In the sky the storm-clouds lour
Dark, foreboding frenzied spate:
Rolling roars and jagging light,
Stunning ears and blinding eyes,
Are harbingers of sheeting streams
Pounding ground and roofs and heads,
Drenching cowering birds and beasts,
Lashing stillness from the lakes.
Spent its fury come the morning;
Unknown yet its aftermath:
Mired waters, ravaged earth, or
Bright world purged of turbulence.
You must be a gardener:
Select your seeds with care,
Mark how they spread roots
And grow into a host of plants,
Luxuriant with foliage
Or riotous with blooms.
Create from them a pleasure ground,
With here and there a shady grove,
A rockery, a pergola,
A wondrous cactus show.
Chiaroscuro, form and texture:
Be an artist using nature’s palette.
Delighting in this paradise,
Humming birds and honey bees
Will be darting to and fro,
Melodiously singing
Or sucking nectar from the blossoms;
You must catch their sweetness.
Make the garden’s centrepiece
And life-sustaining source
A tranquil, vital lake,
Bestrewn with lotuses
And bordered by a grassy verge,
Enticing as a resting-place.
Signpost well this sculpted park
And cut paths towards the lake;
For those who gaze into its depths,
In the stillness of reflection,
Will see emerging slowly
The image of the tree of wisdom.
Plop!
I drop
Idea
And idea
Into your ear
And wait
For them
To percolate
Into your mind,
Pool there
And then
Debouch
Into a fresh
Clear spring,
The source
Of water
For your garden.
Let me tell you now
Why you love me:
Because I set you free
From the confines of your mind,
Snap the dusty, rusty chains
Binding your self-expression,
And draw you into pastures
Where is grazing to fulfilment,
Giving undreamed realizing
Of the truth of what you are.