weeds and flowers

elation, an emotion of tidings, to be so glad
to feel welcome, finally coming home,
wherever I place my feet to stay a while;
garden meditation, full of flowers
blooming in the joyous wonder
of a child discovering the beauty of life

remembering this innocence called life
discovery, a blue beetle or a raindrop, brought a glad
burst of glee, my timid smile of childlike wonder
learning how a house may become a home
surrounded by rock gardens with wild flowers
called weeds -- I did that just for a while

one cloudy day, simple error taught me fright and pain while
the dark nasty surprises, new nightmares sought my life
a sudden command -- pull up the weeds among the flowers
innocent confusion, ominous screaming, mama was furious, not glad
at all, when I ruined the perfect landscaping of her home
pulling up horrible thorny roses; I was punished, no wonder

splintering thorns hurt less than the belt, I was left to wonder
at the justice of black rage against a child's solitary folly while
no one could guide my bleeding hands, I was alone at home…
such bitter lessons have no place after ten years of life
(I should hate the bad un-prickly weeds though they still make me glad)
never force little boys to properly know weeds from flowers

forgotten now, this childhood story of not preferring flowers
to less perfect plants, all nature's creations are made for wonder,
made for smiles, laughing expressions of being so glad
a joyous discovery, the memories lasting forever, while
learning that every weed created has the right to exist, even its life
in a rocky garden, or tailored landscape, can be called home

wiser now, curious plants and trees share my home
vases are filled with exotic varieties of the wildest flowers
brilliant colors remind me of the rainbows in life
I gaze on them with tender boyhood wonder
an easy invocation for a calm heart, and after a while
I rejoice in the simplicity of saying aloud "I am glad"

I stop to wonder, if weeds can steal my heart while
I smell the roses, then I'm glad not to confuse a house and a home
for without all types of flowers, nothing is worth being called life



weeds and flowers
18 june, 2006

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("heart" version)

elation, an emotion of tidings, to be so glad
to feel welcome, finally coming home,
here to any place that soothes my heart;
where I find garden meditation, full of flowers
blooming in the joyous wonder
of a child discovering the beauty of life

remembering this innocence called life
discovery, a blue beetle or a raindrop, brought a glad
burst of glee, my timid smile of childlike wonder
learning how a house may become a home
surrounded by rock gardens with wild flowers
a family cocoon for a tender blossoming heart

errors happen, threats of breaking came to my heart
the dark nasty surprises, new nightmares sought my life
a sudden command -- pull up the weeds among the flowers
innocent confusion, ominous screaming, mama was furious, not glad
at all, when I ruined the perfect landscaping of her home
pulling up horrible thorny roses; I was punished, no wonder

hands in spiky roses hurt less than the belt, I was left to wonder
can the black rage of justice not darken this child's splintered heart?
no one could guide my bleeding hands, I was alone at home…
such bitter lessons have no place after ten years of life
(I should hate the bad un-prickly weeds though they still make me glad)
never force little boys to properly know weeds from flowers

forgotten now, this childhood story of not preferring flowers
to less perfect plants; all nature's creations are made for wonder,
made for smiles, laughing expressions of being so glad
emotions which lend buoyancy curing a solitary heart
learning that every weed created has the right to exist, even its life
in a rocky garden, or tailored landscape, can be called home

wiser now, curious plants and trees share my home
vases are filled with exotic varieties of the wildest flowers
brilliant colors remind me of the rainbows in life
I gaze on them still, with tender boyhood wonder
where roses and weeds share equal love in my heart
rejoicing in the simplicity of saying aloud "I am glad"

I stop to wonder, if weeds can steal my heart while
I smell the roses, then I'm glad not to confuse a house and a home
for without all types of flowers, nothing is worth being called life



weeds and flowers
("heart" version)