Poetry: There Is A Garden In My Head

There is a garden in my head
That makes me tend and trim and water
The grains of thoughts sleeping on this flower bed
So the sunlight soothes them like no other.

By morning, the hands of the climbers and creepers…
Trellieses, arches, pergolas, arbour, pillars.
Soon they climb tired and creep for food
And their job is done when they become wood.

There are trees, flower beds and borders
Adorning the skirt on my mental path
Ornamental hedges beckoning to the others
Sprinkling miracles for reason to fath

This gathering of seedlings settle in this membrane
Making for a vegetation evergreen again
Rockery for shield peaks the parlors of topiary
Tiers of potted plants, petals of a nervous trophy.

There is a garden in my head
It can gently grow into a forest.
It can wildly blossom or end up dead.
And thorns may put the head to rest.

Leon
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It is green, quiet and calm
Surrounded by fruits of thoughts.
Carpet of shade lying on the ground
Voices of decision both right and wrong.
Disguised in voices of Birds
Singing lullabies of hard work and fame.
Possibilities of Rose flowers.
Dreams of brighter tomorrow like waterfalls.
Docile wind of hope
Blowing round the face of my restful time.
Tale of my inner head
Wears same shoes with a Garden
My thought, a Gardener
Buddy of ornamental future
Greenish with dry leaves of tussle.

Bangwan
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There is a garden in my head
Eager to break free
Bloom and fly with wings like a bird
Beautiful garden, you would want to see

There is a flower in my heart
A rose, a sunflower, purple, a rare hibiscus
Its petals smooth like the fur of a cat
I dream of my garden, dream of my lotus

I must tend to my buzzing bees
This world must see my magic trees
There’s a garden from where I come
So I must go where there is no storm

Like the promise of new love
I must pursue this enchanting dove
This garden in my shelves
This itch on my nerves

OracLe
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There’s a garden in my head
Like it is in summer
Some memories are lush
Green with life and productivity
Like it is in autumn
Memories are falling like autumn leafs
Brown and withered with each passing minute
Sometimes four seasons share one same reason
To gloom and to glow
To culture and to grow
These mixture of beauty and bliss
Conniving beast, unforgettable defeat
There is a garden in my head
There are roses and there are thorns.

Hybrid
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There is a tiny little weeny.
Deposits in mini gloves.
Held together in despair.
There is a tiny little weeny.
Even the sun doesn’t stop its shine.
Glowing in grace.
Unfitness yet finessing.
Padding with zeros and ones.
There is a tiny little weeny.
In emotions, self explanatory.
Learning process again
Falling asleep odd or even.
Either my code or the bits.
There is a tiny little weeny in my head.
Where words can’t flow past the valley of its stream.
Where feelings fluctuate between real and fake.
Where in the world, I still exist as the world.
Where I nourish, grow, glow and remain true to myself.

Hypermind

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Just like lilies, I will grow to be the most beautiful
I want the easy way, I love the easy way.
Don’t preach about risks, I can’t take that risk to be risky. I am more than the root that stems up.
I don’t want to be buried under the soil that giants tremble.
I just want to be planted like leaves that won’t wither.

There is a garden in my head, this garden is a puerile one.
It lays fallow, it refuses water.

It says go when the legs are rooted on the bench.
Its weight lies upon the true lair
It wants the beauty but refuses to be buried.
How can you get the nectar without your offering?
What’s your daily ritual to make the garden flourish?
I am a Queen,my feeble hands can’t be laid on dirty mines all in search of rubies.

Rachel Charles

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My head is a garden of poe-trees
And each slender strand of soft hair
Is an outgrowth of seeded words
That are rooted deeply in the fertile
Tissues of bloody brain soil.
The rains of inspiration stream
In through the canals of my ears
To water this young garden
Into producing creative fruits:
Juicy prose and lushly poems
That are edible in the mouth
Of intellectualism and sweet
On the tongues of emotions.
My head is a tender garden
Of words growing into maturity
Like that of Soyinka and Frost
But until then I shall nurture it.

Solomon.

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There is a garden in my head,one that is exact as that at the time of creation.
All encompassing, all embracing but with no tree of life.
Day by day I watch ideas sprout, some never go beyond that.
The spices of my past and present never seem to depart,
And for every root that has ever existed , to it was a reason and a season.
Promises they made were vegetables, weak stalks,
Consumed by worms who know nothing about integrity.
Sometimes I prune , doing more than little good , sipping clean air into my brain.
I have pondered on how this garden has survived against all infliction
Today it did dawn on me that mama’s rain of prayers had watered nicely,
And the Nile of encouragement from flocks hath fructified what should have been barren.

Miidong

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Soaked in the waters of naked thoughts
I lay me down in this garden of words and intricate metaphors
Pruning lines overgrowing in series of meta fours
Cultivating these emotions planted in the vast expanse of my heart
This heart-a thing made fragile by the surging desires that comes with the thoughts of you
It gives way to want quick as morning dew
Muse,
The fragrance of your being fills my cerebrum
There is a garden and its in my head
I must confess that whence of thee me thinks
I always feel the bulge of my head throbbing hard with such pulsating intent,begging to be buried in the moist climes of your glistening whole…
No porn intended, nude as this may sound, it’s just the naked truth
That I long to have you, with my pen gently digging the pages of your depth in measured strokes thrusting until the liquid of life pours out from their sac,
Watering your womb with this piece.

Noel

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I would give a petal
To people who walked my life
But failed to plant a seed,
A full grown rose
To those whose efforts are scant
But for you, my “confect”,
Who spawn each of my sweet memory
And finagles the birth of the smiling sun
In my sullen hours
I willed the beautiful scenery
Of a perpetual memory.
Helen, please stay in my head.

Joe