My Words

Understanding the World through words

Tag: garden

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Dante’s Place-poem

 

I wonder if Dante’s poetic place
smack in the middle of purgatory,
(it’s where all poets go after death)
all the great ones find themselves there.
Even those who never had a book deal.

After a hearty breakfast
of Huevos Rancheros
and hot steamy cafe con leche
go fishing—

In that vast ocean of metaphors
where one finds small,
sometimes shadowy,
plump, and juicy enjambments
perfect for otherworldly poems.

Then after a nice lunch of
lamb meatballs on crunchy
Dutch bread topped off with
Belgium beer,

We take a walk in the garden of similes—
Where there are lush trees full of ripe fruit
like cherries ready to be plucked, joyfully
collected in our gilded baskets.

Dinner is roasted Chilean Sea Bass
marinated in garlic and cilantro
served with a delicate glass or two
of buttery California Chardonnay.

It’s during this time
Neither in heaven or hell,
that
we recite our daily poems
one-by-one
like grace is
said after
a lovely meal.

garden made of words



Speak Mistress

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Speak mistress,

the open door heralds your voice,

it’s the sound of precipitation

that marks your words.

 

Heavenly libations—

never sorrow or tears,

it’s your moistened gladness

that my garden

happily absorbs.

 

My Son’s Garden

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Yishai is growing a garden.
He’s growing green beans, radishes
cantaloupes, cucumbers, onions,
and pumpkins.

So far he’s harvested a cantaloupe
It was the sweetest fruit a ten year
old has grown.

The garden is well watered and the
warm California sun helps to enrich
his cultivation with its life
giving rays.

He tends to his little garden
with anticipated joy,
as soon as he comes back
from school, off he goes
to check to see if the cantaloupe has
grown any
since yesterday.

He’s proud of his growing
achievement.
Once in a while,
he’ll bring me a radish or
green bean he’s grown.

Taking it in my hand,
I thank him and the creator
for the bountiful harvest and eat it.
Yum, yum, yum I say as I pat him
On the back, “good job son”
“Give me a high five”

Under A Fig Tree

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What’s it like to die
under a fig tree?

“And every man shall plant a
vineyard and rest under his
fig tree.”

Was the prophet speaking
to me?

I’m resting under a shaded tree,
listening to the soft caressing
songs of distant birds.

The Mediterranean California weather superb.

A gentle fall breeze wisps intermittently
cooling my restless soul.

Oh God, I’m overtaken by your love!

You created this for me,
to enjoy the quiet moments,
to enjoy the splendor of nature.

Your creation.

You give me so much peace,
that my simple words cannot
describe.

Words fail me.
How can I explain
tranquility?

Or the vastness of a clear blue sky?

How can I describe the scent of an
orange and grape filled
Breeze?

How can I describe white butterflies
dancing in the air?

I can’t.

When I plant my fig tree,
these are some of
the things I want
to recall.

Like A Thief

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Behind my house
my neighbor
delicately
tends her garden.

Her labor and
yearly dedication,
to grow lovely flowers
brings me sensual joy.

The rich pink
blossoms and
ruby red roses—
framed by a
yellow lemon tree,
from my back window
every morning—
in a voyeuristic
fringe—
thoroughly
captivates my
imagination.

How can I deprive my senses?

I can’t—I steal
glances,
like a common thief,
enjoying them
as my own.

What Are Flowers?

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What are flowers?
But, weeds with some
Color.
They’re narcissistic
little things.
Holding our attention-
with their sunlight dance.
And, Bringing pleasure
to our
Visual senses.
While catching
our vision
with their-
coy brilliant
Hues.

Rose Garden

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Rose garden, my rose garden
where have you gone?
I planted and tended you.
I carefully mended you.

I looked over you.
Made you smell the sun.
And then I delicately
Pruned you when your time
had come.

When the earth froze I covered you,
I jealously protected you.
I anticipated your every return.

I delighted when your first buds shown.
I called on the birds to witness
the miracle of spring,
when your colors sprung.

To see you bloom, was my heart’s desire.
When you released your perfume,
I bent my knees to gather in more.

Rose garden, my rose garden
My dear friends, You’re no longer here
to witness my joy or my tears.
Now I’m troubled and
I’ve come undone!