Linda Studley

Can't Put the Pen Down…

Archive for the tag “anticipation”

Garden Dreams

My dreams are haunted now by spikes
of delphiniums; blue and white
and the odd little cream one with a chocolate bee
that I think has only been grown by me.

In my overgrown garden, the tangled mess
is a riot of colour but I must confess
I haven’t divided the burgeoning jungle
for years, and that’s such a newbie bungle.

But this year the whole shebang gets lifted
and a lot of plants are getting shifted
into new beds by the new front deck
where cut flowers will be at my call and beck.

As well as delphiniums, baby’s breath clouds
will buoy up the daylilies, iris, and proud
Maltese cross, the reddest red in the garden
(If you don’t like ‘em I don’t beg your pardon)

And the feathery columbine, like hats I’ve seen
on women trying to look like the queen.
From shy, spicy pinks and the bold tiger lilies,
to grape hyacinths and daffy down dillies,

there’s a whole lot of digging to do in the spring.
Oh, the trowels, forks, and buckets and all of the things
one needs to lift, and divide, and transplant
those delicious, pernicious perennials. I can’t

imagine a happier pastime, although
the beds now lie under blankets of snow.
My mind fills with flowers and my fingers itch
to dig in the dirt. I’m getting a twitch

waiting for spring, and my dreams, as I mentioned,
fill with delight and some apprehension.
Let it be lovely, let the all of the flowers
take to the trip from the old to new bowers.

Till then I’ll continue to garden in dreams,
I’ll fill my head with colour schemes
(although I know the final product
will look like a rainbow that’s run amok).

So don’t expect me at your spring soirees
‘cause I’ll be in my garden. There are far too few days
to get all this done and right now I’m in training
to transplant ‘em all, even if it’s raining.

See you next summer when the battle is won
and the lifting and shifting are over and done.
Come visit and sit in the garden with me
and I’ll pour you a glass of sun brewed ice tea.


Tree Dreams

Trees dream of summer too.
Of days filled with the laughter of tender leaves
and singing rain.
Alive with the heart beat of hummingbird wings
and the mingled perfume of warm earth,
wild flowers, and ripe berries.
Stripped and slumbering the trees bide, knowing
one day the sun will rise with new warmth,
the wind will have dulled his teeth
from gnawing on ice and snow,
and water will chuckle once more.
But for now, the trees sleep on,
visions of summer yet to be
safe within their rings.


The Ticket

I think I lost my ticket.
Or perhaps I bent, spindled,
mutilated or folded it illegible.

It happens that way sometimes
when you hold it in your hand too long,
twiddling it, fiddling with it,
absent mindedly clenching and
unclenching your hands around it
as though the destination could
be absorbed through the skin,
a sweat stained dermal transference.
So perhaps it was just a transfer I lost,
not the ticket.

Wait, here is the ticket in my pocket.
I take it out but cannot bring myself to read
the destination.




When I was a child I rode a centrifuge.
Excitement keening in my stomach,
strapped in, giggling,
wide eyed to new sensations.

Then whirling,
the dip and swoop,
the sunny amusement park
careening around and around.
Colours blurring into squeals
of delight and fear.

Then dizzy,
staggering back to the
routine pace of the day to day,
clutching memories to be taken out
on gray days.

How was I to know?
Life is a centrifuge.



About Spring

Spring has sprung the winter pris’ner
from winter’s frigid jail cell. Isn’er
green a sweet refreshing shift
from white on white on…you get the drift.

Spring springs forth in crocus cups
and people have more giddy up
to go and tidy up their lawn
(where, winter long, the dogs have gone)

Spring’s outpourings lie in puddles,
drowning worms, the vernal flood’ll
trickle creepsily into basements
Measuring stuff with displacement.

Spring is full of fits and starts
that gladden and sadden and gladden your heart.
you’re so confused that in the end
Even squelchy mud seems like a friend,

a harbinger of things to come
like hammock time and maybe some
perfect days when sun and breeze are
in perfect balance and the freezer’s

full of fudgicles and T-bone steaks
for barbeques beside the lake.
Yes Spring has sprung and all we hankered for.
We’ll enjoy and prob’ly never thank her for.


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