‘The Garden Guest’ and Other Poetry by Lorna Davis

The Garden Guest

Gaia has entered my garden today,
She moves with a rustling of leaves.
I can see her pass where the branches sway,
I can feel her breath on the breeze.

She laughs in the splashing of water,
And she sings in the hawk’s plaintive cry,
And as Mother, she comforts her daughter
In the hush of a dove’s lullaby.

Her presence is rich in the garden today,
Like the heady perfumes of her flowers,
As they lift their delicate faces to pray
In the beams of sunlit bowers.

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And her trees have become a cathedral,
As their trunks, in a grey-marbled hue,
Become pillars and arches primeval
Reaching up toward a ceiling of blue.

And the garden has shown its true owner today,
For I am but the gardener and guest.
When my Visit has ended I’ll go on my way
Knowing well that this world has been blessed.

Songs of a Day

As I muddle my way through a regular day,
And my feeling of weariness grows,
I am riddled with blue in an indigo hue
And a dark fog around me that shows.
But my garden is where I can work in fresh air,
And my blues turn a rosier shade;
As I clip and I rake, with each breath that I take,
All that dullness inside starts to fade.

And the song of my heart bubbles up like a spring,
And my shadows are lifted and lightly take wing.
As my body starts swaying, I quietly sing
And I feel a connectedness to everything…

At the dimming of day, as I’m tapping away
At the keyboard that sits on my desk,
I am caught by the sight of the setting sun’s light
And a view that is quite picturesque.
In that moment I find there’s no work in my mind,
Just the view that is waiting outside,
And I’m crossing the floor to the sliding glass door,
And I eagerly open it wide.

And the song of my soul rushes in on the breeze
Like the rippling of water and wind in the trees,
And it cleanses my mind as it fills me with ease
Rising up from the ground through my feet and my knees…

So I head up the hill with a need to fulfill,
To see more of this glorious sky,
With its crimson and pink, and that spun glass I think
Must be cirrus clouds streaming up high.
When I get to the top I turn ‘round and I stop,
Stricken dumb by the beauty I see:
Lilac hills touched with green, and a gold sun between
Slipping into a molten-glass sea.

And the songs of my ancestors hum in my bones,
With sharp clapping rhythms and resonant tones,
With high ululations and deep-throated moans
That sing to the sky and the trees and the stones…

Strolling back to my house, insignificant mouse
That I am on this marvelous world,
I am blessed with the sight, as we all are each night,
Of the stars and the darkness unfurled.
As cerulean blue turns a deep midnight hue,
I can seek out our faithful north star,
And as diamonds are spread in the bowl overhead,
I am struck by how lucky we are.

And the song of the universe tumbles through space
Full of beauty and power, rhythm and grace,
And the light is its voice as it sings through each place
And it spills from the sky to my uplifted face…

As this day finds its end, I must ponder again
All that glumness I felt at its start,
And how rarely we see all this real majesty
That can fill and restore every heart.
And this earth, oh this Earth! The bright world of our birth
Is a miracle in every way.
As contentment runs deep, I am lulled into sleep
By the lingering songs of the day.

Lorna Davis is a poet who is happily retired and living in California.