Well, maybe not. That is going to show up on State of Denial in a few days.
Instead, since the gardens are, for the most part, going great, I decided to share a poem I wrote about fifteen years ago, which reached final form about five years ago. I posted it on Sideon's blog a few weeks ago, but thought I'd post it here as well. What the hell.
The jealous rocks mutter early,
in the pearly morning light;
grow surly now, sharp words define-
the faults of the morning glory vine.
Which twists and turns,
turning divine, the craggy,
crabby space it climbs.
in the pearly morning light;
grow surly now, sharp words define-
the faults of the morning glory vine.
Which twists and turns,
turning divine, the craggy,
crabby space it climbs.
9 comments:
I wrote a poem about my wife's garden. It goes like this:
I hate these weeds.
They piss me off.
The end.
Seedling struggle, sapling strive.
Flowr flourish, grow, & thrive.
Topsoil tophat do I thus doff.
My stalk is out. My rocks are off.
Colonel, your poem is beautiful. But Joey's made me spit milk out my nose.
Cha, cha, cha.
Sister Phoebe has voiced my comment perfectly ... but I spit water out of my nose. Lovely poem, Colonel!
Yeah, Colonel! REEEEEAL beautyfulski!
But, I mean, if ya aint makin stuff come out fokeses noses, then whats th point, right?
Beautiful photo, Colonel, & a great poem to go with it.
Nothing came out of my nose reading Joey's. But something came out of somewhere, I can assure you.
Mike-
The weeds sway in the breeze
like foam on the ocean.
Time to get the Roundup.
Joey- You win.
Phoebe- Did you know that if you hold your nose tight, it will come out your ears? I read in on the internet, so it must be true.
Catalyst- Badda-bing!
Sara- Thanks! See my note to Phoebe.
Joey- see above.
Cissy- I must admit it is not my photo, thanks, and um, thanks, I guess.
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