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Oh how right you are! This just has to be amongst the favourites of many people.

I remember being pedantic with my English Lit. teacher when I was about 14 and drove her crazy because I kept on laughing to think of Wordsworth actually counting the daffodils before he wrote the poem.

I asked her again and again how he knew that there that many.

Shame, I think back on it now and I see I really needed a 'klap' as they say here metaphorically. I remember her being patient though - what a marvellous educator she was. Lucky me.

Cheers

Last edited by Lestie4containergardens; 01/26/15 06:08 AM.

Lestie Mulholland
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Hello Everyone,

Well here is a poem that has been written along the lines of many other pieces in literature with themes of 'Stop and smell the roses ... or Make hay while the sun shines ... or and so on.

...............................................................

The Garden

by Francis Strawn Livingston

Across the road a garden grew,
And bent among the flowers,
A spare old man stooped to his task
Or he sat and dreamed for hours.

He had slaved away his early youth
In a pharmacy day and night.
A pallid drudge year in, year out,
He was starved for color and light.

He had no time for romance,
He grew to shun mankind.
Too stingy to spend emotion,
He closed his heart and mind.

He reaped the fruits of frustration,
In that dull round of care.
A life out of doors, the learned man said,
Might bring surcease from despair.

The gay nasturtiums stirred his heart,
Velvet dahlias woke his pride
The roses he loved like children,
The lily was his bride.

He left this mortal plane long since,
But the garden calls him still:
He walks there when the moon is low,
A bent form, dim and chill.
...............................................................

I like the full circle the poem comes, the sadness of loneliness is offset along the way with regeneration, beauty and continuity. What do you think? We are not running a poetry crit. exercise here but would you have called it The Garden? Just musing.

Cheers


Last edited by Lestie4containergardens; 02/01/15 12:25 AM.

Lestie Mulholland
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Yes, Lestie, I would have called it The Garden, rather than, say The Lonely Man, Existential Pain [ok, not too likely!] or something that focused on the negative aspects of his life the way we social beings would see it. The garden was his redemption and the focus of his love. And why not? A garden is a living thing too.


Mona Evans
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Hi Mona,

The more I read this poem the more complicated it gets!

The three main 'characters' I see are the old man, the garden and the narrator.

There's regret of time misspent, of time wasted on not important things; of time ill-used and just passing by unnoticed.

The narrator seems to be making the same mistake - by his/her remarks there is a wistfulness - perhaps s/he is happy for the old man who found solace in the garden?

Anyway, I may have called it something else though I have been trying think of something but can't quite get a title to suit what I want to say ... no poet me!

Maybe just a change of one word could do it - call it His Garden instead of The garden.

Anyway and all that, cheers


Lestie Mulholland
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Hello All,

Lou e-mailed me and asked for the full poem where we are encouraged to 'stop and stare."

It makes it somehow into the garden-themed poetry post I say, so here we go...

...............................................................

'Leisure'

by W.H. Davies

What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare?—

No time to stand beneath the boughs,
And stare as long as sheep and cows:

No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass:

No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night:

No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance:

No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began?

A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

...............................................................

Cheers now


Lestie Mulholland
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Hello there,

It probably takes a simple mind to enjoy such simple verse but there are those times when a person doesn't really want to think!
...............................................................

Maytime Magic

by Mabel Watts

A little seed
For me to sow…
A little earth
To make it grow…
A little hole,
A little pat…
A little wish,
And that is that.
A little sun,
A little shower…
A little while,
And then – a flower!
...............................................................

It's true - it is as simple as that.

Cheers now


Lestie Mulholland
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Hi there all,

Here is a repeat of two poems that I have posted before but which I think are worth reading again and again and again. I hope you agree.

Yikes! Where does the name Wadsworth come from?

...............................................................

Kind Words and Kind Deeds

By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Kind hearts are the gardens,
Kind thoughts are the roots,
Kind words are the flowers,
Kind deeds are the fruits,
Take care of your garden,
And keep out the weeds,
Fill it with sunshine,
Kind words and kind deeds.

And then another by Goethe

Found

Once in the forest
I strolled content,
To look for nothing
My sole intent.

I saw a flower,
Shaded and shy,
Shining like starlight,
Bright as an eye.

I went to pluck it;
Gently it said:
Must I be broken,
Wilt and be dead?

Then whole I dug it
Out of the loam
And to my garden
Carried it home,

There to replant it
Where no wind blows.
More bright than ever
It blooms and grows.

Cheers now


Lestie Mulholland
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Hello there!

I love tomatoes don't you? Well here is someone else who does!
...............................................................

Tomato
by Robert Szankowski

I see this fruit, this imperfect ball,
it sits on the counter, against the wall;
I’m uncommitted to its ultimate fate,
I got to decide before it’s too late.

It looks ripe, it looks sweet and delicious,
full of vitamins, it is surely nutritious;
bright and red with a dimple on its face,
a flawed perfection that adorns its grace.

Where did it come from? What was its trek?
What gave it its quality? What gave it its speck?
Its youthful green color as it grew on the vine.
Did it fall, was it picked, before it became mine?

What is the best way to bring out its taste?
Should I make a soup? Should I make a paste?
A Bloody Mary? A spicy salsa?
Should I make a sauce, to eat with a pasta?

A lot of thought went into this piece of fruit,
a vegetable some people would dispute;
a tempting odor as I put to my jaw;
I think I’ll write a poem for it and eat it raw.
...............................................................

... and so he did.

Cheers now


Lestie Mulholland
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THE DESERTED GARDEN

I mind me in the days departed,
How often underneath the sun.
With childish bounds I used to run
To a garden long deserted.

The beds and walks were vanish'd quite;
And wheresoe'er had struck the spade,
The greenest grasses Nature laid,
To sanctify her right.

I call'd the place my wilderness ;
For no one enter'd there but I.
The sheep look'd in, the grass to espy,
And pass'd it ne'ertheless.

The trees were interwoven wild.
And spread their boughs enough about
To keep both sheep and shepherd out,
But not a happy child.

--Elizabeth Barrett Browning


Mona Evans
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Hi Mona,

Your choice above a sad and happy poem - masterfully mixed, so nice to read over an over again ... poetry works especially for me when it touches a personal spot. Thanks for posting it.

Here is another one I found.

..............................................................

My Garden
by Marie Church

As I look out to my garden
I feel a sense of pride
It really is a lovely room
Except it is outside.

Where lovely things mix and match
And greenery fills the walls
The sound of trickling water
Coming from the gold fish pond.

I love the sight of stones and rocks
And driftwood and tree ferns to
The sounds of all my chimes
I know you would like it to.

With pride I walk around my garden
And savour each scent and smell
Colours of yellow, red and gold
Striped cushion on a bench.

The bird bath has its own domain
It's placed beside a wooden arch
Where all the birds come to bathe
And drink when they are parched.

Ladybirds can hide away
Sometimes they come out to see
What's happening around them
With caterpillars and the bees.

There's not much more that I can say
Except if you have your own
It won't take long to build it up
Seeds will bloom once they are sown
.............................................................

Cheers


Lestie Mulholland
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Contain your Delight - it's easy!
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