MY GARDEN


I thought it a summer twilight,
this green pool of light,


flowers brightly swimming
and all alight, a snail kiss


the skin caught dipping,
some day-curved tripper


worn muddy, who made nudists
frolic in a frog-dipped oasis


bees dizzy in a hum spinning
a broken twig for a drum


noised drone in trusty tune
and perfumed herbs


from potted moons.


No charge for bird-bath covered
gatecrashing parties of sparrows


mid-flight, and fighting mynahs
incredible cackle


an incredible waffle.

       ~~

It may not have been Goa
nor the garden gate


where birdling caterers


- with tasty insect crates
here in the arabian oasis,


where a shy hedgehog hides
as sly as i spy and pry -


       wait
         ~

A Certain Garden Spoke


"Strange it is how a fountain
of images, like the rush of a comet.


rocket from the bottom of our
imagination, as if never it lay


burrowed; but were having us on
       as a lark."


       ~~


And then like children
into a garden, we ran


forgotten in its lost
golden sand and search


for toy, book, or friend
where once we missed


the straggly end
of a tired meadow below:


this show suddenly still.
pretty and hoping


for darkness to shroud
its talons around us


like a curtain of mist
and graciously surrender


that which we shoulder
in tearaway affection.


       ~~


Blissful our garden
as you follow its echo


"Come in, come in",


     our garden says


"Back to your honeyed
days and all raisin-ed


       for a party.."


..where already, our
hands wait to catch


the rusted knob once
more: will remember how


to bow light-sorrow, dust
from the hollow of a vast

sea of many books looking
safe as yummy tea and


pluck a sad flower-stalk
rooting beneath the bower


       oak.

     ~

Susan Abraham