My garden rests
heavy with the weight of rain
drained at evening from the growth
from daylight slavery
from chlorophyll machinery
from nagging voice of seize the day.
“Do the best you can” my father says,
“Use daylight for what’s good”
“Don’t postpone what could be done today*
and he leads me duty bound
in lutheran ambition
by working through the days
and like the faithful servant let the minas grow
rewards will come through duty — “do your best”.
But like the way the garden smells of rot
he died a bitter man,
far from Cythera.
Unrested, bound by duty.
I try to drink from darkness — breathe
and disconnect myself from slavery of chlorophyll.
Today I have MTB at dVerse and we are doing flashback poetry. To move through time in present time requires a time machine. When I thought of the tireless garden growing tirelessly under the influence of summer I thought of how my father drove himself, and I could hear him talking as if he was here. Especially the parable of the ten minas from Luke 19 was important for him.
Bring your flashback poem to the bar and join us at 3 PM EST.
June 24, 2015