The Gardener

Day 3: "In his poem, “Treasure Hunt,” Prabodh Parikh brings us a refreshingly different view of what being a poet is like – that is, if you grew up on the cultural notion of poets being wan and ethereal, or ill and doomed. Parikh’s boisterous pirate of a poet might be an “unreliable” character, but seems like he’d be the life of any party, and quite satisfied with his existence.

 Today, we challenge you to write a poem in which a profession or vocation is described differently than it typically is considered to be. Perhaps your poem will feature a very relaxed brain surgeon, or a farmer that hates vegetables. Or maybe you have a poetical alter-ego of your own, who flies a non-wan, treasure-hunting flag with pride."

I rather like writing poems about what is like to write poetry, and relish the challenge of an extended metaphor (or two!) so the choice was quite straightforward today.  

The Gardener

She gardens quietly,

Choosing her blooms with care,

Discarding those lately considered weeds

Despite their earlier promise.

Her new bed is an empty stage,

Waiting for the placement of its players:

Hardy perennials whose reliable appearance

Gives comfort and structure for the newcomers - 

The showy annuals, the staggered bulbs 

Which flare and impress with their unexpected charm.

She builds with care, balancing desire for constant interest,

With the need for a sense of purpose, an endgame.

As she picks and chooses which to plant where

She scatters seeds to introduce some random serendipity,

Looks over her handiwork, moves some elements around,

Then steps away, trusting it to work its own particular magic.

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