ART/RSP 299: Gathering in the Garden: Poetry and Studio Art

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  Visitors by Lindsey Bosk

  Lindsey Bosk

  Visitors
  
  There is a need within us all,
  just like this garden,
  for water to replenish what is dry and wilted.
  One drop falls from the grey-blue sky onto a leaf.
  Another hits my brow, I smile.
  Like me, the rain does not stay forever,
  we are both visitors here.
  
  The droplets of water pick up speed,
  as if sensing urgency.
  Thirsty plants lap up water,
  the rain is welcome.
  
  Unlike the rain, I serve no purpose.
  I quench no one’s thirst.
  Nonetheless, I sit in the center of it all,
  as If I matter most.

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  Admirers of the Garden by Tabitha Burgess

  Tabitha Burgess

  Admirers of the Garden
  
  I fly in as the sun rises
  Fluttering to the beaming light
  Of golden and red velvety petals
  I touch down on the layers of the lilies
  Admiring their similar colors
  Breaking my concentration
  A chirping sound in the distance
  
  I feel the wind beneath my wings
  As I fly to an area I’m familiar with
  I land on the nearby fence post
  My black and white feathers
  Illuminated by sunlight
  I look down at the nearby botany
  The rows of greens growing from the soil
  I seek out my next destination and take flight
  As a shadow takes my light
  
  I walk down the path as I do every time
  I leave for a new adventure
  I see a small chickadee fly off towards the trees
  Walking over to the daylilies
  Growing up to the top of the small fence
  I feel lost in their presence
  Until the bright colored monarch
  Catches my attention

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  Visiting the Garden by Ryan Guptil

  Ryan Guptil

  Visiting the Garden
  
  Winter is gone
  The sun is out
  
  I open right up
  I come right out.
  
  My bright red complexion
  My powerful aroma
  
  Creatures come to see me,
  Without a doubt.
  
  They know my smell
  They know my name
  
  They know what I am
  Not ever a doubt.
  
  Every year I am the same,
  But they always change.
  
  Till next year my friends
  Please stay the same.
  
  I feel you looking
  I never move, always still
  Frozen like a rock.
  
  I am as bright as a flame
  And catch the shining sun.
  
  You’re drawn to me
  Like a moth is to a light.
  
  I can be a slew of colors,
  But my stem is always green.
  
  My stem is short
  With my added itsy-bitsy leaves
  But my flower is mighty.
  
  I will shine bright
  As long as you gaze.

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  We, Three by Ginny Majka

  Ginny Majka

  We, Three
  
  I am the soil, the mountains and oceans of life.
  Mycellium colonies beneath my surface plunge up
  up, up through the peat and the moss, the decaying leaves. They pray for the rain, the fruit of my earth.
  Plantae nestle in, fragile and comfortable,
  seeds sprout to eagerly gulp rain,
  animalia flourish, consuming what I provide
  only to come home, at the end, to me
  to rejoin my earth;
  we are one
  I am the atmosphere, the sunny clouds and storms producing bounty to those below
  I am the chaos in the lightning
  I am the rainbow after the storm
  Changing fearfully, I’m warmer and drier
  than I’ve ever been before
  connected to the ocean, cycling with the wind flying with magnificent wings; most organic some metallic
  I love the magic of what lies below The planet loves me - needs me Yet lately, I don’t know
  I may feel neglected
  I am gliding with my own two feet over fresh, pungent soil packed down on the trail that savors my tracks--
  Carrying my heart in my hand
  Raised in a society who pays no attention
  With blissful ignorance in humankind--
  I turn my back to the destruction
  I savor this land, this sky, this earth
  I breathe in the bold Yellow Cap birthed over a rainy night whistle with twirling ferns nestled in the moss
  smile with the clumsy toad who blends with mother soil, who watches curiously, and asks me, what we are doing to his beautiful home?

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  A Short Stay by Rachel Milne

  Rachel Milne

  A Short Stay
  
  Gracefully, she leaps over the fence.
  Slowly, she walks through the yard,
  Plucking low-hanging leaves for breakfast.
  She lingers, as she eats
  And suddenly –
  Nails skittering on wood, a rush of air through the grass,
  Her visit is cut short
  She sends herself back into the woods
  Just as the dog reaches the top of the hill
  
  Their nest may be elsewhere,
  But the pair frequently visit this place.
  His little, crimson body darts over the yard,
  Her subtle, tawny feathers hide away in a tree.
  A constant in the garden,
  They are a pleasant sight to those in the home
  
  This one does not visit as often
  It has so many gardens to see
  But this one is nice for a rest.
  Pausing at as many flowers
  As it can along the way,
  Before flitting away to grace another garden

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  Dandy/Robin/Gardener by Sadie Pressman

  Sadie Pressman

  Dandy
  
  I’ll be so direct by saying, if I may, that here is simply, absolutely, the best place to be. Here,
  where the rolling hill plunges towards the ocean. Here, where the sight of the Bavarian blue sky
  makes my insides feel endless. Here, where, watching as I so often do, as the white cotton
  shape-shifts before my eyes, summer-time in suspense. The sun’s rays suspend from the sky,
  dangling like the hands of time. They caress me. A pocket watch in the sky, the sky's the best
  accessory. Here, where I am more popular than I could ever have once imagined. Here, I am
  special; the first food of the season available for the bees, the robins stop by and peck at me
  searching for seeds, the children don’t disregard me, in fact they are gay and giddy, giggling
  while they pluck me from my roots to make a bouquet, a bouquet of wild things. Here I can be,
  simply serene, no more of an eye sore than the scorched grass.

  Robin
  
  Where do I start to make the point that I’ll be making?
  The seeds were bountiful,
  the worms, plenty.
  The fence was just the right height,
  the breeze ruffled me just to my fancy.
  But I digress.
  Perched atop the blockade, though I am not the gatekeeper.
  Leave that job to the cantankerous gardener who fusses over his plot.
  He is doleful in the way he sows his seeds,
  groaning at the sign of things that he decided should not be seen:
  a dandelion in his plot,
  the lazy, fat, orange cat from the quarter 3 blocks away.
  Although I am not the gatekeeper, I contest that which the gardener decides is and isn’t allowed
  within the parameters of diamond shaped wire.
  Anything that is life,
  or that therefore contributes to it,
  should be, without question, allowed.
  A garden after all, is where one goes to grow.

  
  Gardener
  
  I go to sow
  and someday I will reap
  that which I grow
  Not so unique is my garden plot from the rest
  we are indeed, not very different from one another
  raised beds and turning heads
  I didn’t intend to cultivate for the looks
  but no one is looking at me
  not anymore than they look at a dandelion
  I had a dream last night
  the robin in the garden was talking to me
  singing for me
  I sat for a while on the splintery wood chips that surrounded my plot
  I listened closely
  as I had promised myself to do
  looking for nuance in the bird’s song
  wordsless, but not without understanding
  together we understood
  or so I thought.

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  Three Garden Visitors by Vivien Russe

  VIvien Russe

  Three Garden Visitors
  
  Beside a cup of tea, I am a spotted leopard on pajamas.
  Outside in the garden, this early summer morning,
  Staying sly, quiet, not wanting to draw any attention from the neighbors.

  A birdie is hidden in the Emerald Green Arborvitae,
  After lunch, Owen comes over, asking politely if he can come into the yard to find it.
  I reply, “Certainly, you can retrieve anything that lands in the yard without asking”.
  
  Coming unannounced, no matter when, full of presumption
  It comes with the lightest, gentle touch or the hardest hit, knocking flowers off center.
  Below the fine roots rejoice or weep.

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  ILJA by Paula Shevenell

  Paula Shevenell

  ILJA
  
  I remember you
  sitting in the woods,
  Gathering in the children
  Gathering in the
  sights and sounds.
  You’re expression
  warm, kind patient
  as the children crawl over you.
  
  I remember
  Sitting on this rock
  breathing in the scent of the woods
  Trying to bring in
  the calm I see in you
  Amid the chaos
  Of children befriending you
  Of parents attempting
  To capture the moment
  With their devices
  Of plastic, wires and glass.

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  Floral Beauty by Sophia Squire

  Sophia Squire

  Floral Beauty
  
  An appreciation for chrysanthemum
  Took bloom within her soul during
  Her early years of life and began
  To flourish as time went on
  
  Passing slowly, the years whisked
  By and things would grow all around
  Her as her hair drifted down past
  Her slim shoulders – long brown
  
  “I wish to grow my roots, soon,
  In one place where I can stay
  Becoming stronger within myself
  Until it is time for me to wither away
  
  I’ll make this body a lovely space
  For my spirit of flora to grow and
  Thrive, with windows all around to
  Let sunshine onto my petals every day”
  
  The flower child’s fiancée watched her
  Petals turn in during the night times as
  She grew towards light in the daytimes -
  A spirit always reaching towards warmth
  
  He liked the way she’d turn to him
  As if he were the source of light himself
  It felt very special to be the source of
  Someone’s deepest endearments
  
  “How can a flower love me more than
  Anything else?” He wondered inwardly
  “More than the saucer or soil it grows in,
  More than the sunlight and space?”
  
  “She makes this home her garden”
  He thought to himself while caressing
  Her arms that are as soft as the deep
  Green leaves on her house plants
  
  “I’m her home” he realized as he
  Drifted sleepily into an afternoon nap
  She has everything she needs
  Including my loving company
  
  With water in the bottom saucer of
  A begonia, its leaves unfurling –
  Their soil is rich and fervent for
  New stems to shoot out brilliantly
  
  The two lovers grow together
  Two stalks intertwined
  Leaves curling against each other
  Opening outwards to greet the day
  
  A quaint young girl and partner
  With such deep love for flora
  That each would oftentimes
  Imagine themselves as one