The Writing Garden ~ Issue Ten


Cover Imagekthtrnr ~ Flickr

 

Song Of The Flower Xxiii

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I am a kind word uttered and repeated
By the voice of Nature;
I am a star fallen from the
Blue tent upon the green carpet.
I am the daughter of the elements
With whom Winter conceived;
To whom Spring gave birth; I was
Reared in the lap of Summer and I
Slept in the bed of Autumn.
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At dawn I unite with the breeze
To announce the coming of light;
At eventide I join the birds
In bidding the light farewell.
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The plains are decorated with
My beautiful colors, and the air
Is scented with my fragrance.
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As I embrace Slumber the eyes of
Night watch over me, and as I
Awaken I stare at the sun, which is
The only eye of the day.
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I drink dew for wine, and hearken to
The voices of the birds, and dance
To the rhythmic swaying of the grass.
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I am the lover’s gift; I am the wedding wreath;
I am the memory of a moment of happiness;
I am the last gift of the living to the dead;
I am a part of joy and a part of sorrow.
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But I look up high to see only the light,
And never look down to see my shadow.
This is wisdom which man must learn.
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Poem ~ Khalil Gibran

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For Poetica

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How many nights have I spent
Writing in the silence of 2:00 am
While I drown myself in mugs of coffee
Thinking of what I’ll write about you?
Thoughts of you, my dear Poetica,
They keep me awake in the silence
And darkness of dimming city lights—
Wondering if my words would be enough
To describe you—everything about you.
Should I write about you in rhymes?
Which metaphor and image must I use?
How many syllables and words do you need
For me to fill these old and empty verses
Without rhythm, without meter?
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My dear Poetica, my dear beloved Poetica—
These words shall forever lack your beauty.
My dear Poetica, my dear beloved Poetica—
These verses shall forever be empty.
My dear Poetica, my dear beloved Poetica—
These metaphors will never be enough
To describe
You.
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Philip Jamilla ~ paperbackriot.tumblr.com
Image ~ Barbara Monacelli

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Rekindling

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Now I have seen it
how even the weakest flame
has small bits of life.

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adventuresonthecreativeside.wordpress.com
Image ~ Maritè Toledo

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The Night They Stopped Searching

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Capture

hellovwrites.com

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At The Vets

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Today the dog went to the vet
Crazy as a human being
Lost a bone to a mate on a bet
Lost control, couldn’t stop singing
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Well he joined us in the mad kingdom
Said he’d got stitched
All he wanted was his freedom
So he could go kill the bitch
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Strangest, strangest thing
All these mad animals
And me a human being
Trapped within padded walls
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I talk to a parrot of my guilt feeling
The bird just cocks its head
Pretends to count stars on the ceiling
Then bluntly tells me I LIED
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The monkey brings my quantum pills
While sleep is my nightmare life
He claims the capsules won’t make me ills
But animals don’t suffer human strife
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I’m alone, trapped in a cell with asses
They’re all blind to my sanity
Even if they all don glasses
To magnify my insecurities
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I scream the cats all died from curiosity
They say I poisoned my family
But the cats died from curiosity
Including the one called Aunt Emily
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trashcanbard.wordpress.com
Image ~ Dragan Bibin

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Hiding
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//Hiding// Unveiling the real faces once hidden behind the obscure masks we carried around Oh too Vulnerable . Is there any other way to truly taste life But in the raw? I tried. Covered myself in driftwood and dirt. Didn’t think I had a...

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Unveiling the real faces
once hidden behind the obscure
masks we carried around
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Oh too Vulnerable .
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Is there any other way
to truly taste life
But in the raw?
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I tried.
Covered myself
in driftwood
and dirt.
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Didn’t think I had a chance.
Always missing the mark.
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I finally told the honey-eyed
Girl ,
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“Hey! You can’t hide those scars forever.  Someone might actually like those incantations written all over your face.”
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D O’keefe ~ undermyseashells.tumblr.com
Image ~ D O’keefe

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Between Thoughts

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Writing

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up floated the printed words
lengthening shadows on the page
light rain fell
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small mauve sparks
sprayed from the crack
in the bedroom window
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charging my smiling brother
in his yellow and blue pyjamas
laughing in the morning sun
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between thoughts
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M Lewis Redford ~ mlewisredford.wordpress.com
Image ~ Under licence from Dreamstime.com

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Active Five Minutes Ago

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happy-laptop-1-12432070

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funny, isn’t it?  how facebook displays how long it’s been since a person was last active.  they remind me that i was a mere three hundred seconds from catching you online, but that’s okay; no, really!, it is;
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because my fingers are hovering over my keyboard and the blinker’s just blinking in its white little space, this Type a message… glaring at me accusingly.  wait, give me a second.  what do i tell you? what should i say?
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hi is safe.  so is hellohey seems a little too casual, doesn’t it?  should i put an emoji?  a heart?  no, no.  a smiley face.  but just the normal smiley face, not the one with closed eyes and everything.  or maybe i should use that instead?
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but /then what/?
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i guess i could ask you how your day went.  that sounds well enough.  i can ask you about the weather.  no, dammit, it’s always hot.  nothing interesting there.  i’ll just branch out after you tell me what you’ve done today, where you’ve gone.  oh, you went to the movies?  that’s great.  last movie i watched was Captain America:  Civil War.  are you team cap or team iron man?  peachy.  just peachy.  perfect.  i’ve got this.  i am s–
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holy shit, you’re online.  why are you online?  the green circle is just staring at me and oh my god, you’re typing, you’re typing in to our chat box.  oh my god.  i liked it better when you were inactive.  when you were offline.  now i just wait, maybe pretend i wasn’t this loser waiting for you to talk to me, this loser who had you on my mind, this loser overthinking what i should say to y–
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You (12:39 PM)
Hey.  I was just thinking about you.  🙂
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Andrea ~ Hello Poetry
Image ~ freeimages.com

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Offcuts

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we made gods
of ourselves
one day, played
in discarded shivers
of satin or silk,
shellfish purple
indigo-star-strewn gossamer
thick butter gold
all fraying patches
of spare glory
turned fields, deserts
night skies and rivers
across black-and-white
islands of lino
under the kitchen table
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and inevitably
we carved circles
out from their centres
for our selves,
to garb in fleeting myth
caped and seraped
we were clothed
in naivety we
bowed before mangers
danced through mown jungles
pilgrimaged down
creaking rattan corridors
frill-necks of
gold, purple, blue
spinning out
young sun-gods
me and you
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A C Kennedy ~ ahellofagooduniversenextdoor.tumblr.com
Image ~ Yolanda García

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The Things We Do Not See

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https://anotherkindofgrass.files.wordpress.com/2015/09/556789.gif?w=920

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We do not see the wind.
Only the things
It moves beyond the pane..
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Tilt-a-whirl, leaves cascade:
Doused by silvery rain;
We do not see the wind.
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The scenery still, unchanged:
For years and years, yet
It moves beyond the pane..
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Bits blossom then fade;
Oft moonstruck, canopies sway:
We do not see the wind.
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Now the goldfinch
Leaves, the maple apace;
It moves beyond the pane..
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Mystery settles in:
Branches creak and wave;
We do not see the wind..
It moves beyond the pane.
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subtleseaspoetry.tumblr.com

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Upbringing

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Idea Killed by The-FisFis

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I grew up inside
a house of broken lightbulbs
and melted candles.

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adventuresonthecreativeside.wordpress.com
Image ~ The-FisFis
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Being In Love
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when you find the way by mortevitae

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the wide wide landscape and the family tree
are just the same when found through mist;
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blues rising from the homestead chimney
in the grey and green glade of, everwhere;
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then everything stepped up over the far
mountains mauve of orange horizon
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filled the sky to cross the desert in a
single bound; whispered sweet nothing
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into my ear with heightened register as
the clouds pointed unutterably across
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the lemon-steel sky, far too wide and grey
and blue to close my mouth, over;
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I’ll have to levitate, ascend above the roots
of no return – tug-snapping, pull-holding snap –
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you could see, there then, that this was not
about love this was all about being in love
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M Lewis Redford ~ mlewisredford.wordpress.com
Imagemortevitae

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Blueberry Cordial

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Midnight Sky by whitewisker

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Last night I dreamt that I could sing
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A link of memory:
When I was 8 I thought the most beautiful colour in the world was the midnight blue oil pastel out of the box we were sometimes allowed to use.
It was deep and dark
And when you smeared it across the page,
It went from almost black
To blueberry cordial.
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When I was little I never thought I could sing.
Now I think maybe
If I were trained by a world class singing instructor, with a beard down to his feet, high in the Peruvian Hills for seven months
In other words it’s never going to happen.
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But when I dream I can sing,
Hanging out of a castle window
The sky is midnight blue
With pinpricks of light dimly showing the courtyard below
And my voice is as sweet as blueberry cordial.
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Zoe Urquhart ~ zurkpoetry.wordpress.com
Imagewhitewisker

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Poetry is the art of creating imaginary gardens with real toads - Marriane Moore

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20150827_174357-001-medium-cropped.
Hello everyone, thanks so much for reading the most recent issue! 🙂

If you are new to The Writing Garden and have enjoyed what you’ve seen so far, you’re welcome to come back sometime and take a look at the other nine issues.  There’s a lot of talent from a large selection of writers packed into each one.  If you’re lacking in something good to read at the moment or looking for inspiration in your own writing, you could be a while reading those issues, so best to bookmark or subscribe by WordPress or email if you’d like to return.
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I’m so grateful to Keith for contacting me on Flickr to kindly offer his photography for the magazine.  It’s the first time a flower has been featured for the cover image, and what a stunning flower it is!   Please do check out his main photostream on Flickr.
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For all the lovely people who have been viewing this magazine right from the start you will notice some changes soon regarding my regular message here.  As from issue eleven, unless I need to convey a specific message, I will no longer be writing a regular piece in this space.  I feel it’s time for me to blend into the background (as editors usually do) otherwise I feel I could be in danger of becoming boring repeating myself in these messages.  I’m not entirely comfortable with the thought of that, and I’m sure no-one would want to read a frequent message that doesn’t really have a great deal to say.
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So, in issue eleven there will be a brief acknowledgement with the website details of the photographer or artist who has kindly provided their image for the cover, plus I’ll be including a writing prompt for inspiration.  It may be photography, art, a short film or music.  If you are inspired to create something from one of those writing prompts for your blog, writers website, spokenword or social media page, be sure to give the issue for the prompt a mention/link at the end of your post/track/video then provide me with a link to your work in the contact sheet on the submissions page, in return I’ll give your creative work a link in this space on the following issue.
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But of course, you don’t have to participate if it doesn’t appeal, you can still personally take inspiration anyway.  I hope it will add a little something extra to each issue.  I’ll be interested to know what any of you feel on that idea.
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Even though I won’t in most issues be writing a final message I’ll still be communicating in the comments below as usual.  It’s great to hear from so many of you, but please don’t feel obliged to make a comment if you’re struggling to think of something to say, a like is perfectly okay with me.  The most important aspect is to enjoy what is published here.  So, read on, and enjoy! 🙂

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If you’d like your poetry, spoken word, short story or essay included in the next issue published in September, please see Submissions.

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14 comments on “The Writing Garden ~ Issue Ten

  1. […] I’ve recently stumbled across The Writing Garden and made myself known to the green-fingered nurturer Suzy Hazelwood.   She produces an online magazine to give exposure to good, but not necessarily established or high-profile, writing.   And she has a very wide palette of taste – peonies and flowering weeds everywhere, boughing trees and drifting blancmange skies, zephyrs and resident churrips (sic).   She makes the selections herself, noses around your site and will plant something here or there.   She has recently published her tenth issue and … I’m in there.   Thank you to Suzy for making this happy little flower bob.   Please go and have a stroll through the garden at: https://thewritinggarden.wordpress.com/2016/07/16/the-writing-garden-issue-ten/ […]

    • Oh no, Glyn you shouldn’t feel like that. I think you are more than adequate in your ability to write! I need to get back to WattPad, sorry I have been missing for ages. Perhaps you need some encouragement, I shall be back soon! 🙂 In the meantime, keep writing awesome words, because you have before, keep it going! 🙂

  2. Hi, Suzy. Thank you once more for a wonderful anthology. Although we may not be reading your voice in future issues I shall continue to appreciate the efforts that you make in each issue. I like the idea of a writing prompt – could prove most rewarding. Take care. Chris.

    • Thank you Chris! 🙂 I really feel it’s time for a change, but I’ll still be here in the comments, so not completely invisible! I hope they do prove rewarding, it will be interesting to see the results. Thanks for all your support for this magazine right from the start….very much appreciated! 🙂

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