More dubious poetry

It comes as a surprise to myself that I seem to have made a commitment to write a poem every Monday for Miss Rumphius’ weekly poetry stretch. I am still unsure whether I should keep posting them here. I kind of like having a place where I know they can go. But I also know that reading other peoples’ sketchy poetry is not always that enjoyable. So if it’s enough to drive you away from here, I hope you’ll let me know. Don’t worry, I can take it. There are other places it could be. But, being lazy, this seems the simplest. Don’t worry. This is not turning into an all poetry blog. The rest of the week, you are guaranteed prose. Whether or not it’s an improvement, I am entirely unsure.

I’m liking the prompts to get me writing and I’m liking the way the writing gets my brain working. It’s a good way back to the writer’s grind on a Monday morning. Today’s poetry stretch is to write a poem about work. As the work I’ve been involved with the last couple of days has been of the outdoor variety, I chose the profession of gardener. I didn’t intend to write in any particular form. It came out much more structured than I had anticipated. Also, since Miss Rumphius’ example was a kid-oriented book, I was going for something kid friendly this week.

The Gardener

First,
there is the turning of the earth
with a spade,
rocks laid bare
worms squirming to escape the air.

Next,
picked clean of rocks,
from the box, take seeds.
Carve neat rows
with a hoe
tear the paper, sprinkle them in.

Then,
bend over the seeds,
press into the earth
one by one.
Now all you need is sun,
and a drink of water to swell them.

And from the earth the green seeds,
yawn, stretch open.

And then: the weeds.

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