Tag Archives: garden

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 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.

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.