I Have this Garden of Poems








full of flowers that bloom
at first
and then carried away with my greenthumb
i planted everything
trees and more trees and shrubs and bamboos
and vines and hanging plants

almost everything
and so the blooming flowers died
and the grasses diminishing like some
hair of this baldness

but nothing is lost in this garden of poems
the birds came and built their nests
some are still coming
every morning
and then the chirping begins





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Walking Alone


by Michael R. Anderson

I, too, was born of a world not the same,
Amongst white snow, a raindrops' shame.
In life's garden, a dormant seed.
A heart held of dissimilar need.

I, too, was awed by lightning's flash,
Embering in mind even after the crash.
Followed closely by silent rain,
Blood-red, falling from the sky in vain.

The wind chimed and the earth shook from thunder,
And my mind was but befixed to wonder;
How could I stand amidst this storm,
Seek shelter not, yet still seem warm?

But I, too, take my sorrow at a site-
Other souls would nonchalantly slight.
And I, too, have felt the need for love,
But could only love that need which I dreamt of.

And as I peered deep through the skies,
The clouds grew black to shut my eyes.
The demon that came in your view,
Now's taken from me what he took from you.

In the garden the seed has sprang,
A nameless child unearths the pang.
Felt for the flower, both eyes in close.
Took twenty thorns to touch the rose.

A wondering mind looked to the sky,
So beautiful it had to die.
Laid it to rest upon the stone,
And turned away a man full grown.

Singing the same song at a different tone,
In thoughts, destined to die, unknown.
Born unto a world not of our own,
We walked together, walking alone.

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