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- Story Listed as: True Life For Adults
- Theme: Drama / Human Interest
- Subject: Current Events
- Published: 04/11/2015
The Garden
Born 1951, M, from Wilmington NC, United StatesThe things from the outside pressed upon me
things not of my making, for some time now, not even of my notice
but, still, they pressed
they came in from cracks in conversation, odds and ends of bits and pieces
information that pooled and puddled
then coalesced
it was then I became aware
the outside world, will be
it pressed in like snow pushed by frozen winds,
to make safe places harmful,
the things from outside pressed in, and found me
I did the only thing I could
I went to the garden of soft thoughts
of music that holds tears in the notes, and smiles in the bars
where rainbows, sunshine, and wet, wait to be bidden
where shoes are not obvious, and carpets are earth
where wind is an instrument, the trees harps
The things from outside can’t come here
not anymore
they have no meaning, without that, there is no way in
in the garden, all is you, without all of you
just the meaning part of the part that needs none
the garden has piano, it has flute, in some parts
that need a human voice that isn’t
a sax can fill parts that love songs, and good byes might play
there are no drums, no beat, no rhythm
in the garden there is only flow, fluid, soft pools,
no place for banging, or meter, or march
those things mark time
time is not in the garden
only times
only times
The Garden(Kevin Hughes)
The things from the outside pressed upon me
things not of my making, for some time now, not even of my notice
but, still, they pressed
they came in from cracks in conversation, odds and ends of bits and pieces
information that pooled and puddled
then coalesced
it was then I became aware
the outside world, will be
it pressed in like snow pushed by frozen winds,
to make safe places harmful,
the things from outside pressed in, and found me
I did the only thing I could
I went to the garden of soft thoughts
of music that holds tears in the notes, and smiles in the bars
where rainbows, sunshine, and wet, wait to be bidden
where shoes are not obvious, and carpets are earth
where wind is an instrument, the trees harps
The things from outside can’t come here
not anymore
they have no meaning, without that, there is no way in
in the garden, all is you, without all of you
just the meaning part of the part that needs none
the garden has piano, it has flute, in some parts
that need a human voice that isn’t
a sax can fill parts that love songs, and good byes might play
there are no drums, no beat, no rhythm
in the garden there is only flow, fluid, soft pools,
no place for banging, or meter, or march
those things mark time
time is not in the garden
only times
only times
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Radrook
09/06/2023Gladt to see you active once more here at Story Star Kevin.
This is some mighty good poetry. Looking forward to reading more.
Help Us Understand What's Happening
Kevin Hughes
09/06/2023Thanks Radrook,
Poetry is challenging for me...so I don't do it very often. But it is fun to stretch your literary wings once in a while.
Smiles, Kevin
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