The Orangery

In the orangery, behind the ferns
the old table with spindle legs
where plants were potted, tended
the musky scent of rich dark soil,
she would toil, a smudge on cheek
and nails that would take a
thousand hair washes to clean.
A radio with a dial and BUSH
written as music faded through
the indoor forest that she grew.
A sunrise or a sunset would
mark the start and end of day
when junipers were mixed and stirred,
fruit cup if she so desired, to stand
beside her trowel and mire.
A spider web to catch a fly
that buzzed and spied around her head,
each gentle swat, she'd wipe away
beads that like the dew just fall
like the pearls that broke and rolled
into corners where the mice would peak
and take a sneak to see if crumbs
from hasty lunch would spread
a carpet on the slate grey tiles.
Dawn and dusk, between siesta
She'd cultivate and prune her vines
as sheaths of colours blended
and time was just an endless tick
in other worlds where life rushed by



Poetry by Elle The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 999 times
Written on 2014-07-09 at 20:38

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F.i.in.e Moods The PoetBay support member heart!
:) So lovely how you make a moment so alive with descriptions so rich and textured that the reader can only be easily transported away 'cause it's just so beautiful. This has a dreamy charm to it, wish I could explain it better. But immensely enjoyed!
2014-07-17


Ivan R
This world that the poet paints is marvelous ...
not only the imagery, but the toutch,
the way the words come together from one line to the other, this poem is so great
a joy to the eye and soul*
2014-07-12


Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
This is nice, Elle. Despite the radio, it seems incredibly quiet to me.
2014-07-10


NicholasG
Having worked in a green house many years ago, I can fully relate to musky scents of soil and nails that took many washings. A nice world!
thanks xox
2014-07-10