Contributor: James Geehring

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Warming rays of sunlight, clean fresh air of spring
soft brown earth like coffee grounds which make the earthworms sing.
The sprouting seeds like shepherd’s crooks, reach up towards the sun,
no matter what their fates will be, they all appear as one.

They throw their first two sets of leaves, identities to suggest,
and growing more proclaim themselves, while heralding their best.
Stalks of green, translucent, against the blue gold sky,
hold tightly to the buds produced, half opened and quite shy.

Their blossoms bursting open, proclaiming what they are,
create chromatic carpets as one views them from afar.
Like lightning in slow motion, their colors shift in time,
marking days and seasons in a manner quite sublime.

The flowers don't seem phased by all the aphids brought by ants,
they must believe their visitors as naught but mendicants.
Buzzing bees hang nervously above their chosen blooms,
driving clouds of pollen into tiny golden plumes.

How wonderful a garden is, to tend or be admired,
the smiles and joy, the thoughts of hope, an inner peace inspired.
We tend to count the years we live, how long we've been around,
we should be counting gardens that we've planted in the ground.


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I see myself as an observational poet. I love being inspired by the world around me. I have been an artist, musician and builder and only recently started writing.