I weave a wife's-nest above the weeds from vines that smell
Of cut grass drying in the heat,
Above the frog condos cut into the clay where they sing
Near the rain or end of the day.
I whisper wasps into a green plastic shed where they sting
Like the thorns roses sharpen in bed.
Berries fall tangy into stained palms from my spiny vines
Our tongues spread the green.
Cross-posting with The Sunday Muse and with Poets United. Looking forward to working up a spring herb garden but perhaps not looking forward to tackling our tiny backyard in terms of the moat that has developed and a concern about snakes after a poorly thought out decision to fill an old garden bed with unused pots and such...a poem, therefore, that wonders whether the whispers hinted at in the image are, perhaps, plots and gossip.
Meanwhile, waiting to find out what this mystery plant is. Picked it up yesterday at our local public garden's plant sale...it was unlabeled and tiny...and my writer's heart couldn't resist the possibilities. :)
-- Chrissa
I love the weaving of a wife's nest! And envy you your garden, however small. I tend a few pots on my deck.....but i do find that delightful, and easy on my advancing years. Smiles.
ReplyDeleteLove the voice of nature in this Chrissa! So wonderful! Love your mystery plant. Let me know when the mystery is solved. You can take a photo to Mercer and a worker may be able to tell you. 🍀🌷☺
ReplyDeleteLove this, our frogs moved to a new condo after taking out our pond years ago. oh yes, we couldn't carry on a conversation out there before. ;-)
ReplyDeleteThis is a wonderful poem just to read aloud. I like the rhythm of your words. I like that the tongue spreads the green...definitely there is a lot of green in evidence today! Smiles.
ReplyDeleteI love the song-tour of a poem. I see the frog condos (and feel extremely curious about what their living rooms might look like). I love all of these, especially the fact that you've turned green into such a yummy feast.
ReplyDeleteThis is a lovely poem of gardening... and that thought of picking up a surprise plant for you is amazing... here in Sweden we still have time to prepare.
ReplyDeleteMy goodness this is absolutely stunning, Chrissa!❤️ I love the way the poem sounds when I read it out loud .. exotic in its pondering and path yet to be woven.❤️
ReplyDeleteThe use of alliteration and rhyme is very effective: I love I the woven wife's-nest and whispered wasps!
ReplyDeleteI am drawn to this imagery of a person who cultivates a garden filled with sharpness and spikes. The fruit may well be quite tart.
ReplyDeleteBeautifully crafted, Chrissa.
ReplyDeleteI imagine I am in the garden . . . with all its wonders . . :)
You make it sound yummy and ominous at the same time – altogether magical.
ReplyDeleteAll we need is a rainbow.
ReplyDeleteAh that "wife's nest" is such a gorgeous image
ReplyDeleteHappy you dropped by my sumie Sunday Chrissa
Much💚love
Last night the frogs were in full throat, the peepers I call them. I like the wife's nest.
ReplyDelete"Our tongues spread the green." I love the whole thing, but this line is a special treat. Oh, the frogs behind my house have been singing loudly of late.
ReplyDeleteLove the frog condos. Location, location, location, frogs! ;-)
ReplyDeleteMagical images. A wonderfully rendered piece.
ReplyDeleteThis is really sharp and stinging in a fairy tale way.
ReplyDeleteloved the title and the form of the poem. you made it so magical, and it is a real delight to read. :)
ReplyDeletewonderful poem - filled with the spring of life --- and venturing an educated guess --- looks like a poppy sprig -- as to whether perennial or annual? many possibilities for varieties, depending on where you are and what's readily available etc. but my money's on poppy.
ReplyDeleteLovely. Sorry, can't help you with the plant
ReplyDelete