Poem: The Garden of Abandoned Places


The Garden of Abandoned Places

Outside, the weather is hot.
Southern hot, humid,
not at all the Vermont coolness you have come to love.

The roses and phlox are in bloom,
and the air is fragrant.

It seems it is never the season you expected.
Calendars and history have become useless
and you simply live the weather you are given,

rediscovering your sense of contentment
that has nothing to do with circumstance or age.

You breathe in the perfume.
You smile at the delicate colors.
Fragile, both of them.

and yet, eternal. Even in the gardens
of abandoned places, they emerge each spring
and bloom.

About this poem

I have a deep love for abandoned places and often find myself wandering through old houses, factories, and other buildings with my camera. One of the things that I love the most are the gardens. Abandoned, overgrown, they somehow still persist.

I have a weakness for people in the same way.



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s