This World, by Mary Oliver

I would like to write a poem about the world that has in it
nothing fancy.
But it seems impossible.
Whatever the subject, the morning sun
glimmers it.
The tulip feels the heat and flaps its petals open and becomes a star.
The ants bore into the peony bud and there is a dark
pinprick well of sweetness.
As for the stones on the beach, forget it.
Each one could be set in gold.
So I tried with my eyes shut, but of course the birds
were singing.
And the aspen trees were shaking the sweetest music
out of their leaves.
And that was followed by, guess what, a momentous and
beautiful silence
as comes to all of us, in little earfuls, if we’re not too
hurried to hear it.
As for spiders, how the dew hangs in their webs
even if they say nothing, or seem to say nothing.
So fancy is the world, who knows, maybe they sing.
So fancy is the world, who knows, maybe the stars sing too,
and the ants, and the peonies, and the warm stones,
so happy to be where they are, on the beach, instead of being
locked up in gold.

Opening poem chosen and read by Nancy L.

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Walking into Garden Song

Artichokes broccoli eggplant kale

swiss chard lettuce gourd,

mustard turnip tomatoes green

red peppers 

hot and sweet.

Radicchio parsley 

bok choy too

mandalas of cabbage hearts,

the silence of weeds

weeded from mounds,

zinnias thrown in for delight.

Sweet potato dangles

fennel fronds sway

indigo stands up tall,

kohlrabi peeks

brussels sprouts pop

each their own special song.

Deeter deeter deeter

drip drip spray 

tikkatikkatikka, creak;

cheep cheep, caw,

wooo-bala-balub, mmmm

the harmony of bees.

Listen hard, bend your ear 

lavender softness hums;

taste the dew of tenderness

touch what this life becomes.

Photos and poem by Amy Webb, October 24, Brookgreen Garden’s Garden

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