Free Verse
Love Is True. And I'm Just Thinking In A Garden.
The hoe in the gardener's hands gently nestles itself into the soil of the garden; the giver of life and nourishment broken into millions of tiny fragments all coming together as one to help the leafy greens grow. Swing, swing, swing. Such otherwise tiring work is complete in each moment with peaceful ease. Less than with great effort it continues on its path between the gray spot connecting sky and land and the floor of dirt below. I sit back and observe whilst pinching hairs on my chin in twos and threes to search for the rogues and the strays left behind after the clipping process days ago. I seek and I find and I pluck the lengthy wires. Perhaps the process is for pain or to be present, perhaps it is to be groomed so neatly and clean or perhaps it is simply to watch the moment of time that is both trapped and unfolding in the present.
By Michael O'Connor2 years ago in Poets
The Ritual.
Vocal, I'm only adding this edit to the beginning because it won't let me resubmit it without any edits. Please don't refuse approval for this again and say it's detected as spam or undisclosed A.I. It is neither. I spent hours sat at my desk abusing the absolute hell out of a thesaurus to find a way to put this together properly and convey what I was trying to while using the Abcdearian format for the challenge. It is not A.I. it is hours of racking my brain and flicking through a book constantly.
By Tommy Ballard2 years ago in Poets
