The sunshine outside the window,
the trees growing new leaves,
the grass growing taller.
The puddle at the bottom
of the garden drying up,
sparrows and blackbirds
darting through the branches.
Somewhere in the distance
someone hammers nails
into a fence, the latest
apprentice carpenter
to appear in the village.
(Today's poem is inspired by the daily prompt from the NaPoWriMo website, which today was to write a paragraph describing a story, the scene outside your window or directions from place to place, and then either erase words to create a poem or use some of the words to form a new poem. I took this prompt and used it to describe what my garden in Frynwys looks like in the current weather.)
Showing posts with label garden. Show all posts
Showing posts with label garden. Show all posts
Thursday, 19 April 2018
Sunday, 15 April 2018
NaPoWriMo #15: Overgrown
In a jungle of a garden,
with a shed constricted by ivy,
a patio draped in moss,
a lawn resembling a green porcupine,
a lost fox makes its den
in what was a compost heap,
much to the dismay
of the resident slow-worm.
He tried to evict his housemate
but his size did not help matters.
To this day no one knows
if he moved out or not.
Still the garden grow,s
still the fox's abode,
till gardeners arrive, tools in hand,
to break the ivy's hold.
with a shed constricted by ivy,
a patio draped in moss,
a lawn resembling a green porcupine,
a lost fox makes its den
in what was a compost heap,
much to the dismay
of the resident slow-worm.
He tried to evict his housemate
but his size did not help matters.
To this day no one knows
if he moved out or not.
Still the garden grow,s
still the fox's abode,
till gardeners arrive, tools in hand,
to break the ivy's hold.
Sunday, 8 April 2018
NaPoWriMo #8: Buzzing Under the Influence
The nectar-sozzled bumblebee
buzzing in a daydream bliss,
reverses out of a flower
speckled with pollen.
He stumbles about the petals,
nearly tumbles into the weeds,
but rights his wings in time
before colliding with the soil,
and burbles home
to what he thinks is his beehive.
buzzing in a daydream bliss,
reverses out of a flower
speckled with pollen.
He stumbles about the petals,
nearly tumbles into the weeds,
but rights his wings in time
before colliding with the soil,
and burbles home
to what he thinks is his beehive.
Thursday, 29 March 2018
Hell's Daffodils
A short time ago in a valley of snow
lived a man on a bike with nowhere to go.
He wanted to ride on the valley roads
but in his garden a flower started to grow.
A daffodil was sprouting despite the cold,
and it grew much faster than a blob of mould.
The man watched it bloom next to a garden gnome.
while the blizzard still threatened to bury his home.
A strange thing happened in the flowerbed;
two daffodils sprouted their bright yellow heads
next to the first above the settling snow,
but it was never foreseen how many would grow.
Ten times ten times ten the daffs all emerged,
before the man knew it the flowers converged
on his small house with strangling roots and stems,
at twelve feet tall, all of the daffs followed this trend.
The man was trapped in a nest of roots.
He remembered when he saw those fresh young shoots,
their brand new petals, their sumptuous glow.
Now he panicked as they burst in through the window.
And so it was that the man met his end
in the worst snowstorm he could comprehend.
When the blizzard cleared the house was still there,
entombed in the tendrils of the daffodils' snare.
lived a man on a bike with nowhere to go.
He wanted to ride on the valley roads
but in his garden a flower started to grow.
A daffodil was sprouting despite the cold,
and it grew much faster than a blob of mould.
The man watched it bloom next to a garden gnome.
while the blizzard still threatened to bury his home.
A strange thing happened in the flowerbed;
two daffodils sprouted their bright yellow heads
next to the first above the settling snow,
but it was never foreseen how many would grow.
Ten times ten times ten the daffs all emerged,
before the man knew it the flowers converged
on his small house with strangling roots and stems,
at twelve feet tall, all of the daffs followed this trend.
The man was trapped in a nest of roots.
He remembered when he saw those fresh young shoots,
their brand new petals, their sumptuous glow.
Now he panicked as they burst in through the window.
And so it was that the man met his end
in the worst snowstorm he could comprehend.
When the blizzard cleared the house was still there,
entombed in the tendrils of the daffodils' snare.
Sunday, 2 April 2017
NaPoWriMo #2: Home at the Dawn Chorus
For my second poem in this thirty day odyssey, I present a tale of the dawn chorus as seen from the perspective of an inebriated blackbird. Whoever said poetry needed to be about deep themes?
Home at the Dawn Chorus
A blackbird flutters back to his roost
after a night down the garden
dining on seeds
from an immaculate green feeder
with several perches
wallowing with other birds
in a stone bird bath
after which he clambers into his nest
to sleep off the gorging
and the guzzling
and the slurred singing of Wren of Harlech
only to hear the robin in the next tree
belting out a tenor solo
as the sun rises
and the blackbird curses
the chorus which greets his ears.
Home at the Dawn Chorus
A blackbird flutters back to his roost
after a night down the garden
dining on seeds
from an immaculate green feeder
with several perches
wallowing with other birds
in a stone bird bath
after which he clambers into his nest
to sleep off the gorging
and the guzzling
and the slurred singing of Wren of Harlech
only to hear the robin in the next tree
belting out a tenor solo
as the sun rises
and the blackbird curses
the chorus which greets his ears.
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