Poems in Gardens

Something out of nothing

Even when there’s nothing, there is always something,
even though the day may be stormy it is always clear at midnight,
it can be sunny inside because this day was full of excitement and joy,
and sometimes, weithiau, the hardest plants to reach
are the ones that are more beautiful than any of the others.

And in Yr Ardd with its Hollywodd sign,
the dandelion family of flowers collected in a bunch
look like a river with streams breaking off in different directions
dant y llew yn felyn fel yr haul.

A feather passing fluttery in the wind, pluen bert yn dawnsio,
probably dropped by a passing flamingo or a dragon.
All around us are round stupid leaves, these leaves you see – y dail – are not smart.
and bits of wood, darnau pren, hanging about waiting to be used as mallets or sticks.

The barbecue is the best,
we gather round the fire and the atmosphere warms us,
mae’r tân a’r cwmni’n gynnes.
Sometimes there is music, always there is laughter and chwerthin.
And it’s peaceful here – tawel
it’s a good place to think, to meddwl,
this is a small piece of land, of tir
quiet like the eye of the storm,
a sanctuary, ein hafan ni.

A day in Yr Ardd

It doesn’t matter what the weather’s like outside
sometimes it’s raining or sunny,
the sky full of clouds like feathers
or snow making everything magic,
the garden is pretty, full of lovely things.

We saw fruit and vegetables growing,
growing quickly and slowly,
growing all the time,
changing,
growing like us.

Tomatoes taste like summer if you like them
or like ‘bleugh’ if you don’t.
Courgettes grow as big as your arm and heavier,
they’re speckled green, camouflaged.
Birds like coming here to eat seeds and Mr Snail,
they come to meet Dewi the deer and Haf the hare,
and have a good chat when we’re not looking.

We are happy here,
we love cooking in the mud kitchen
exploring through the willow tunnel
out to the pond with the cup and saucer leaves
and the waterboatmen skating lazily.

This is Yr Ardd – it is green, it is growing.

A garden chorus of plants

Today, I am ivy, iorwg.
I am tenacious, a parasite,
I grow because, I grow despite.
But I make things beautiful with curled leaves like gems
turning gardens into shining green treasure,
tŷ gwyrdd yn yr ardd.

Heddiw, coeden olewydden ydw i, I am an olive tree,
wedi bodoli ers canrifoedd, ancient,
mae gen i wreiddiau sy’n tyfu’n ddwfn, with deep roots,
rwy’n addasu ble bynnag ydw i, I adapt,
rwy’n vulnerable, yn fregus, ond yn gryf, I grow.

Today, I am brambles, mieri,
I stay out on the edges, growing on the sides,
I am protective and yet I bear dark fruit,
I am spiky but sweet.

Heddiw, draenen ydw i, thorns,
yn boen i lawer,
draenen mewn ystlys hyd yn oed, a thorn in the side maybe,
ond rwy’n gwarchod, yn cadw,
yn gysgod, yn dwyn ffrwyth,
I support and sustain.

Heddiw, capan cornicyll ydw i, a lapwing’s hat or nasturtium,
trailing along the ground,
flashes of colour, lliw tân, here and there, enough to make folk smile
and a peppery taste to warm the tongue.
Today I make the garden feel good
and I feel good in the garden.

Today, I am willow, helygen,
I’m quick-growing, scrubby, a survivor
and weed-like I turn up everywhere – dyma fi
I am rooted in this place – fan hyn
a hybrid, a mixture of many things,
and in the wind, my leaves sing.