The Thinking Poet


Making the Garden Round

Now I take the old familiar paths

Lacking the former forward thrust of intent,

Shaky and poised on stick.

But the residues of satisfaction linger:

Rows of beans, broadening, that lately I sunk

Before the world closed in on me.


Strange, this forcing of swollen limb,

Like a tired animal dragging itself from a trap.

But iron jaws have location;

That from which I would disengage

Has no place in space

Only a treacly power to engulf and subdue.


And so it is my due to take to the light

From which, “long time” , I took flight.

Measured steps, avoiding mole-holes that pit orchard grass,

Are my twenty-minute bid to fulfil Christ’s call to faith;

“Just one atom of faith, and you will prevail”,

In this garden of remembrance I say to this mountain: “move”;

And it will.