Uncle Mike's
Backyard Gardens

By Michael P. Garofalo

  mums flowering
zinnias flowering
     me wondering

a hole in my boot—
    deep cracks
    in the baked brown clay

A bit stiff and sore
we sip water in the shade;
our day's gardening done,
admiring what we've made.

114° F
(few move)
                    even ole
                             an
                          ders
                             dr
                              o
                              o
                               p

   From dark trees
     an owl's hoot—
chilly night.

In the gentle breeze,
shimmering mulberry leaves—
oblique sun.

All the cabbages in our garden are robust green to the core;
All the peppers are dead black,
not red anymore.
The onions are thriving,
the tomatoes all gone,
The lettuce is rising,
the pecans all stored;
It’s wet now in Red Bluff,
Winter’s knocking at the door.

Uncle Mike's Cellphone Poetry Series

The Spirit of Gardening

Poetry by Mike Garofalo

weeds in bloom:
bright red, yellow, white;
                mowed down!

My wife
picking tomatoes and squash—
       a smile on her face.

Digging a hole
the shovel splits a white worm—
       bare roots in the sun.

Setting potted figs
along the warm southern wall—
                 a goose flaps by.

A sack of bones
   that shits and pees;
After gobbling flesh,
   and fruits, and seeds.

bone dry
          dog turds
laced with frost

brancheslimbstwigs
limbsbranchestwigs
f
a
ll
i
n
g
do w n sm as h hit
dirtgroundsoilearth
earthgrounddirtsoil

     a jay
     perched on a branch—
     misty December morn

Dirty hand, callused palm,
black fingernails:
Green Thumb.

The dark pines edge
  the deepest shade,
While cherry blossoms
  set and fade.

Lines of baled hay
yellowing in the sunshine—
    dry May day.

Cool night—
watering the orchard
in the pale moonlight.

Weeds turn yellow
as the days grow long;
we move the sprinkler
on the lawn.

Summertime Adventures

Seaside Snippets

Autumn Views

Faces in the rolling clouds;
Thinking out loud,
nothing strange,
Always Mind at its Game.

a hint of winter
off the wind—
split pomegranates

No flowers, no bees;
No bees, no flowers.
Blooming and buzzing,
Buzzing and blooming;
Married and still in Love.

!! Under Construction !!

!! Under Construction !!

Uncle Mike's Cellphone Poetry Series

The Spirit of Gardening

Poetry by Mike Garofalo

Winter Home

Springtime Days

Uncle Mike's Cellphone Poetry

  My breath follows
  the chill wind—
a morning walk.

Uncle Mike's Cellphone Poetry Series

The Spirit of Gardening

Poetry by Mike Garofalo

Gardens are demanding pets.
A garden is made up of stories,
   not things.
You are given Today - make it matter.
To garden is the reward.
Absolutes squirm beneath realities.
Your garden will do for you in
   proportion to what you do for it.

Pulling Onions - Over 1,000 One-Liners

thankfully
repeated
generosity

Cuttings - Haiku - December

The Spirit of Gardening

December - Quotations - Poetry

Facing off, fists up,
eyeballs to eyeballs;
two boys gather a crowd.

Short Poems by Michael P. Garofalo

Haiku, Brief Free Verse, Photos
Tercets, Concrete Poems, Quartets
Cinquains, Waka, Couplets, Senryu
30 Letters Max Per Line of Text
Uncle Mike's Cellphone Poetry Series

Pulling up
twisted tomato vines—
long autumn shadows.

Cuddling his great-grandson
before the baptism—
New Year's Eve.

Last day of Autumn;
clothes in a closet,
next year's calendar—
    Form is emptiness.

First day of Winter;
all trees are leafless,
kitchen table bare—
    Emptiness is form.

Poetry by Michael P. Garofalo

Uncle Mike's Cellphone Poetry Series

Cuttings: Haiku and Short Poems

Pulling Onions: Over 1,000 One-Liners

Green Way Research Subject Index

Cloud Hands Blog

Facebook

Four Days in Grayland

How to Live a Good Life

The Spirit of Gardening

Uncle Mike's Cellphone Poetry Series #6

Text, graphics, and webpage design
by Michael P. Garofalo.
Many photographs by Karen Garofalo.

Updated: June 18, 2022

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