Pinkly fresh from fallow winter’s
absence of toil, his hands sift soft
the mellow earth, stirring new love’s
down-covered roots, tenderly shifting
each tiny goose-bumped finger.
He speaks slow the oil-warm language
of life, sows seed into airy, sandy beds
bathed in dappled leaves of light
falling meadow-fresh each morning.
Flowers and fruit form fleshy and ripe,
blossom ruddy to full-bloom at the same
knotted speed as billowed-sail snails
who list their compassed lattice course
through seas of sappy growth and greenery.
Nascent breeze’s hissing kiss
tastes scent of passion growing,
leans into the shifting weight of it’s
burgeoning heady sway;
from within cupped hammock
of entwined stems and branches
there’s a sudden flapping of wings,
the spontaneous merged-beating
of two hearts mating.
Enchanting words and imagery
thanks for sharing
love and peace
Huda
Reviewed by Daibhidh MacAdhaimh
Reviewed on April 25, 2007
'...his hands sift soft the mellow earth...'
As ever, not a word is wasted or an opportunity to insert the relevent adjective for the carefully chosen noun.
Intuition had me recalling the old farmer I worked for in my youth (Gosh, what a memory!). I walked out into a field with him one bright Spring morning. We stopped part way in so that he could survey the latent terrain with narrowed eyes, and chewing the milky end of a long grass stalk. After a few moments of contemplation he bent down and scooped up a handful of soil (not dirt; he ticked me off for using that word)in his shovel like hand and sifted it. 'Hmm, I think we'll just leave the field this year, gie it a rest.' At that, we then left the field: 'Shut the gate, Dai.'
Each verse merges seamlessly into the next in this write producing a continuous narrative while retaining its poetic sturcture.
'mellow...' Just this one word evoked the melodic strain of Donovan's Mellow Yellow - a fitting Radio Caroline background as the fingers worked the soil.
Admirably stylish and once again food for my still as yet fertile, some would say eccentric imagination - Sift that! I reply.
A very finely layered portrait painted with all the right strokes of nuance and "oil-warm language of life." Imagery and rhythm in THE FRUITFUL GARDNER unfold in snychronicity, slowly growing into a sacred hybrid "of two hearts mating." Enjoyed spending time in this fertile garden of a poem and hope to do so again.
Aberjhani
So beautiful! Love that last stanza, it's "the fruits of
the garden" Kate you're on a definate roll. :)
You've captured the beauty of life and nature.
Hugs Dale
YOur imagery moves me in soft slow directions
Katie!
Wow the last paragraph grabs on tight,
I don't want to let go!
I love how your heart understands,
what and how to spin a word into creations!
I missed reading you~!
Hope your spring is everything you want it to be!
When I first read this beautiful title, in my mind “flashed” the title of the wonderful movie by Fernando Meirelles, which delighted many of us a couple of years ago, but, curiously, the “flash” came in the form of an association: A “fruitful gardener” is the one who is a “constant gardener” – or, translating the Brazilian version of the title of the same movie, a “faithful gardener”. And, sweet, sweet Kate, this “gardener” is indeed “fruitful” because of his constancy – the faithfulness, the endurance, and the consistency with which he cares for his garden, and, especially, his love, which makes the soil he tends richer than any other, because it is nurtured like no other. Contrary to the atmosphere of the “garden” and “gardeners” in the movie, though, where love was to be obtained, “reaped” at any cost, here, in this wondrous portrayal, love is… both the seed and the blossom, and then the fruit… of itself – naturally fecund, naturally sweet, naturally shared… naturally free – “from within cupped hammock of entwined stems and branches there’s a sudden flapping of wings, the spontaneous merged-beating of two hearts mating.” Reading this, dear friend, was to enjoy the supreme privilege of partaking of that “language of life”… which you, an immensely fruitful gardener yourself, speak so beautifully. May Ataegina, our Lusitanian Goddess of Spring and Renewal, cover you with scented blessings, always.
Delightfully embracing imagery KB - a sensuous tactile quality permeated with the aromas of imagination - the work of a budding mavin. Blessings to you dear heart, you are very special ...
I sit, read and wonder how you write so well.
Rusty
Reviewed by Andy Turner (Reader)
Reviewed on April 20, 2007
"Well I done me bit Lady Morrell, I'll be off to do my stonemasonary for the garden now, glad to be of service ma-am. Seya in the woodshed"
Beaut write, every word hand picked, like me flowers, ma-am. Tiger x
You take us there in atmosphere and imagery: bless you. Your characters are well rounded, well depicted; dang. Wish I could write as beautifully as you! Well done!
Absolutely gorgeous poetry, Kate you are so masterful at setting mood and creating vivid imagery. A gem of a write.
Reviewed by J M (Reader)
Reviewed on April 20, 2007
Nature is so beautiful especially the new birth of Spring time but Kate you have given nature emotions, beauty and grace with your penned words a blessing for me in this beautiful gem...........Glorious Poetry XX josie
I like this sweet Kate, with the emerging of summer foliage of course as flowers and plants blossom into life so do the birds and animals feel the first stirrings of summer's passion. Well done I like this one for sure.
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thanks for sharing
love and peace
Huda
As ever, not a word is wasted or an opportunity to insert the relevent adjective for the carefully chosen noun.
Intuition had me recalling the old farmer I worked for in my youth (Gosh, what a memory!). I walked out into a field with him one bright Spring morning. We stopped part way in so that he could survey the latent terrain with narrowed eyes, and chewing the milky end of a long grass stalk. After a few moments of contemplation he bent down and scooped up a handful of soil (not dirt; he ticked me off for using that word)in his shovel like hand and sifted it. 'Hmm, I think we'll just leave the field this year, gie it a rest.' At that, we then left the field: 'Shut the gate, Dai.'
Each verse merges seamlessly into the next in this write producing a continuous narrative while retaining its poetic sturcture.
'mellow...' Just this one word evoked the melodic strain of Donovan's Mellow Yellow - a fitting Radio Caroline background as the fingers worked the soil.
Admirably stylish and once again food for my still as yet fertile, some would say eccentric imagination - Sift that! I reply.
Regards
Dai
Aberjhani
the garden" Kate you're on a definate roll. :)
You've captured the beauty of life and nature.
Hugs Dale
Katie!
Wow the last paragraph grabs on tight,
I don't want to let go!
I love how your heart understands,
what and how to spin a word into creations!
I missed reading you~!
Hope your spring is everything you want it to be!
Lots of Love & many, many xoxox
Alexandra*
Light and Wisdom ...
Love Tinka
absence of toil, his hands sift soft
the mellow earth
Marvelous, Kate - have you been peekin in my garden?!
Incredible imagery in this spellbinding write; you are the very soul of perfect poetry! Very well done, my (((Dear Friend))); brava!
(((HUGS))) and much love, your friend in America, Karen Lynn in Texas. :D
Rusty
Beaut write, every word hand picked, like me flowers, ma-am. Tiger x
Be safe,
Karen
You take us there in atmosphere and imagery: bless you. Your characters are well rounded, well depicted; dang. Wish I could write as beautifully as you! Well done!
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.
This exquisite poem is crafted with more brilliance than
one person should have!;-)
Eileen
Fee