NOT GARDENING

Standard

There’s no excuse, I should have been gardening today. The weeds are shooting up through the gravel and the cat mint is threatening to capture the entire border but no, I couldn’t be bothered. Lassitude overcame me.

While fidgeting restlessly  in a deck chair something useful did at last happen…  A poem came to mind that I had written  about my Mother’s efforts in the garden. Here is it is…..and the asterisk are there because I can’t get the spaces between verses to work properly, not because they really should be! Any advice from anyone?

GERANIUMS

The back yard

at number seventy-five

faces North and

an unturned mangle

stands solid by the wall

while geraniums in haphazard pots

glow red on concrete.

*

The clothes pole frets the line

as pyjamas dance in sunlight,

and Mother hums and

tickles pots

of crumbling earth.

Her face glows red

like geraniums.

*

A child appears,

her smudgy, gingham dress

in tatters.

She stabs a  rusty trowel

in scattered earth.

Her face grows pink

like roses.

*

Long minutes pass

at night-time.

The child returns and trembles.

A ghost appears

with blackened fists

from crumbled earth.

Now Mother’s face is ashes.

*

Memories fade

like freckles.

They crack like upturned pots

beside a wall and

grown child seeps sorrow.

Sees mangle turn,

sees crumbling earth,

sees geraniums glow –

for Mother.

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About rhymebydesign

Mother, grandmother, mainstream poet and short story writer. Started off in life as a teacher, but then moved out of the classroom in to educational administration. Curious about what makes people tick, including my own tickings! I enjoy long walks, thought provoking books, theatre and leading a simple life. I offer a customised poetry writing service for any occasion you might like to mark. Contact me at rhymebydesign@hotmail.com for a quick quote.

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