Doppelgänger: the DUP Oscars

I live across the pond, yet see her          
sunrise silhouette in that shed, potting and planning,            
her mind constantly rooting words, flourishing           
from the rafter of her tongue.            
           
I see me, too, patiently waiting to grasp every seedling offered.              
           
This is Hallowed thought, a sacrosanct connection
of Rock, bone, and blood of sorts – separated
through generations of mothers who were less than gentle
and daughters who learned to hide cruel skeletons
in closets long before adolescence.

We share that, her and I-
knowledge no loved or wanted child tastes;
and yet, we both were to the best of
their maternal abilities.

Nature erases her pain, between
Golden Chaffinch and Wood Pigeons,
fox and Cup and Saucer Vine, she kneads soil pliable
with her hands, extended fingers stretching deep
for the source of life to bury her past in.

I know her burrowed sanctuary
through the thick wooded reserve
and do not worry when she disappears
down its throat.

Because,  I also know, no matter what path or ocean
or lake swallows her form, she will return as spring,
as azalea and squirrel, as cormorant and cold surf
to the donation of her life's work that is this
Rockhallowed garden I tangibly envision myself in.

I also know that she knows I will always be here
as a bulb, patiently awaiting her warmth to emerge.            
~              
           
           
Imperfectedstone            
Imprefectedstone is one of the most imagery-laden writers I've read.  Her remarkable depictions of a naturistic life create the most beautiful visions in my sphere.  She is not only a gardener of gardens, but spirits as well.  I feel a deep-seeded connection to her soul and blessed beyond measure to have met her in this lifetime            
           
https://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poets/ImperfectedStone/

      
He’s my prosaic humus man —
I’ll take him any way I can.
He likes potato chips and girls
When writing formulaic pearls.

To read his sonnets are a feast
As soft-spoke lover or a beast.
A high sea’s surge of tempest toss,
A reader’s gain despite his loss.

But I’m the one who always wins
With end of day’s poetic spins,
When coffee break & work is thru’
He comes to me and joy ensues.

Our very spoken words of mirth
Will often conjure forth the birth
Of haiku, senryu and verse,
And more traditional converse.

This alley cat so versatile,
The way he crafts a rhyme & spill.
There’s nothing finer to be caught
In reader’s net rare fish are sought.      
     
     
     
Hepcat61:      
A generous person and poet.      
     
I’ve been with him since December 2015, getting to know and learning from each other - we never can know enough. One of many honors of knowing Geoff is how much we both have developed as writers & poets.  When we first met, my thing was more freeverse & Japanese short form - his was not.  His was high-powered Shakespearean sonnets - I didn’t even recognize his poetry in the Sonnet form... that’s how clueless i was back then.  We’ve both been knocked around by life, but together, our passions meld, and humor rules ( and heals ) our days.  With all my love to my Tomcat, I am his Tigress.      
     
https://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poets/Hepcat61/