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Re: Gardening for a never love (22099 Nigel)

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  • nigel_tiptoe
    Alan In my thinking, galahs are more like fools than simpletons. To see a flock in a tree with some birds hanging happily upside down having failed to find
    Message 1 of 7 , Feb 1, 2005
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      Alan

      In my thinking, galahs are more like fools than simpletons. To see a
      flock in a tree with some birds hanging happily upside down having
      failed to find claw hold as they settled in the branches is to
      understand the simile. And yet they are extremely well adapted and
      flexible birds, living as happily in the Australian deserts as
      suburban back gardens. They are handsome and witty birds, as
      watching them for any time will reveal, but with one great fault as
      suburban neighbours: the rasping and repetitive screech of the
      chicks demanding food from their parents in the dawn and at dusk.
      Yet, they add grace and life to my garden. They are welcome.

      Thanks for your remarks, and for mentioning a great poem on gardens
      in comparison to mine. I'm not 'galah' enough to be flattered - we
      are talking poetry of a different order here after all - but I am
      pleased.

      As for my age. You must understand that my profile was posted long
      ago; I am much younger now. Nevertheless, I will try to post a poem
      or two here from the gardens of my years, as you suggest. And will
      add my two cents worth on the poems of others, hoping they will
      react in the same way.

      Thanks

      --- In ticket2write@yahoogroups.com, wings081 <no_reply@y...> wrote:
      >
      >
      > Dear Nigel.
      >
      > A rare find; a gardener with passion for more than his plants.
      >
      > Galah, The Australian cockatoo. With that one word you saved me
      > having to check out your profile for place or origin.
      >
      > I have many friends and also close family in Oz. Mostly domiciled
      > around Melbourne or as my young Ausie nieces call it :MEL
      >
      > Another very good Australian friend refers to simpletons as
      galahs,
      > so it is also a derogatory term for someone who is a sandwich
      short
      > of a picnic.
      >
      > Many poems have been written about gardens but I suppose the most
      > well known is The classic by Dorothy Gurney:
      >
      > The kiss of sun for pardon,
      > The song of the birds for mirth
      > One is nearer God's heart in a garden
      > Than anywhere else on earth.
      >
      > Thank you for sharing with us.
      >
      > As always
      >
      > Wings
      > Ps I did check your profile and discovered you are a dreamer aged
      > 150 yrs.
      > Having discovered that we will expect many stories of your long
      > lifetime in your gardens of experience.
    • nigel_tiptoe
      Carol Thanks for you kind remarks and suggestions. We have met before, some time ago, when I responded to a poem of yours entitled something like Touch me
      Message 2 of 7 , Feb 1, 2005
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        Carol

        Thanks for you kind remarks and suggestions. We have met before,
        some time ago, when I responded to a poem of yours entitled
        something like 'Touch me soft' - or so I believe. I liked that one.
        Look to my responses to other works of yours.

        Nigel

        --- In ticket2write@yahoogroups.com, Carol Carpenter
        <carol_emt87@y...> wrote:
        > Nigel,
        >
        > Those darn star crossed lovers. 'Tis better to have loved and
        lost, then to never have loved at all. I agree totally. I love this
        piece, the beauty, the sadness, and the joy. I only have a couple of
        minor suggestions. And believe me , they are very minor. You could
        use specific trees, parrots, and bushes, rather than just saying
        tree, parrot, or grey-green bush. I'm also not sure about the cheap
        plastic chairs, although I know exactly what they look like.
        Otherwise, it's a lovely piece that comes straight from the heart.
        > Carol
        >
        > nigel_tiptoe <no_reply@yahoogroups.com> wrote:
        >
      • chrstnbohn
        Dear Nigel, I know this forum is intended for critiques but having read your beautiful poem I cannot find anything to critique. I can only tell you that it
        Message 3 of 7 , Feb 1, 2005
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          Dear Nigel, I know this forum is intended for critiques but having
          read your beautiful poem I cannot find anything to critique. I can
          only tell you that it moved me and struck a chord, although I'm not
          quite sure why. I'm no good at poetry, but I am thoroughly enjoying
          reading the submissions of our members. Hope to read more from you.
          Dulce



          --- In ticket2write@yahoogroups.com, nigel_tiptoe <no_reply@y...>
          wrote:
          >
          >
          > Gardening for a never love
          >
          > In my garden, last light shines through the shade trees at the
          back.
          > I sit and admire their glow and their shadows. Over my left
          shoulder
          > a bush burns grey-green with tiny flowers – soft purple sparks in
          > the cool inferno. The lawn is trim, having been cut but yesterday.
          I
          > know you love neat.
          >
          > Were I to invite you into my garden, it would be to join me in the
          > evening, such an evening as this, when the parrots and galahs come,
          > relaxed after the business of their day, preening, preparing for
          the
          > roost. You would sit upon one of my cheap plastic chairs and sip,
          > perhaps, from a glass of wine, and laugh, and complete the
          > gardening, and complete my life.
          >
          > But I don't invite, for you would not come. And the laughter you
          > might have laughed will echo in all of the plantings and all of the
          > trimmings of all of the gardens of my future. And each future
          garden
          > will grow lush and lovely in that echo; and I will weep with the
          joy
          > of the growth.
          >
          > We will not be. I plant and tend, but will never reap. Yet the crop
          > that might have been sustains like no other harvest I have ever
          > known.
        • halukdireskeneli
          Put some more in love. Red wine, chocolates, flowers, opera etc. Too dull. Hd ... back. ... shoulder ... I ... the ... garden ... joy
          Message 4 of 7 , Feb 1, 2005
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            Put some more in love. Red wine, chocolates, flowers, opera etc.
            Too dull.

            Hd


            --- In ticket2write@yahoogroups.com, nigel_tiptoe <no_reply@y...>
            wrote:
            >
            >
            > Gardening for a never love
            >
            > In my garden, last light shines through the shade trees at the
            back.
            > I sit and admire their glow and their shadows. Over my left
            shoulder
            > a bush burns grey-green with tiny flowers – soft purple sparks in
            > the cool inferno. The lawn is trim, having been cut but yesterday.
            I
            > know you love neat.
            >
            > Were I to invite you into my garden, it would be to join me in the
            > evening, such an evening as this, when the parrots and galahs come,
            > relaxed after the business of their day, preening, preparing for
            the
            > roost. You would sit upon one of my cheap plastic chairs and sip,
            > perhaps, from a glass of wine, and laugh, and complete the
            > gardening, and complete my life.
            >
            > But I don't invite, for you would not come. And the laughter you
            > might have laughed will echo in all of the plantings and all of the
            > trimmings of all of the gardens of my future. And each future
            garden
            > will grow lush and lovely in that echo; and I will weep with the
            joy
            > of the growth.
            >
            > We will not be. I plant and tend, but will never reap. Yet the crop
            > that might have been sustains like no other harvest I have ever
            > known.
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