Tag Archives: garden

Maud came into the garden, where…

Maud came into the garden, where there were only a few remaining black bats to see.

‘Oh, I do so hate arriving into the garden before the black bats have all gone – I should have awaited the call.’ Maud mulled over her errorsome ways for a while.

Unseen, a fellow walked into the garden from the far side – it was a man in a black hat. He stopped and awaited the departure of the last black bat, and called out, ‘Come into the garden, Maud, the black bats have flown.’

Maud considered leaving then coming back into the garden, but she just couldn’t be bothered with all that nonsense. She waited a few moments, then walked forwards, towards where the man in the black hat was standing.

‘Here I am!’ she called gently.

The man in the black hat turned, swooped his hat from his head, and bowed as low as low could be. ‘Welcome, Maud.’ he announced her presence with such gusto that her smile gained some authenticity. ‘Well, welcome to you, too, sir’. Maud gestured for the man with the black hat to regain an upright stance.

‘All black bats have departed, your safety is assured, my lady Maud.’ he announced with a flourish of hat that saw it returned to its perch atop his head.

It was going to be one of ‘those’ days, though Maud.

In the garden

There’s a pigeon

in the garden

on the table

after food;

a starling on the feeder,

who’s hogging it

(rather rude);

a sparrow hops across the earth,

searching for some scraps,

and the finches are a tad late –

having a lie-in, perhaps;

and, as of yet, no sign of Robin,

or the neighbour’s friendly rat.

.

All in all,

all is well in the garden,

there’s food enough to eat,

and the promise

of a distant Spring arriving

lends a note to every tweet.

.

Inside…

the dogs are quiet

(for a moment)

and Rosie the cat

is curled up on the bed

because she is quite wise,

and it is cold outside –

well, as it is December,

I guess that’s no surprise.

In the garden – a location poem

A carpet of leaves,

with a russet and yellow pattern

that changes in the breeze,

and is added to from the trees around.

Leaves left untidily in heaps,

or seemingly strewn about

with gay abandon;

Nature is having a brief glimpse at regaining

its dominion –

and, now, it’s started raining.

Observing the rat in the garden

He comes

and goes,

wiggles his nose,

wags it’s tail,

and doesn’t seem to mind

the barking of the dogs,

who are securely in the house;

and it’s definitely a rat,

because it’s not a mouse,

unless it’s a a crossbreed –

a mat,

or a rouse!

There also was a bumble bee

There also was a bumble bee,

who seemed to wag its tail at me;

I don’t know what

it was trying to say,

perhaps, ‘Hey! Human! Go away!’

There was a lil Robin, a-hopping in the garden

There was a lil Robin

a-hopping in the garden,

I spoke to that Robin,

I said, ‘Do you know,

that ‘garden’ rhymes with ‘pardon’?’

He looked at me,

as Robins do,

and then he flew away;

I’m sad he went,

left so soon,

I had plenty more to say.

I spied a little sparrow

I spied a little sparrow

standing on the edge of my wheelbarrow,

in the garden

‘I beg your pardon!’ I said,

as the sparrow flew off.

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.