This Poem was Submitted By: Ellen K Lewis On Date: 2012-03-15 01:29:20 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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a thoughtful moment a reflection of a face and a remembered lost opportunity to touch. In the heart of my soul my garden is tenderly watered coaxing old roots  and new sprouts to live and grow death is like that laying quietly for so long earth regurgitates its dust and another turns it over what is left behind has just begun to be and so we plant seed we apply sweat and tears and whisper tiny hopefuls that we have all the things  we need to make life new again. When I am in my garden now I shall practise laughing if the locusts come to eat it all then I shall eat the locust.

Copyright © March 2012 Ellen K Lewis

This Poem was Critiqued By: Dellena Rovito On Date: 2012-03-30 15:43:23
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Ellen, What's good about your writing especially for me, is how you share your emotion. This is the objective of poetry we tend to lose sight of. "Nothing matters except she 's gone [friend, mother] concept." You write to tell of what matters to you. Good job my dear I love gardens and I'd eat whatever to live. Dellena

This Poem was Critiqued By: cheyenne smyth On Date: 2012-03-20 15:57:52
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 10.00000
Hi Ellen, You have penned a poem that is close to my heart because I love to garden. But then I think the garden and planted seeds are a metaphor for life and death. Every day we live puts us just that much closer to our demise. One could be depressed about that aspect instead of focusing on the day we have been given each morn when we awake. Your last verse is a surprise and powerful. Well done. Best wishes, cheyenne
This Poem was Critiqued By: James C. Horak On Date: 2012-03-16 17:14:57
Critiquer Rating During Critique: 9.22222
A delightful sort-of-aboriginal wisdom poem. The last lines in touch with both the comic side and erstwhile pragmatism we associate with native Americans. Indeed were we versatile and not so self-centered in the rat race of the modern world Nature's abundance is adequate. And it's renewel (and your poetic homage to it) easily observable. JCH
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