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I find myself sometimes in the garden, on bended knee, like time spent before God, in times past, to service prayer and contemplation.

My toil in the dirt, in something like a self-imposed penitence; As if it could really be believed, this, a disciplinary labor? No- Not labor, at least not without fruits, which then is not discipline at all, in the sense of justice, but more akin to labor that is work for pay.

What payment I receive for my efforts, well that's as much between He and I as anything else, I guess. About two weeks past budding, the colors begin to bloom. Vibrant and impressive, in both color and form, striking one to awe.

I wonder sometimes, while watching the smaller animals which are more brazen and scurry about, what great difference there is in life, in consciousness, being, between us and them. It's easy enough to see, well, you know, here is an animal, here is what it is capable of, endowed by it's biology, this is the way it acts, which is pretty much just what you'd probably expect in most situations.

But here, probing the soil, I wonder what He must have done when first bringing forth such things. The thoughts although similar take on a whole new feel. What worth is a plant? What loss is there when it is gone? A plant is quite clearly alive, and so what more harm is it to be omnivore or herbivore- You take a life, either way.

These things I consider while working the soil, struggling with the separate thought that there is no 'just right' here at the ground level, there is only 'Good enough' or 'Seems OK'. It isn't so much a matter of fulfilling predetermined criteria as it is devotion of time and compassion.

And I try, I do. And I think again, for a moment. When each blossom opens to expose the intimate delicacy of it's most alluring regions, might they, like hatchlings, have impressed me as their own lifegiver? I tend to them with diligence, and while they all equally impress me, and I delight in their elegance, each and every one, two things, neither knees, anchor my daydreams to the ground:

First, that I have misjudged their intent, and second, that as I pride myself on each and every one, they each ideally desire my sole attention, the full extent of the resources I might provide, and all of the time I can spare to offer as labor.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jul 2010
About this poem:
Late night ramble?

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Comments (15)

stirs the grey matter at what is for me first thing in the morning, I think there is a single word answer for this .......Bees!....or even survival.....either one will do, starting with things that grow and the natural food chain, that of course is a circle joined when we eventually die.........Andrew.conversing
Thanks Andrew, and good morning. beer
neither knees, anchor my daydreams to the ground:

Alluring contemplation for my next sketch.
and then you chomp down a salad..grin

i love this..gardening can be like meditating.applause
when you don't expect anything from life or from anyone...your payment'll come.your flowers garden are plenty...important is to know how gifted you are.Thanks for your share
B.O.A. - I always thought, and you now confirm, my suspicion, that you are a deeply rooted individual, full of nuance and strength and the grace of a garden growing.
What a tender, thoughtful labour of deep, creative thoughts. Everything little living thing has its place and equal value.You are a rare poet indeed. Which comes first, consciousness or reality? I do not know.
I enjoyed this,and your contemplative enjoyment of the garden..thank-you.
Hi Barrell,good to see you again!!!
I loved this poem, cause I too love to garden and watch as the creatures roam about. Cant help but wonder if there is a double meaning in the last couple paragraphs? could I be right?dunno nice writ e my friend..take care..JG...hug wave daydream thanks
oh...this is what I live my garden grows, so too does my spirit..terrific expression barrel...
Thanks for the comments, everyone. beer

RE: Jerseygirl

There is something of a double meaning there, indeed, although it is rather subjective. While 'the intimate delicacy of their most alluring regions' certainly could be viewed as something almost explicit, it isn't intended to be quite that.

Certainly, take of it what you will- that's what it's for! The last two paragraphs could be many things- It could be women, or children, or friends. It could be a lot of different people in many situations. Ultimately, like the rest of the poem, I like to think, regardless of what you or I want to make the 'meaning' of the symbols, it is still, in each case, a feeling, like the preceeding stanzas, of what someone responsible for creating (in many or any forms) feels when relfecting on those things.

/endspiel laugh
Awww...poets heart hug
Quite a plethora of ideas embedded in your poem Barrellofart. I applaud you...and your writing ability! This is fantastic and brings questions to the surface...that normally lie dormant. applause
Hi, Barrellofart,
But here, probing the soil, I wonder what He must have done when first bringing forth such things. The marvel of everything in everyday while neither knees, anchor my daydreams to the ground: Thank you for probing the soil.
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