Priceless

Some things you just can’t put a price on….

It’s not just the plants that give me such pleasure,
Deep in my garden lies its real hidden treasure.

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I use my garden to grow my soul,
To anchor my roots, to make me whole;
To understand how good it can feel
To weed out life’s trivia, to nurture what’s real;
To connect with nature, finding peace in its earth,
So how can I value what my garden is worth?

How To Look After Your Bougainvillea – An ‘Axe Tony’ Guide

About bougainvilleas
I’m writing a guide,
Using my methods
Which are trusted and tried.
Now if your plant is unruly,
And frustration grips
Then help is at hand,
Just follow my tips.
First hack off the branches,
Cut back as far as you can,
(With those dangerous spikes
That’s best left to a man).
When you’re just left
With the base of the plant
Take a good spade,
Held at a slant,
And dig out the roots,
Needs a little persistence,
I find wielding an axe
Overcomes their resistance.
Once the base and the roots
Are successfully removed
Throw them on the compost,
(Remember my method’s approved)
Then go tell your spouse
With a smile of your face
And her reaction will tell you
That you’re in disgrace.
So retrieve your bougainvillea
From the compost heap,
Dig a new hole
Nice and deep,
Add a little bonemeal
And some water too
And replant the bougainvillea,
It’s so easy to do.
And in a few months
You’ll see new branches shoot.
You see fixing a bougainvillea
Is really a hoot!

A Leaf’s Lament

Sitting here watching the plants being battered by relentless gusts of wind, after having just endured a severe frost and wondering just what those poor leaves must be feeling.

It’s not easy being a leaf these days,
By Jack Frost I’ve been abused,
And now by a howling gale
I’m being battered and bruised.
If only I could be the plant’s root,
Buried there beneath the ground,
Away from frost and wind,
A warm and peaceful haven found.
Not being bothered by the hot sun.
The outside world wouldn’t ever intrude,
Just need the old man to give me water,
And the occasional dose of plant food.
With a worm or two for company,
(Hopefully a mole I’d never meet),
And some other roots to chat with,
As we lay spreading our feet.

Garden Refugee

There is nowhere I’d rather be………………

When a person seeks a refuge
We call them a refugee,
So when I’m in my garden
Throw that mantle over me.
It is my church, my special place,
A sanctuary where I find peace;
The world outside is kept at bay,
And my soul can find release.

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With hoe in hand or watering can,
Under cloud or the blistering sun,
Life’s petty worries are cast aside
And with nature I become as one.
My garden’s where I truly find peace
As my plants I lovingly tend;
A safe haven that beckons me each day,
A refuge that’s become a true friend.

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The feel of the earth as I work with my hands
Makes the spirits inside of me rise;
I can think of no place I’d rather be,
No better sight for my sore, old eyes.
How can I value these gifts I receive
As my garden keeps on giving and giving?
I’ve found my asylum, I’ve made my escape;
A garden refugee; what a life to be living!

 

An Escape to the Country

We’ve made our escape…..have you? 
 
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Away from the noise,
Away from the grime,
Away from the traffic,
That steals our time.

Away from drab buildings,
Uninteresting places,
Away from the graffiti
That so often defaces.

Away from the signs,
The enforced restrictions,
Away from the malls
And those shopping addictions,

Away from the crowds,
The commuting lifestyle,
Away from grey faces
That never smile,

Away from the cameras
That keep a record of us,
Away from the commotion,
Away from the fuss.

An escape to the country,
An escape to more space,
An escape to a life
At a much gentler pace.

With fresh air to breathe
And bird song to hear;
And people with time,
Life drops down a gear. 

Just a Friday Morning

Not always that easy to find the motivation…..

As the chill morning air
Banishes a few days of heat,
And the rain gently falls,
For our plants such a treat.
A second pot of coffee,
As if by magic;
Not to soak up this splendour
Would surely be tragic.

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The camera shutter clicks,
Must capture the morning
As the mist cloaks the mountain,
Of more rain it’s a warning.
Searching for the energy
To make a start to our day,
Or should we just stay here?
Perhaps we just may!

 

Our Cottage Might Be Small

Sometimes less can be more…

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Under the jacaranda trees
In the soft dappled shade,
On a newly cut lawn,
With a lunch freshly made;
Sipping a cold drink,
Eyes gently closing,
The peace and the quiet,
Awesome and imposing.
Neon purple flowers
Occasionally falling
As the afternoon breeze
Now comes a-calling.
Butterflies float by,
Their painted wings flapping,
The dog missing their dance
As she lies quietly napping.
A drongo sits drinking
At the water fountain;
Watched over and guarded
By our beautiful mountain.
Our cottage might be small,
But it’s big on the giving,
It’s all we’ll ever need
For the life we’re now living.

Have You Killed a Rhino Today?

The slaughter of rhinos in South Africa carries on unabated.
When poachers or traffickers are caught they should get the same treatment,
but no doubt somebody will bang on about their human rights……

The world is obsessed with human rights,
But don’t rhinos have their rights too?
And shouldn’t some people lose their human rights,
By the things that they choose to do?

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So tell me have you killed a rhino today,
Have you added to the score?
Have you hacked off its horn with a machete blade,
And are now hiding from the law?

Have you left a rhino to bleed in the dust,
Lying helpless and all alone,
Ensuring it has the most painful of deaths,
Just so its horn you are able to own?

Have you made plenty plenty dollars today,
By killing this magnificent beast?
Have you sold its horn to black marketers,
And on blood money been able to feast?

What will you do when you’ve killed the last one?
Exterminated by your human greed;
So for your human rights why should we give a damn?
I know all the justice you need.

If you’ve been responsible in anyway
For a rhino being brutally slaughtered,
Then in a less “civilised” world we would find you a tree,
Where you could be hung, then drawn, then quartered.

Then you would know just what it was like
To suffer great pain as you die.
So I’ll ask again if you’ve killed a rhino today,
If you have, can you please tell me why?

 

Jasmine

I am so lucky that I can now smell the jasmine

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It’s the start of my day,
With my dog at my side,
As I walk through the garden
There’s a smile I can’t hide
As I’m wrapped in the smell,
As I pass through my gate,
Of the jasmine’s perfume,
That lies there in wait
To attract me and the bees,
So we can both take our pleasure,
The bees hard at work,
Me, hard at leisure.

The scent heavy in the air,
As night becomes day,
Before the morning breeze
Carries the fragrance away.
And as I pause by the gate,
Close by where the jasmine rest,
And indulge myself
In what nature does best,
I think of earlier times,
Of how my days used to begin,
When I was too busy to pause
And smell the jasmine.

 

Berg Wind

Berg wind conditions – let’s hope it brings rain!

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A fierce berg wind is blowing,
Driving across The Karoo,
The parched, punished ground
Being savaged anew,
As the last drops of moisture
From the withered plants wrung
And the trees forced to bow,
Their heat weary heads hung.

It may be a sign of a weather change,
On this wind that blows so hot;
Does it mean some much needed rain?
My head says probably not;
But my heart still hopes that I am wrong
And the wind will bring relief;
Until then the berg wind continues to howl,
That moisture stealing thief.