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Gardener (Free verse) by lastobelus

I work now with small green things and brilliant colours. The smell of the earth is deeply ingrained in the ridges of my flesh and the sky touches down the brim of my hat. On a rainy day I sit with a paper and go out later to feel I’m being watered. I have a bright yellow oilskin and the rain runs cold off my forehead and down my nose. I have a rosebush named Candy and one named Sue and a wheelbarrow. I have a long, long time to watch the wild things grow.

lastobelus 5-Feb-04/3:12 PM
actually, I must confess this is one of my old ones. And also one of my favourites.

I have started reading some Heaney, and I like his quiet. I realized after watching Lost in Translation how tired I've become of hyperbole and peril. I've been writing some plotless prose lately. No peril, no metaphorical thwacks on the side of the head. You know hemingway's famous fishing short story, guy comes back from the war and goes fishing? That kind of thing.

I'm thinking about the S1.L5 comment. It's an interesting observation. How do you feel about "and the sky touches down the brim of my hat" or "and the sky nudges down the brim of my hat"?

I wrote this as a stealth pome -- something I knew would do well busking (I sold a wack of plaques of this pome) -- but that had semi-covert meaning for me. I respectfully invite you to have another look at S.3 and see if you can find some density of meaning there. But if you do, leave the 9! I ain't grubbing for more vote, dangit.




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