Tag Archives: garden

In our garden

In our garden

there is a raggedy old man.

I don’t know how he got there,

although I have seen him around;

he looks like he’s had a hard life,

plenty of trouble, plenty of strife;

and he’s sitting on our garden bench.


I want to ask him to leave,

go away,

never come back;

but, it’s troubling to see

that that old man is probably me.

It must be cool to be a cat

A lazy life,

A lazy life

without a job to do,

coming and going as one pleases;

no clothes to wear,

no worries to share,

and the surprise when one just sneezes;


pottering in the garden,

pottering in the garden,

lounging on the lawn,

tiny Tiger, preys the land

from dusk to early dawn.

“I’m in the garden playing with words!”

I’m in the garden

playing with words;

long fat juicy ones,

short thin skinny ones,

adding on a prefix,

abbreviating puns;

as I pop them in my mouth,

I wonder if they hurt,

pulling out the big guns

polysyllabic dirt.

In the Garden

In the Garden

On any given Sunday

(for they are truly ‘given’)

you can find a person

(not a parson – they will be in a church)

in the garden;

or, if they are not there,

then they shall be found somewhere else.

I can say no more than this,

as even saying this

has stretched my resources

to near breaking.

PS this is not a poem

(even if it looks like one).

My Garden Haiku (8-8–8)

My Garden Haiku (8-8-8)

My Garden Haiku needs weeding

as it has grown beyond what is

and what is not acceptable.

In the Garden Haiku (x2)

I’m in the Garden

I’m in the garden –
out between the rain showers –
sipping a cuppa.
The air is so fresh,
it’s like it has been watered
clean of all the yuck.

From The Viewpoint of the Garden

From The Viewpoint of the Garden

Leaves and clouds and sky and stuff,

like my words and rhymes

the weather can be rough

or smooth;

and I can either move to the groove

or shelter from the storm

(or the excessively warm)

in the garden

where the pottery of poetry

is often found

by looking skywards

at the ground.

The Garden Of Cornwall

The Garden Of Cornwall

The garden of Cornwall

is right outside my door;

the hedges they need tending,

the sheep are on the moor;

the narrow roads are wending,

and shall do for ever more.