This year, of all it's hardships
This year, of all it's woes.
This year of lessons, battles, losses, hurt and heaviness and sorrow.
Has been particularly difficult
For writers of dystopian allegororical ilk.
For writers of dystopian allegororical ilk.
No matter how outlandish
Or seemingly absurd
It's all plays out in news reports
Almost word for word.
From fire and murder Hornets
To plague and civil rights
Through the gauntlet of grotesqueries
To the scuttling at night
Of genetically modified crayfish clones
Eating cholera corpses down to the bones
In the waterways of a graveyard
In a major European city.
None of it's very pretty.
So this year, I have focused
My (by nature, admittedly a bit goth) brain,
On learning how to smile again.
As happiness is a revolutionary act.
My concrete corner,
Unwelcome altar of
Windswept plastic offerings
To the God of down-at-heel seaside towns
Crisp packets, chippy wrappers,
Discarded masks,
Encroaching valerian, damp and doll sized dunes
Became a waving wash of wafting treasure.
I had finally cracked under the pressure.
The need to nurture is less what this was about,
More the need to beautify.
So I began haphazardly.
Went to the garden centre to see
What sacrificial flora I could adopt.
I've never stopped trying to grow things.
It's just that I have black thumbs and sap-stained fingers,
From all plants I've killed over the years.
But the indoor ones, for me, it seems
Were too fragile and subject to neuroses,
They'd sulk themselves to death
after a couple of months of neglect.
Outdoor plants, though!
A brand new world of possibilities.
I started with just a couple,
Something that's hard to kill.
Flaming lady shrubberies
A statement, if you will.
The smiling assistant assured me
It didn't need much care.
Just a spot that wasn't too windy
And some pruning here and there.
Well.
I put them down and on they grew,
New scarlett leaves unfurling.
Eye pleasing and inobtrusive,
My experiment conclusive,
The plants brought me joy.
Now. I'm a product of a culture
And of a generation spoiled.
Millenials, we whine and grouse
About our lack of toys.
But we were born in the 80s,
where excess was the goal
And when we find something that dopamine hits
We fall into addiction roles.
I didnt mean for all of it
To get so out of hand.
That flaming lady beckoned, you see
And I accepted her junglist plans.
The next trip I checked all the labels.
The corner we had was quite dark.
We get 2 hours of sun in the morning
So we had to have shade loving plants.
It took me what felt like forever
Methodically checking the charts
For sun dials and seasons and meaning
Behind the corporate cartoonists art.
Eventually I made my choices, picked out some pots too.
Went to the counter to pay for it all
And encountered Snooty Boots Sue.
She smiled and welcomed the greenlings
To be zapped in their barcode baptism
Then turned to me to ask questions
And referred to the plants all in Latin.
I shrugged and explained my new passion,
Confessed my ignorance of it all.
So Sue turned her sizable nose up
Pursed her lips, crossed her arms and drawled
"Oh I see. You're a new gardener"
As if new made me automatic scum.
"You will need some compost to go with this,
Can you guess which is the right one?"
She gestured a bingo winged arm to her left,
I Dreadingly looked to my right
A wall of colourful plastic sacks
Of variously composted shite.
I hadn't a clue, I shrugged again
"The one with the flowers?" I guessed.
"Nooo" she sneered, ample chest in grey wool.
Or seemingly absurd
It's all plays out in news reports
Almost word for word.
From fire and murder Hornets
To plague and civil rights
Through the gauntlet of grotesqueries
To the scuttling at night
Of genetically modified crayfish clones
Eating cholera corpses down to the bones
In the waterways of a graveyard
In a major European city.
None of it's very pretty.
So this year, I have focused
My (by nature, admittedly a bit goth) brain,
On learning how to smile again.
As happiness is a revolutionary act.
My concrete corner,
Unwelcome altar of
Windswept plastic offerings
To the God of down-at-heel seaside towns
Crisp packets, chippy wrappers,
Discarded masks,
Encroaching valerian, damp and doll sized dunes
Became a waving wash of wafting treasure.
I had finally cracked under the pressure.
The need to nurture is less what this was about,
More the need to beautify.
So I began haphazardly.
Went to the garden centre to see
What sacrificial flora I could adopt.
I've never stopped trying to grow things.
It's just that I have black thumbs and sap-stained fingers,
From all plants I've killed over the years.
But the indoor ones, for me, it seems
Were too fragile and subject to neuroses,
They'd sulk themselves to death
after a couple of months of neglect.
Outdoor plants, though!
A brand new world of possibilities.
I started with just a couple,
Something that's hard to kill.
Flaming lady shrubberies
A statement, if you will.
The smiling assistant assured me
It didn't need much care.
Just a spot that wasn't too windy
And some pruning here and there.
Well.
I put them down and on they grew,
New scarlett leaves unfurling.
Eye pleasing and inobtrusive,
My experiment conclusive,
The plants brought me joy.
Now. I'm a product of a culture
And of a generation spoiled.
Millenials, we whine and grouse
About our lack of toys.
But we were born in the 80s,
where excess was the goal
And when we find something that dopamine hits
We fall into addiction roles.
I didnt mean for all of it
To get so out of hand.
That flaming lady beckoned, you see
And I accepted her junglist plans.
The next trip I checked all the labels.
The corner we had was quite dark.
We get 2 hours of sun in the morning
So we had to have shade loving plants.
It took me what felt like forever
Methodically checking the charts
For sun dials and seasons and meaning
Behind the corporate cartoonists art.
Eventually I made my choices, picked out some pots too.
Went to the counter to pay for it all
And encountered Snooty Boots Sue.
She smiled and welcomed the greenlings
To be zapped in their barcode baptism
Then turned to me to ask questions
And referred to the plants all in Latin.
I shrugged and explained my new passion,
Confessed my ignorance of it all.
So Sue turned her sizable nose up
Pursed her lips, crossed her arms and drawled
"Oh I see. You're a new gardener"
As if new made me automatic scum.
"You will need some compost to go with this,
Can you guess which is the right one?"
She gestured a bingo winged arm to her left,
I Dreadingly looked to my right
A wall of colourful plastic sacks
Of variously composted shite.
I hadn't a clue, I shrugged again
"The one with the flowers?" I guessed.
"Nooo" she sneered, ample chest in grey wool.
"The blue bag for you would be best".
As she was taking my payment she asked,
"Where have you left your car?"
"No, I actually-"
"What?"she interrupted,
"Without it you wont get far"
The notes of disdain and triumph were there.
And her haughtiness was just too much.
"I'll be fine " I shot back, my shoulders squared,
Teeth gritted, jawline jut.
She smiled at me sweetly,
And said "if you're sure.
Here, let me help you"
I looked at the floor,
I looked at the sides, I looked at my stuff
I realised that Hercules himself would find it quite tough
To carry it.
As she was taking my payment she asked,
"Where have you left your car?"
"No, I actually-"
"What?"she interrupted,
"Without it you wont get far"
The notes of disdain and triumph were there.
And her haughtiness was just too much.
"I'll be fine " I shot back, my shoulders squared,
Teeth gritted, jawline jut.
She smiled at me sweetly,
And said "if you're sure.
Here, let me help you"
I looked at the floor,
I looked at the sides, I looked at my stuff
I realised that Hercules himself would find it quite tough
To carry it.
It's that old 80s lifestyle, the drive of must have more.
I'm not making excuses, an explanation is all.
But I'd come this far. She couldn't win
So i sorted out my freight
One on the back, hands full, under arm
Ceramics! It was some weight.
Then Snooty boots Sue
Got her moment to shine
And reminded me with a grin:
"Don't forget to take your compost"
I took a deep breath in.
"No, no, quite right. Could you give me a hand?
It's under control, this was part of the plan.
I just need help to raise it over
This bag, then I can carry it on my shoulder".
Aghast, sue said,
"You can't do that! You'll hurt yourself, what about your back?"
I said " i can, i am, I'm off. I'm not going far. Thanks very much".
And strode with as much briskness as I could
Staggering slightly, and sliding in mud.
Once round the corner and out of her sight
I Gave up the ridiculous impotent fight
Against gravity,
and let the bag slide to the floor,
Off my shoulder,
by now reddened, soggy and sore.
Pondering what on earth could be done.
To rescue me from my pride's bumbledom.
When a black cloud surrounded once white panel van
Burped to a shuddering halt
And sooty marked garden gnome face of a man
Shouted something about
Needing a lift, could he be of assistance
I was so overjoyed I damned well near kissed him.
And I managed to get them home.
A quick cup of tea and I was out there digging,
As happy as a pig in it.
Trowel in hand, repotting and arranging
Trying to make the prettiest fit.
And when the spell broke it was later that day,
I'd whiled a good few hours away
Immersed in the earth and the dirt and the smell.
I was happy.
The theory, proved, conclusive.
But the height of that first joy proved elusive.
It was good still, yes, no denying,
But it seemed no matter which plants i was buying
I couldn't get that first /rush/ again.
My flower seeking urge was becoming so great
I'd been buying in secret alone
And sneaking succulents into the trolley
When shopping for food for our home.
What had been a barren grey wasteland
Had become, not the gardens at Kew,
But at least a refreshingly green space
As the plantpots number grew.
They encroached on the path and blocked doorways.
They clawed at passersby.
Honestly if one had demanded Feed Me!
I wouldn't have been surprised.
And I had peace to keep with the neighbours,
Who had nearly lost an eye.
So I took up my secuters in shaking hands, and trimmed them down to size.
I snipped and I sighed, saddened at their shrinkage.
I sorrowfully apologised.
Tidy and tamed they finally are, neatly encased in the corner.
But I can't wait to see the growth of the jungle
When the weather finally gets warmer.
For now I am on the wagon.
No more plants for me.
The pathway is halfway passable
And the fire escape is free.
I might fall off this wagon,
I can't promise I've stopped forever.
But my millenial whining at least has moved on,
To complaining about the weather.
I'm not making excuses, an explanation is all.
But I'd come this far. She couldn't win
So i sorted out my freight
One on the back, hands full, under arm
Ceramics! It was some weight.
Then Snooty boots Sue
Got her moment to shine
And reminded me with a grin:
"Don't forget to take your compost"
I took a deep breath in.
"No, no, quite right. Could you give me a hand?
It's under control, this was part of the plan.
I just need help to raise it over
This bag, then I can carry it on my shoulder".
Aghast, sue said,
"You can't do that! You'll hurt yourself, what about your back?"
I said " i can, i am, I'm off. I'm not going far. Thanks very much".
And strode with as much briskness as I could
Staggering slightly, and sliding in mud.
Once round the corner and out of her sight
I Gave up the ridiculous impotent fight
Against gravity,
and let the bag slide to the floor,
Off my shoulder,
by now reddened, soggy and sore.
Pondering what on earth could be done.
To rescue me from my pride's bumbledom.
When a black cloud surrounded once white panel van
Burped to a shuddering halt
And sooty marked garden gnome face of a man
Shouted something about
Needing a lift, could he be of assistance
I was so overjoyed I damned well near kissed him.
And I managed to get them home.
A quick cup of tea and I was out there digging,
As happy as a pig in it.
Trowel in hand, repotting and arranging
Trying to make the prettiest fit.
And when the spell broke it was later that day,
I'd whiled a good few hours away
Immersed in the earth and the dirt and the smell.
I was happy.
The theory, proved, conclusive.
But the height of that first joy proved elusive.
It was good still, yes, no denying,
But it seemed no matter which plants i was buying
I couldn't get that first /rush/ again.
My flower seeking urge was becoming so great
I'd been buying in secret alone
And sneaking succulents into the trolley
When shopping for food for our home.
What had been a barren grey wasteland
Had become, not the gardens at Kew,
But at least a refreshingly green space
As the plantpots number grew.
They encroached on the path and blocked doorways.
They clawed at passersby.
Honestly if one had demanded Feed Me!
I wouldn't have been surprised.
And I had peace to keep with the neighbours,
Who had nearly lost an eye.
So I took up my secuters in shaking hands, and trimmed them down to size.
I snipped and I sighed, saddened at their shrinkage.
I sorrowfully apologised.
Tidy and tamed they finally are, neatly encased in the corner.
But I can't wait to see the growth of the jungle
When the weather finally gets warmer.
For now I am on the wagon.
No more plants for me.
The pathway is halfway passable
And the fire escape is free.
I might fall off this wagon,
I can't promise I've stopped forever.
But my millenial whining at least has moved on,
To complaining about the weather.
