66. Sarah St Vincent Welch's 'Lawren' for Lawren Wooding -- inviting Lawren Wooding into the garden

 

Lawren

 

our neighbour’s magnolia buds

folded in winter’s shortest days

I watch them over the fence

 

you dream how to press a flower

a present for your lover  

she writes poems  

 

walkersby pick sweet lemons

a friend leaves pickled rinds

 

you talk to a snail

step over its path and remark

on safer paths to wander

 

our garden and the hill sing back

magpies carol you home

 

blooms grow

held in frosts’

swell

 

© Sarah St Vincent Welch 2025

65. Karina Bontes' haiku 'slipping' -- inviting Jacqui Malins into the garden

 

slipping

autumn falls amongst

bittersweet days of rainwet 

slow flaming slumber 

64. Peter Groves' 'Instinct' - inviting Karl van Dyke into the garden

 

INSTINCT

When winter thaws out into spring

and warmth oozes with the busyness of bees

and flowering fragrances and trees

are vibrant with the songs of birds nesting,

there are no greater displays of ecstasy 

than the neutered dogs and cats shedding

their domestic connections 

to writhe in the backyard glass, offering

up their furry bellies to the sun.

63. Ellen Shelley's 'Sweet Peas' - inviting Peter Groves into the garden

Sweet Peas

 

I surrender to the slowness of a day

press my face into the scent of things

I would normally rush by. The leaf of a fig,

the flutter of a moth disturbed on my skin.

 

There isn’t much to remember about this day:

insistent showers, the cancellation of plans,

a lack of energy from the beating outside.  

But at least the humidity will keep

 

my sweet peas alive. Even after shoots were dropped

as the pot slipped onto grass through muddy fingers,

and white tendrils tangled in a mesh of green.

I dug a hole. Gently scooped in cupped hands

 

a maze of dirt and fronds. Tied their limp threads

with bamboo to a sheet of lattice against the grey shed.

Tomorrow after a recalculation of distance from the sun,

they will puff out, lean into the climb, and learn to go it alone.

 

 

 

 

62. Sarah Parker's 'Autumn gathers in leafy light' - inviting Ellen Shelley into the garden

 

Autumn gathers in leafy light

A bird calls and is answered.

A leaf falls and is carried.

Water has no fixed place.

61. Damien Becker's 'the bees are whispering' -- inviting Katya Eagles into the garden

 

The bees are whispering

with the stamen, their shared secret language of love

predating the Pre-Raphaelites, Elgar’s Nimrod, 

Great Pyramid of Giza, Ugg clubbing fox’s head 

in the cave, the bees are whispering violence

 

at the noisy miners stalking the corners 

talking smack What you lookin at, but 

that streetwise fruitless pumpkin vine keeps crawling 

its spread over the deadly nightshades, whispering

It’s the sub-tropics, if you like the beach vistas

you must love the weeds blistering, popping

through lomandra brushes, lemongrass

competing for airtime, lime light, gasping in whispers

What are we, a communion? Are we working together

for greater good, or fighting for sole survival?

Is this chorus, or soapbox Sunday in Hyde Park,

South African proteas shouting over whispering

Grevillea ‘Honey Gem’ and the quiet blue-tongues

tucked away, avoiding Murwillumbah’s tomcats,

lamenting that the world is much busier now,

the garden so busy, full of deafening whispers

though the bees always rise, dip, drink sweet water.

60. Vesna Cvjeticanin's ' 'Silent Witnesses' - inviting Karina Bontes into the garden

 SILENT WITNESSES

 

When the shadows of my soul

overcome the brightness

of the moonlight,

I slip into my garden:

for a dose of crimson wisdom

from Abraham Lincoln,

or the scented presence of my

charming Marilyn Monroe.

 

My roses know

how I am at dawn,

when the cursed night’s

dreams seek awakening;

and at dusk,

as the day is silenced

by the cruel indifference

of the passing time.

 

My unlikely but trusty friends.

 

CBR 14 Apr 2025

00:50