The Rake is old and rusty.
The rain is falling all around.
The soil is full of clay and water.
I procrastinated and now,
I'm spreading humus on the ground.
with humility,
hoping the humus can bring my clay around.
Maybe I'd be better off using this clean clay,
to fashion a sculpture or make a new pot.
Certainly nothing has been growing in this clay on my ground.
Except for some fungus and green mold.
I've got leaves pressed into the clay.
It leaves perfect impressions in the gray.
I hopefully spread grass seed on the ground.
And hope the birds don't eat it all.
And I spread some dirt from Home Depot,
or was it Target?
To try to hide the seeds from the birds
long enough for some of them to sprout.
Hope is eternal. Grass can be too.
It spreads it's relations slowly.
Maybe in a few years I'll have that "perfect lawn"
you see at Golf Courses.
Isn't that life?
Trying to get things to sprout in difficult soil?
Chris
Thanks for the nice comments
Posted by cholte at April 7, 2005 09:44 PMHi Chris,
Great poem! I get so many creative connections while working in my garden. Or walking outside with one of the dogs or driving in our rural area. The earth, sky, animals and weather can be an inspiration.
On the ride in to work on my country commute I wrote this poem on Monday:
The first outside drying laundry of spring
banners outside.
My reclusive neighbor, an old woman,
waves from her mailbox.
Last week she flashed me the peace sign.
Her old "keep out" sign has a
fresh coat of paint.
It's blank and white
like a new sheet of paper waiting.
On the way home I buy extra strawberries to share.
Take care, Patty