.
In a Flowerpot...
A few years ago Lynda Tavakoli set our writing group a homework – to go into her garden and find something to write about. I noticed an empty ceramic flowerpot and imagined it had a colourful and rather vocal occupant!
Well, hi! Don’t look so startled, guys!
I bet you can’t believe your eyes,
Yeah, you’ve got it – yep, it’s me,
I can converse, as you can see,
In fact, I can do more than TALK,
Give me a minute, and I’ll WALK!
But, no… just think I’ll swing my legs
As I sit on my flowerpot edge;
Too lazy to impress you lot,
I think I’ll stay in my flowerpot!
Hey, switch those phones off instantly!
No pictures and no calls ‘bout me!
What do you think you’re going to say?
And who’ll believe you, anyway?
‘Hello, I’ve met this flowerpot doll
That talks to me across a wall!’
The person at the other end
Will think you’ve quite gone round the bend!
Go home and have a cup of tea,
Pretend you’ve not encountered me!
Who owns the garden? – Billy Small.
He’s long forgotten ‘bout this doll,
So, why not go to Billy’s door?
Oh, how I dare you! I implore
You just to stand and tell him what
You’ve heard from inside this flowerpot,
While I sit here, legs dangling down,
(With longer ones, I’d touch the ground!)
I bet with laughter he’ll just crease,
Or think you’re mad and call the police!
Oh, I don’t blame you – who’d believe
A doll can talk? – That’s just naive,
Like thinking those five garden gnomes
Can sing and dance, recite some poems!
Psst! Stay there, boys! – Each time I mention
Those little guys, they want attention!
They’re loud and brash, as gnomes can be,
Not cultured and refined, like me;
What, this rhyme’s crazy? – Yeah, I know it –
Hey, I’m a DOLL, guys, not a POET!
You think it’s always fun out here,
In Billy’s garden, year by year?
Some days are glorious, some a pain,
Especially in the wind and rain!
And, yes – I’d ask you not to mention
That noisy, smoky, mad invention
They call a lawnmower. Call me silly,
But every time I that good old Billy
Takes it for its weekly stroll,
I want to vanish down a hole!
A garden is a dangerous place;
This flowerpot is my one safe base.
When I climb out, I take a chance
That Mister Magpie on his branch
Might swoop down fast and lift me high
Or Dan the dog might wander by;
I worry that I might get lost
Near Billy’s heap of old compost!
So, near my painted pot I’ll stay,
And never go too far away!
Oh, you big wusses – don’t tell me
You’re frightened by that bumble bee?
To you, it’s like a petits pois,
But think how big it is to moi!
A small, ceramic flowerpot doll
But, in this patch, I’ve seen it all.
The seasons come, the seasons go,
But I’m okay in here, you know!
Life in a flowerpot is quite safe
For such a spindly little waif.
But, I must leave my pot to see
The world that’s buzzing all round me,
For, if I stayed in here all day,
Life would get too boring. Hey,
Around the pond and up the tree
Is where this flowerpot girl should be!
So, off you go and give me peace
For, when it’s night, the risks increase,
So, while it’s bright, I’ll take a walk.
Hope you enjoyed our little talk!
But, where’s your flowerpot, you lot there?
It’s easy just to stop and stare!
You think I’m weird? A bit cuckoo?
I’ll guess you’ve got your flowerpot, too –
A place that’s safe and, let’s pretend,
Is almost like a big best friend!
Like me, you venture out most days,
But can’t wait to get back – always!
Bet you’ll remember my safe spot
When you go back to YOUR flowerpot!
© Robert E. Wilson.
Illustration by Kathryn Bannister.
A few years ago Lynda Tavakoli set our writing group a homework – to go into her garden and find something to write about. I noticed an empty ceramic flowerpot and imagined it had a colourful and rather vocal occupant!
Well, hi! Don’t look so startled, guys!
I bet you can’t believe your eyes,
Yeah, you’ve got it – yep, it’s me,
I can converse, as you can see,
In fact, I can do more than TALK,
Give me a minute, and I’ll WALK!
But, no… just think I’ll swing my legs
As I sit on my flowerpot edge;
Too lazy to impress you lot,
I think I’ll stay in my flowerpot!
Hey, switch those phones off instantly!
No pictures and no calls ‘bout me!
What do you think you’re going to say?
And who’ll believe you, anyway?
‘Hello, I’ve met this flowerpot doll
That talks to me across a wall!’
The person at the other end
Will think you’ve quite gone round the bend!
Go home and have a cup of tea,
Pretend you’ve not encountered me!
Who owns the garden? – Billy Small.
He’s long forgotten ‘bout this doll,
So, why not go to Billy’s door?
Oh, how I dare you! I implore
You just to stand and tell him what
You’ve heard from inside this flowerpot,
While I sit here, legs dangling down,
(With longer ones, I’d touch the ground!)
I bet with laughter he’ll just crease,
Or think you’re mad and call the police!
Oh, I don’t blame you – who’d believe
A doll can talk? – That’s just naive,
Like thinking those five garden gnomes
Can sing and dance, recite some poems!
Psst! Stay there, boys! – Each time I mention
Those little guys, they want attention!
They’re loud and brash, as gnomes can be,
Not cultured and refined, like me;
What, this rhyme’s crazy? – Yeah, I know it –
Hey, I’m a DOLL, guys, not a POET!
You think it’s always fun out here,
In Billy’s garden, year by year?
Some days are glorious, some a pain,
Especially in the wind and rain!
And, yes – I’d ask you not to mention
That noisy, smoky, mad invention
They call a lawnmower. Call me silly,
But every time I that good old Billy
Takes it for its weekly stroll,
I want to vanish down a hole!
A garden is a dangerous place;
This flowerpot is my one safe base.
When I climb out, I take a chance
That Mister Magpie on his branch
Might swoop down fast and lift me high
Or Dan the dog might wander by;
I worry that I might get lost
Near Billy’s heap of old compost!
So, near my painted pot I’ll stay,
And never go too far away!
Oh, you big wusses – don’t tell me
You’re frightened by that bumble bee?
To you, it’s like a petits pois,
But think how big it is to moi!
A small, ceramic flowerpot doll
But, in this patch, I’ve seen it all.
The seasons come, the seasons go,
But I’m okay in here, you know!
Life in a flowerpot is quite safe
For such a spindly little waif.
But, I must leave my pot to see
The world that’s buzzing all round me,
For, if I stayed in here all day,
Life would get too boring. Hey,
Around the pond and up the tree
Is where this flowerpot girl should be!
So, off you go and give me peace
For, when it’s night, the risks increase,
So, while it’s bright, I’ll take a walk.
Hope you enjoyed our little talk!
But, where’s your flowerpot, you lot there?
It’s easy just to stop and stare!
You think I’m weird? A bit cuckoo?
I’ll guess you’ve got your flowerpot, too –
A place that’s safe and, let’s pretend,
Is almost like a big best friend!
Like me, you venture out most days,
But can’t wait to get back – always!
Bet you’ll remember my safe spot
When you go back to YOUR flowerpot!
© Robert E. Wilson.
Illustration by Kathryn Bannister.