I was walking through the cafe at the weekend and I was handed a piece of paper. On it was the following poem:
You by Hazel Harrison, Rochdale
Tall and majestic, you stand above me.
I crane my neck to see your top.
Your age is greater than my own.
You’ve seen so much, yet to me unknown.
Many, many thanks Hazel.
Any many, many thanks to Nikki and Anna for engaging so deeply with the poetry workshop that I ran on Sunday. You not only inspired me with the words you wrote but you reminded me of the immense power of poetry.
I had a lovely weekend in the garden and harvested a bumper crop of poems.
And I’d like to give one a special mention… a very special mention indeed.
A woman visiting Benmore Botanic Garden wrote the following poem to help us celebrate the 150th anniversary of the planting of the Redwood Avenue. I suspect bamboo isn’t a tree but I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that this is a powerful poem.
Versatile by Mrs Evelyn Wray, Edinburgh (whose uncle served in Burma in WWII)
Some bamboo is food for pandas. Some
is used for canes and furniture. Some grows fast
as a cheetah or a formula one racing car.
In WWII, bamboo was used to cage men.
In WWII, my uncle sailed in Arctic convoys. He sailed the round trip from Nova Scotia to Murmansk a dozen times. He would have gone for a thirteenth time if a bureaucrat at the Admiralty hadn’t got superstitious and reassigned him to another, allegedly less hazardous, route.
And in WWI my grandfather survived The Somme.
I come from tough stock.
It’s something I try to remember when I think my life is hard or I’m screaming because there is a spider in the bath.