My October W.O.M. poem

Hi everyone,

Here’s my DIRT poem for October.

The Garden
By David L. Harrison

Later the seeds
will wake up thirsty,
throw off their covers,
swallow from the hose,
gain their footing,
periscope to the surface.

Before that the toiler,
trailing hopeful robins,
bandit sparrows,
weaves loamy braids
into dreadlocks laid
in luxurious rows,
warming the way to the table.

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12 comments on “My October W.O.M. poem

    • It’s hiding in the loam, which can be defined as earth or soil. And it’s in the image of bare brown rows of dirt before the plants sprout. And of robins hopping along plucking worms and sparrows beaking out freshly planted seeds.

  1. Oh I know,
    From you we come
    To you we’ll go,
    But first I’ll get you on my knees
    And squish my toes in you
    Whenever you’re mud
    I’ll marvel how you hold up the trees
    I’ll walk on you
    And dig holes in you
    At planting time
    And peer down at the beasties
    Who live in you,
    You complication known as dirt,
    This stuff that soils my pants & shirt –
    To think I’m scraping from my nails
    Timeless boulders, river shales!
    And there I’ll be, in you
    Down deep,
    When it comes
    My time to sleep.

    • Thank you, Michelle. I watched my father-in-law work in his garden for years. It was a work of art, but the key word was work!

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