in my garden
dVerse prompt to write a ghazal
Kitchen is messed
need to get dressed
Garden is waiting
Altar most striking
candle bush spiking
dVerse prompt to write a lai – an old French form
today the soil is cold
my hands soak in the dirt and the chill
peas must be planted
their roots the lovers of the frigid ground
transplanted before they become tangled
or bound in their pots
my bare hands grow stiff and weak
today I will work with stone
wear gloves and carry each one
to its place at the edge of the garden
Most of the time when I am gardening I don’t wear gloves.
I like to feel the earth, break the clods, pluck the weeds,
plant the seeds.
Someone needs to mow the grass.
Who could that someone be?
Is it me?
We need to plant the garden.
Who is we?
It must be me.
There is a horny robin
banging into the reflection of itself
against the glass window he thinks he found a mate
it is cold and hard
repelling his every move
yet he keeps coming back
handsome with his orange breast
sits at the top of the apple tree
contemplating his new approach
that feathered bitch