deepundergroundpoetry.com

Rowing through the leaves

 
 
My garden is not like Monet's
There is no rainbow arch
Reflecting in the water,
Or reedy edge for frogs to hide
No water-boat-men
Rowing through the leaves
Daubed and splattered
With random colours
Thrown fearlessly at the easel.
 
I love this view. as many others
We pay our dues, worship, adore
Captured, nailed in wood.
Photographed and print,
Vicarious pleasure,
On the hall-way wall.
 
My garden different
Greens yellows, wild and free
Red-wood reaching for the clouds
Defying winds in winter storms
Shedding cones and needles
Shaking pigeons' nests.
Dandelion lying with the daffodil,
Cowslips' powdered petals,
Primrose hiding in the grass
No reds . . .wind-flower-blue,
Euphorbia-lime, poisonous sap,
Spurge in English, beware!
 
Monet secure on the wall,
The pond, though deep,safe.
My garden beyond window-panes
Where winds blow strong,
Trees lean and branches fail
This is real,not brushed,
I am sojourner here.
Here,is real,
Here,I breathe
Here,changing whims
Here,is mine
Here,until tomorrow.
Here,rowing through the leaves.
Written by Kexby (john rickell)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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