It is a careless gardener
Who leaves the lettuce to form great forests
Of inedible lettuce trees
And watches the juniper and strawberries
Become so tangled that everything
In the garden box makes
You a little drunk
A careless gardener
Who leaves the plants to bloom
And grow untrimmed
So that they climb deep
Into the mind’s memory
Of green and growth
Root cellar of resistance
Against the emptiness
There is more than one way to feed
Gardens are food for more than one appetite.
For more multi-purpose feeding, my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.
The slugs were thick in the tomatoes
Curled into the leaves and scraping
For the earwigs to fill
It was fireblight on the plum trunk
The plums defiantly sweet
In the face of death
Garden fruit and vegetables
Bearing proud battle scars
Nothing ate the zucchini.
Zucchini is a lesson that everyone refuses to learn
Survival is not necessarily a virtue.
For tales that don’t involve zucchini, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.
I would say that
Gardening is meant to
Feed the soul
But have you seen
The price of onions?
Rich in metaphors. Rich in onions.
You would think that I couldn’t find multiple ways to use onions as metaphors. You would be wrong.
For more metaphorical and practical plants, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.
So many people speak of things that can’t happen
In hushed tones of sincere smugness
That we decided to soothe
One of the smaller impossibilities
A minor god
In a major pantheon of
Our soil – infertile
Our weather – inhospitable
The first year even the crab grass retreated
It is a slow wooing
Of small things that shouldn’t be
Manure, trellises, and time
There is bedrock beneath us
And still these small blossoms
Open their impossible hearts
Persistence is the mother of possibility
Impossible dreams must be carefully tended.
For more persistence, my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.
I grow a forest of lettuce
A precursor to the more stable forest
Present at the edge of all my gardens
I grow lettuce that is bold and tall
That is not confined by our Ideas of what lettuce
Should and should not be
Dazzling spirals and intricate fractals
Line themselves in an expanding row of greenery
Across the range of vision
The slight bitterness
On the tongue
Is a small price to pay
For ephemeral beauty
There are few things more beautiful and fleeting than the burst of pre-autumn greenery
I love the final moments of summer in my Northern garden.
For more plants and impressive forests, my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.
In summer, we live on what we grow.
Greens for the stomach and blooms for the heart.
Thick soil, ripe with worms and beetles, spread with the spectrum of colours, a riot of blooms and shoots.
So short the time of air thick with bird song, with ever-blowing samaras and cypselas.
Our hand-crafted greenery can feel that pulse, that frantic pace of the living and blooming.
Things grow in a riot of intensity, greedily soaking up every ray, every breath of sun-warmed air.
As they speed, I slow.
I stand in the heavy scent of peonies, of honeyblossoms-
Close my eyes and gather warm memories for colder days.
My cat also has a deep appreciation for tulips and associated greenery
There are few things I love more than the rich, heady scent of a sun-warmed garden.
For more plants of power, my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.