Tuesday, March 07, 2006

A poem that came to me...

The Gardener
by Morgan

I am rootbound when he arrives
trowel in hand to decide
that squeezed I am inside this space
where my roots twine tightly laced
in soil I know so well.

"Do not touch me!" I cry in vain
but he ignores my silent pain
and reaches for my sturdy stem
and pulls and pulls and pulls again.

Then I am out and I am shaken
free of soil that I have taken
hold in, and which for years
held me rooted in my fears
and prejudices and suppositions
locked into my tight positions.

The vines that helped to hold me there
he cuts away with special care.
They coil and cling but yet they lack
the power now to hold me back

Now the gardener gently toils
to plant me in a different soil
telling me what I must know:
"It's scary, child, but here you'll grow.
Now that you've been given room
and softer ground in which to bloom."

Then he waters me with love
and truth from somewhere up above
as new leaves unfurl one by one
and I turn, grateful, towards The Son.


Taylor said...

Where is my kleenex... Damn, girl, that was beauteeeful.

Anonymous said...

Ditto what Taylor said.

Thanks Morgan.

Crystal Lake

Morgan said...

Taylor, Crystal...you're too kind. Thank you. :-)

Taylor said...

You have a multi-faceted mind, Morgan. From limericks about Bane to this...amazing!

Morgan said...

Alas, but Bane - having misinterpreted my poetic playfulness for hatred, has taken his ball(s) and gone home. That's a shame, too, because I'd grown fond of him in a demented sort of way. He's unstable, but in an endearing, clever sort of way.

But I shall not let him Bane on my parade. As Larry said in Throw Mama from the Train, "A writer writes, always." I simply cannot help myself. So, having been discouraged from writing poetry about Bane, I wrote simply about Jesus instead. ;-)

Shrubbery said...

That was good Morg. You got skills you tree hugger.

Morgan said...

Thanks, you goddess worshipper. (Don't think I haven't been reading what you're saying about Ms. Hayek.) ;-)