One of my favorite "Garden" poems

Root Cellar
by Theodore Roethke

Nothing would sleep in that cellar, dank as a ditch,
Bulbs broke out of boxes hunting for chinks in the dark,
Shoots dangled and drooped,
Lolling obscenely from mildewed crates,
Hung down long yellow evil necks, like tropical snakes.
And what a congress of stinks!
Roots ripe as old bait,
Pulpy stems, rank, silo-rich,
Leaf-mold, manure, lime, piled against slippery planks.
Nothing would give up life:
Even the dirt kept breathing a small breath.


I love how the dirt is breathing - sometimes in the spring, when living things haven't popped up their heads, and pretty much I have an entire "dirt garden" so far, I imagine the dirt breathing a little, teeming with invisible life.

Where have all the tulips gone?

Alack, alack - all my tulips seem to have gone missing! Only this one small bunch of fiery blooms have risen like multiple suns around the corner of the house.

Waking Up the Earth

As the sun stretched her arms after a long rain, I happened upon my garden from last year. Historically speaking, we've had a winter with frigid temperatures, an early snow that didn't allow us to get the leaves off the beds, and several deep snows that comforted the land through the night season.
So, my garden looked sad and depleted, drab and defeated.
I shook the earth like the shoulder of a sleeping child, and raked the sleep of leaf cover from its eyes.
Wake up! I said. Wake up!

The crocuses - purple and yellow - have already been blinking their bright eyes back at me, but from under the covers. Now they burst bright and clean green from the black earth - the firsts of spring.

Nubs of hyacinth, spikes of iris, tubes of tulips - especially those I transplanted last fall from the shady back yard - now show themselves as well since the clearing. I planted some new babes today as well - lily of the valley for the deep shady regions, Columbine and Freesia for the corner sunny spot.

The earth is alive again.