so many disparate, random thoughts
the way my mind shoots off, as if working
at a lathe

collect the ideas, the chips now

a caress in the semi-sleep
of early morning


I’m not a happy weeder
it’s something I rarely set out to do
or for that matter set as a priority
even when it comes to writing
it’s hard to tell what’s a weed – the esoteric potential –
unless it’s by proliferation, the way ground ivy takes over
beyond any balance, say and what’s
domesticated for nutrition or color

for that matter, I’m seldom a happy gardener
unlike our Lady Jane who cannot decide if her art or garden
comes first

so I put in five good hours of yard work
moving wood chips and covering
kitchen garden pathways
with landscaping fabric in cleared out lanes
while ants attack my ankles
out of the already occurring decomposition

poem copyright 2016 by Jnana Hodson

~*~ Garden 1

For more of my home and garden poems, click here.



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