Posted in Poetry

Gardening or torture?

This is the garden of my discontent 
The weeds examples of all I can nurture 
Unable to dig deep into the arid soil
It becomes a concrete, defiant clump

But gorse reaches deep into the clump
Shooting into the air and grasping space
Annihilating any life that ventures near
Prickles embed violently into the skin

Abandoned roses reach to the sky
Avoidance of death in the dearth of care
Disfigured forms to take what they can
Garnering their strength against the sun

I had good intentions, images of glory
But age, access and injury stopped me
I now look forlornly out the window 
Only bird activity in the barren land 

In my mind I see it blooming and free
A pleasure to sit in, scent, sight & sound 
Velvet leaves and thorn absent stems 
But opening my eyes slashes that image

Maybe I will purchase a large painting
Cover my window, filled with bounty
So I can look out and pretend it’s mine 
The closest I can come to a green thumb 

Unless you count the bruises from trying
The attack wounds from the roses
The blood dripping into deep crevices 
It is truly barren and how I often feel

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Author:

I was 46 years old when I begun this blog, female and married with a house full of cats (7). My past is littered with the impact of events that happened when I was a teen. Two loves of my life have been nursing and studying. I just completed my Master of Arts: Media Studies endorsement. My blog will be about the things I think about, that might be better served being written rather than squirreled away in my mind festering. It is the meanderings of my mind as I seek to define myself and my world.

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