Cider Press - 2. October Garden

great poem Parker .. the meter is great.  Withered green - it's just the way of it. Death brings life. Loved it... thanks.

tim

1 hour ago, Mikiesboy said:

great poem Parker .. the meter is great.  Withered green - it's just the way of it. Death brings life. Loved it... thanks.

 

tim

Thank you, tim. This time of year, when everything is hurrying to finish going to seed, reminds me how much the coming cold is essential to the beauty of spring. As all things rush to complete their life cycles before the winter, I cannot help but think of this deep, sweet secret. 

A garden needs to rest, to gather its strength, otherwise the show next year will suffer. Bulbs are the quintessential example of this. The passing of the seasons is something to wonder at. 

As men for ages have pondered so to you give deep consideration to the changing of the season and the dwindling of summer's verdant life knowing that the seeds for the next year lie patient within the soil for their own time to burst forth in new life.

3 hours ago, northie said:

A garden needs to rest, to gather its strength, otherwise the show next year will suffer. Bulbs are the quintessential example of this. The passing of the seasons is something to wonder at. 

So as the garden needs, so does the mind, I think. You're absolutely right about bulbs, too. Yet the passing of this year's garden is sad, however beautiful next summer's will be. Thank you so much for reading these. 

1 hour ago, Valkyrie said:

The change in seasons is powerful to behold.  There would be no spring without fall or winter.  We need the dormancy to recharge and start anew.  Lovely poem.   

No spring without winter; you're quite right. I shall chant this to myself in February. But the rampant, jaded, over exuberant vines will fall prey to the hungry frost sooner rather than later, and the cycle will begin again. Thank you for reading!

56 minutes ago, dughlas said:

As men for ages have pondered so to you give deep consideration to the changing of the season and the dwindling of summer's verdant life knowing that the seeds for the next year lie patient within the soil for their own time to burst forth in new life.

And even as the garden dies back, the roots remain vital and alive. Some root vegetables actually need the frost to concentrate their flavors, let alone give life to their seeds. Thank you so much for reading. 

This is metaphorically wonderful, Parker. Will our gardens be renewed another year... will the blight incurred by life, be lessened by a new season... is there still life in our roots? There is an uncertainty expressed here, one I feel more often as each year passes. This one spoke to me... well beyond the familiar garden... cheers, my friend... Gary....

5 hours ago, Headstall said:

This is metaphorically wonderful, Parker. Will our gardens be renewed another year... will the blight incurred by life, be lessened by a new season... is there still life in our roots? There is an uncertainty expressed here, one I feel more often as each year passes. This one spoke to me... well beyond the familiar garden... cheers, my friend... Gary....

You have found out my metaphors so easily. Yes there is some fear and unknowing here, for who can know what will happen after the freeze and snow? And if my roots are dug and harvested, will they at least be sweet? Thanks again for reading, and for your comments. 

Grim mutations... indeed. Nice work.

9 hours ago, Lux Apollo said:

Grim mutations... indeed. Nice work.

Thank you, Lux. I appreciate your reading and reacting to this.

As for the garden , so for the soul. Autumn is the time to prepare for the mental/spiritual inertia and introspection of the coming winter months. The garden and the person(al) are intertwined so beautifully , for me, in this poem. Thank you.

1 hour ago, deville said:

As for the garden , so for the soul. Autumn is the time to prepare for the mental/spiritual inertia and introspection of the coming winter months. The garden and the person(al) are intertwined so beautifully , for me, in this poem. Thank you.

So indeed for the soul as for the garden. And so to be dug, harvested and renewed, even as the old season passes away, is a blessing. Thank you for your thoughts and for reading this second poem in Cider Press.