The Garden of Hydrangea
I’m a cat, for I’m curious
wandering and yearning
under the hydrangea, I wait for you
when silence falls
dewdrops quiver and fall
coming from the depths of the cage
you walk amongst the hydrangea
your quiet grace enchanting the wind
an unearthly creature you are
far kinder than all, far wiser than all
here you rest with me
in awe or in fear
they can’t hurt you in your garden of hydrangea
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april 20, 2024 — secret garden language
im in the hospital in a waiting room
my thighs are sweating, the air hot and stuffy
its too early in the morning to feel like noon
thoughts of you are the only thing keeping me steady
my music flows smokey, the album's nice
messy poetry, paradox hearts & minds
weeds on my back, sick of putting you first
its ok to love him more, my heart's seen worse
i hope the 6 year old garden was fun
the fruits of your seed and spring has begun
so for the first time in forever
abatinas and cyclamens bloom in my weather
and when winter comes, what will you do?
will another bloodthirsty creature welcome you too?
will you drain them of life and trick them like a fool?
goodluck on the run, my laugh's one haunting ghoul
— reddestofscarves, 11:00 pm.
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its ok that you forgot who you are and hurt me. just please come back to me quickly. the grass looks less green and the flowers stopped blooming.
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“The Walled Garden”
Within the ancient walls of stone
A hidden paradise has grown
Where fragrant flowers bloom and shine
And fill the air with scent divine
Here, manicured bushes and trees
Create a pleasing harmony
Of shapes and shades and textures fine
That please the eye and soothe the mind
Here, quite privacy is found
No noise or strife can here abound
Only the gentle sounds of life
That stir the soul and calm the strife
Here, animals of every kind
Find refuge, peace and joy combined
The birds that sing, the bees that buzz
The squirrels that play, the breezes that breeze
This is the walled garden of my dreams
Where I can rest and heal and breathe
A sanctuary from the world outside
A place of beauty, love and light
by bingchat
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andrew garfield for gq, 2022
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Mary Oliver, from a poem titled "The Garden," featured in White Pine: Poems & Prose Poems
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« True gardeners cannot bear a glove
Between the sure touch and the tender root,
Must let their hands grow knotted as they move
With a rough sensitivity about
Under the earth, between the rock and shoot,
Never to bruise or wound the hidden fruit.
And so I watched my mother's hands grow scarred,
She who could heal the wounded plant or friend
With the same vulnerable yet rigorous love;
I minded once to see her beauty gnarled,
But now her truth is given me to live,
As I learn for myself we must be hard
To move among the tender with an open hand,
And to stay sensitive up to the end
Pay with some toughness for a gentle world. »
— May Sarton, "An Observation"
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Boat House, The Manor, Priors Marston,
Warwickshire, United Kingdom,
Landscape architect: Charles Gilchrist
Clive Nichols Photography
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kafka
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Fireflies in the Garden
by Robert Frost
Here come real stars to fill the upper skies,
And here on earth come emulating flies,
That though they never equal stars in size,
(And they were never really stars at heart)
Achieve at times a very star-like start.
Only, of course, they can't sustain the part.
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Forugh Farrokhzad, tr. by Hasan Javadi & Susan Sallée, from Another Birth: Selected Poems of Forugh Farrokhzad; "Another Birth"
[Text ID: "I plant my hands in the garden / I will grow green, I know, I know"]
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you the garden and the grave,
Ada Limón, from Bright Dead Things: Poems
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