Dream garden not -- a tribute Poem
The Opened Door
The day I found the opened door
I don't know how that came to be
Always seeing the garden there
That's one place I wanted to go
I have been seeing flowers bloom
Irises of many colors
That open door was my invite
Where flowers were I couldn't find
Two yellow iris two plain white
The pretty fountains had gone dry
Twas hanging on an iron pole
Books never read library locked
Walk the path 'til at the corner
Now in my cell through my window
Four small flowers growing for me
[a poem tribute
to what was not]
_ _ _
- Photos and
Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2020, All Rights Reserved
- I am linked with Rommy at Weekly Scribbles, https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/?m=1
- I did visit this garden, it was at the hospital where my SIL who had just had a stroke is recieving therapy. I had been wanting to visit, I like to see what various gardeners' dreams have ended up being.
- Disapointment followed as we, in the southern coastal area of Texas, have stayed green and have flowers blooming, but NOT in north Louisiana.
- I am not and NEVER been incarcenated except for the 17 years I spent at home.
Labels: A Tribute, Family, Fiction, Poem, Syllabic Form, Weekly Scribbling
posted by Jim @ 2/19/2020 12:45:00 AM
10 comments
10 Comments:
I sometimes feel like that.
If once we had a garden to be proud of we certainly would feel this way once we had lost it and had only the nondescript.
This is such a powerful and emotionally charged poem, Jim! I resonate with; "Books never read library locked."
Relieved to know you didn't have this view from a prison cell! (By the way, I attended a one-room country school, and considered paying tribute to my teacher for 7 of my 8 years there. I changed my mind and went for sarcasm instead. I guess those old-time teachers did something right, as we both seem to have an affinity for words!)
Oh, I feel you. My dream garden never seems to reach the full bloom I strive to create.
Thank goodness for an open door, Jim, fresh air and nature on the other side. I would hate to be without a garden. I feel sorry for the mechanical sunflower, it looks so sad, hanging from its iron pole.
I try to create dream gardens in my mind .... when the real thing doesn’t exist.
I like to imagine the prisoner in this piece deciding to take the initiative and start some sort of garden. It might be a place for healing and reflection.
Soul grey walls and a struggling greenery. With a little work this could be a world of color to brighten up visitors.
I hope your SIL is recovering nicely, much hope your way.
The tiniest of blossoms can sometimes brings us the greatest joy.
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