Me

Cottage Garden by sean hickin on Flickr – Photo Sharing!

I wrote this in response to an assignment for I class I was taking several years ago. My younger sister saw the page on my desk and said, “What a pretty poem.”  I explained that it wasn’t a poem and I didn’t know anything about writing poetry. She told me the coolest thing about poetry is that there don’t have to be any rules. I was hooked. So, I’m still indulging in my ruleless scribbling and still envying those who can apply the formal rules so beautifully.

I envy the beauty of a formal garden.
I imagine appearing neatly clipped, colors coordinated.
What a wonderful thing it would be to think in tidy paths
that take me past each important element.

All my blooms would open at the proper time,
in proper order, and in their proper place.
All would arrange themselves around an exquisite centerpiece
of good sense and logic.

I’m more like a tangled wood,
honeysuckle vines and thorned blackberries marking my borders,
tiny violets hiding in my shadows.

I’m a web of branches and green growth,
reaching for sun and sky by day,
moon and stars by night.
My roots burrow into a rich carpet,
hidden things that feed the growth.

At my center — a twisting, babbling stream of moods,
ideas, desires, and dreams.
I envy the order of a formal garden, but my soul knows it could never bloom there.

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