Sunday, December 12, 2010



In my garden
I’m growing myself.
I’d like to think
I ‘m the fetching amber canna, posed
behind her seductive dark leaf-fan
or the elegant gold rose,
taking the breath, her head heavy
with sun-gilded petals.

But I know I 'm
a weed, a once yellow, fat
dandelion going to seed.
or the shrub, perhaps, thorny and lank,
set scowling beneath the low window
throwing dagger arms at all comers,
purple and stark as an old bruise
against the buff brick,

while all the long hours
my black-eyed daughter Susan
fills up the hot summer with her profligate flowers,
and the quarrelsome yarrow and ember-red poppies
pick up their heads like a litter of celadon pups
thrown from my loamy botanical womb
tumbling in serious play
across my snarled roots.

All  thought is drowned in the sunsound 
of ponderous bees'
slow dancing on the mumbling air,
while down in the far corner
the dandelion goes white
and her uncoupling seed flies into the wind,
from here clear to

December 2010

Linked to real toads
Open Link Monday
March 12,2012

Photo: Yarrow, poppies & salvia, by joy ann jones


  1. Quite interesting, the subtle dance of the garden grow is always unexpected with the personalities in it. Wonderful piece for sure!

  2. Weeds last forever and get to see it all..super poem, full of artistic originality!

  3. slow-dancing on the moving air, i like that!

  4. Sweet, like dandelion honey. Tasty, like dandelion wine. Crisp, like dandelion salad.
    An herb to cook with. A dandelion surrounded by all the other plants clamoring to be noticed.
    Dandelion wins!

  5. It's lovely to contemplate sights and sounds of summer when it's so frigid outside...

    The personification of the garden is wonderful...and I like the last stanza - the seeds scattering and taking root in the most unexpected places inside a soul...

  6. What a beautiful metaphorical piece, hedgewitch. Makes me anxious to get back in the garden.

  7. It started off with familiar feelings, but it TOOK OFF with that third stanza, which I loved! Excellent piece!

  8. beautiful, oh yes and spring is coming!

  9. Oh my goodness, I so love this. I loved gardening in my big patch those warm summer days......enjoyed all of your references to the various flowers with their varying dispositions! This was a wonderful read, and transported me away from my blustery winter day into the heart of summer. I especially love "in my garden I am growing myself".....yes, that is what we do. And with our children, too.

  10. I shall also admit to being a weed. No flowering growth on this thing.

  11. Dandelions are beautiful flowers, not weeds... it's all in one's perspective.

  12. A weed is just a misplaced flower...and they grow free, so I'd rather be weed! A terrific poem.

  13. Very lovely Hedge ~ The garden and flowers come alive in your pen ~

  14. Beautiful work, Hedge. This was so clever: "my black-eyed daughter Susan"

    I posted today's words; I hope you'll join in this time.

  15. ...the sunsound /of ponderous bees/ slow dancing on the mumbling air...


    Sending you a lovely bouquet of dandelions!

    1. Gracias--I'll see if I can't make some wine from them, Timo.

  16. I love the "ponderous bees slow dancing on the mumbling air"!
    Lovely poem.

  17. What I marvelled at in this poem are the small set-pieces, the shrub "throwing dagger arms at all comers", and the "sunsound of ponderous bees". For anyone who loves the sound of words, this kind of play is magnificent.

    1. Thanks, Sam--really enjoyed yours as well--such a feeling of lost nights and sighs.

  18. props for the use of "profligate"...know what >>> this was a genuinely insightful metaphor driven piece. Often the whole flower metaphor gets to be cliched, but damn, you did well here. Viva la

    P.s....thanks as always for reading and posting at the Nice cage.....I very much love your commentary!

    1. And vice versa--my pleasure to read your work. Thanks.

  19. I love it when you write about your garden, and i would take a beautiful dandelion gone to seed over a golden rose any day. As you point out in the final lines: the possibilities are endless, and each new phase of life filled with hidden promise.

  20. I was drawn in right from the opening. The description of the bees, and the entire final stanza, is just marvelous.

  21. Anything but a weed! I love this...!!


"We make out of the quarrel with others, rhetoric, out of the quarrel with ourselves, poetry." ~William Butler Yeats

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