Trevnad i trädgården

  Det här blir det sista inslaget från Carol-Ann Hoyte's båda antologier. Den här gången med trädgårdstema. 
  Från och med nästa vecka tar kvinnornas Poesilandslag över lördagarna. Jag kommer att presentera två "spelare" vid varje tillfälle, och det hela avslutas på nationaldagen med en presentation av "förbundskaptenen".
  Nu över till tomaterna ...

Dear Tomato:
An Internat. Crop of Food and Agriculture Poems
edited by Carol-Ann Hoyte
North Charleston, 2015

*

  Jag börjar med en kort dikt om en mogen persika.

A ripe peach, by Frances Hern

Fragrant flesh gives
beneath gentle pressure upon downy softness.
A bite brings juice so flavourful
trickling down throat, chin.
Breathe in the sweetness of summer
stored in its rosy blush.

***

  Har du någon aning om vad svamparna gör om natten? J. Patrick Lewis har svaret.

Dance of the Mushrooms, by J. Patrick Lewis
(from Dear Tomato. North Charleston, 2015.)

Mushrooms tipping their caps -
this is all you ever see.

But when night falls

from the clouds,
and no one is watching,
they brown shyly
and begin to dance.

Bowing softly,
they waltz in the dark
to the wind hymning
through the trees.
But when light falls
from the clouds,

mushrooms tipping their caps -
this is all you ever see.

***

Den avslutande dikten är betydligt längre och bär det passande namnet "In my garden".

In my garden, by J.C. Sulzenko
(from Dear Tomato. North Charleston, 2015.)

Last summer, after the magnolias failed to bloom,
well after the tulips lost their heads,
after the rains ceased,
most of the grass died in my garden.

Nothing much to be done
with that sorry checkerboard!

Then with shorter August days,
one small pansy settled in a rough, dry patch.
The white flower, blushing violet,
took comfort in my garden.

Too soon autumn leaves covered it.
Later snow, ice, cold rain, and snow again.

When April's sun melted all that,
well before the magnolias, the tulips,
before the juncos in their pinafores,
that pansy defied the scraggly lwn,
bloomed again in my garden.

Then his morning - not too early, not too late -
I startled at a rabbit:
A big brown rabbit, with sharp-tipped ears,
black eyes the size of wild chokecherries,
and a cartoon-perfect cotton ball tail.
In my garden,
in
my
garden!

It ambled forward,
stopped at the pansy,
nibbled the purple petals,
and hopped away,
leaving just enough
to grow another blossom
in my garden.