Poems From the Potting Shed

gardening

  I stood both straight and tall

  Now I’m stooped and bent as down the garden path I crawl

  My hair is full of leaves and twigs

  My face is smudged with dirt

  My knees are sore and every bone within my body hurts

  Before I took up gardening

  My legs were smooth and tanned

  Now they’re scratched with thorns and scraped by potting mix and sand

  At least I know my garden’s

  Neatly groomed instead of weedy

  While my appearance is, my dear, quite frankly, very seedy

  In Haste

  Oh I'm in such a hurry

  I am really in a spin

  Shall I plant a new variety?

  You see the fix I'm in

  I've been to all the road shows

  Read the information too

  I've talked to experts but

  I'm still not sure just what to do

  The early gold is tempting

  And I really like the size

  The other gold will store well

  Which will make it quite a prize

  The jade, of course, a hybrid

  Brings the best of both, you know

  I'm rushing round and trying

  To decide which way to go

  I know that I'll lose income

  Cutting over is a pain

  Though I guess that in the future

  It will lead to long term gain

  I'll have to build new structures

  And put shelter all around

  And upgrade all the irrigation

  Pipes beneath the ground

  To help with my decision

  I soon bustled off in haste

  To view the new varieties

  And then to have a taste

  I ate at least a dozen

  Of the kiwifruit on show

  Now I'm in such a hurry

  And I really have to go

  In Reply to Clare

  The reason I don’t bring a flower along

  Is not that I don’t grow the stuff

  By the time that I write up the minutes each month

  I feel I have done quite enough

  The reason I don’t bring a flower along

  Is not that I simply don’t care

  But my roses have died and camellias expired

  And there’s Wandering Jew everywhere

  The reason I don’t bring a flower along

  Is not that I simply forgot

  But I have to admit I forget things a bit

  Okay, I’ll admit it, a lot!

  Insects

  I’m afraid of spiders

  Now, I know they do no harm

  But the thought of their wee hairy legs

  Fills me with alarm

  I’m terrified of wetas

  Huhu grubs and slaters too

  I cringe to hear the crunch

  Of slugs and snails beneath my shoe

  Ants give me the shudders

  And so do slimy worms

  Anything that wriggles, crawls or flies

  Can make me squirm

  My lovely country garden

  Is a seething battle ground

  With insects perched on every plant

  With buzzing, clicking sounds

  My ideal world is insect free

  And spider free, although

  I guess that means I’d have to live

  With forty feet of snow

  So I have reached a compromise

  I’ll let the insects be

  To live around my garden

  If they stay away from me

  Life Cycle

  When first we started orcharding our hopes were high indeed

  Although it would be challenging we knew that we’d succeed

  In making such a profit that we’d live a life of ease

  It’s simple, we would tell ourselves, as money grows on trees

  Initially we turned our new bought dairy farm to maize

  And planted willow shelter belts, which were the current craze

  With little work but harvesting the corn it was a breeze

  Life’s easy, we assured ourselves, as money grows on trees

  Then came the years of planting vines and training them to grow

  Along the wooden structures where we wanted them to go

  Although these times were lean and tough beneath our canopies

  We concentrated on our goal, when money grows on trees

  Finally the crops came in and year by dismal year

  Our costs increased and profits fell; we watched with mounting fear

  We still chased that elusive goal of wealth that was a tease

  We’ll get there in the end, we said, as money grows on trees

  Our goal it almost came in sight and then came Psa

  And costs increased again as gloom descended on the Bay

  So even though the poor cash flow has brought us to our knees

  We’re planting gold, as we’ve been told that money grows on trees

  Daisies, Daisies

  Daisies, daisies, opening with the dawn

  Drive me crazy growing up through the lawn

  I've sprayed them with Roundup daily

  But they keep flowering gaily

  I've tried a hoe

  But still they grow

  And I do wish that they were gone

  Mary Mary

  Mary, Mary quite unwary

  Planted some tiny seeds

  She found in shock

  She'd grown a dock

  A nightshade and inkweed

  Dilly Dilly

  Bindweed is blue dilly dilly

  Ivy is green

  So is the Wandering Willy, Willy

  Growing between

  Garden Club

  The garden club ladies sing this song

  Doo dah, doo dah

  Been on a garden gallop five miles long

  Oh do dah day

  Going to weed all night

  Going to weed all day

  I'll spend my money on the catalogue

  That came in the mail today

  Green Grows the Nightshade-O

  I'll sing you twelve-o

  Green grows the nightshade-o

  What is your twelve-o?

  Twelve for the fertiliser

  Eleven for the grass that grows so fast

  Ten for the cans of Roundup

  Nine for the nine bright dahlias

  Eight for the large umbrellas

  Seven for the seven blooms on the rose

  Six for the flower arrangers

  Five for the gumboots at your door

  Four for the compost makers

  Three, three the flowerpots

  Two, two the lily white hands grown so cracked and calloused-o

  One's a weed and not alone as all around it grows-o

  Many a Mickle Makes a Muckle

  McKenzie was a Scotsman and a canny one to boot

  He'd never spend a cent if he could somehow do withoot

  His orchard was an eyesore; when they passed McKenzie's place

  The neighbours sadly shook their heads and muttered, a disgrace!

  The vines were propped with bits of gutterpipe and fallen trees

  While Ma's big bloomers hung upon the wires to catch the breeze

  Below the vines a dozen sows would root and turn the ground

  While several scrawny chickens and a rooster hung around

  Too mean to spray insecticides, ditto for the weeds

  McKenzie claimed that soapy water was all one should need

  Come harvest time the whole McKenzie clan came marching in

  From baby with her bottle through to Granny with her gin

  Granny was a goer as she scuttled through the blocks

  Filling baby's pram with kiwifruit and pegging out her socks

  Grandpa was the yardman; he directed Sonny Jim

  At four years old
already he had learned to chalk a bin

  Big Wully pulled a konake with bins on down the track

  Meantime wee Agnes picked atop old Jed the donkey's back

  The auditor arrived and when he saw the waiting gang

  Croaked, Let's call it organic, as he left, a broken man

  The Agfirst blokes came round to test the fruit but supped instead

  Mac's latest brew which left them paralytic in the shed

  Ma baked scones with jam and cream, Fiona carried cups

  While Auntie Morag hauled an urn of tea to fill them up

  Uncle Rob helped Dougal heave the bins onto the tray

  Of the battered, rusty four by four McKenzie drove away

  Arriving at the pack shed, by his load he'd proudly stand

  The makings of a cigarette clutched in one grimy hand

  The fruit went through the shed; the graders were amazed to see

  Not only was it Y band it was all good quality

  The moral of this tale is clear; no matter what you spend

  It takes a canny Scot to come out better in the end

  Matter of Fact

  Oh, dear, what can the matter be?

  Everyone’s talking about G 9 and G 3

  Wanting to know what the future for both will be

  And if the share-out is fair

  They promised that housewives in overseas shops would

  Spend large on our fruit, that increasing our crops would

  Ensure that our orchards would make us a livelihood

  Now we are facing despair

  Oh, dear, what can the matter be?

  Psa’s proving a widespread catastrophe

  Europe is facing a shrinking economy

  Prices are down everywhere

  They promised that Hayward would prove quite resistant though

  Rumours of profits have proved inconsistent so

  Battling along with returns non-existent show

  All I can do now is swear

  My Favourite Things

  Raindrops and sunshine and still autumn weather

  Large gangs of pickers all working together

  Long rows of fruiting canes tied up with strings

  These are a few of my favourite things

  Tractors with new air-conditioning and heating

  Roadshows with cream cakes and comfortable seating

  Compost and earthworms and beehives in spring

  These are a few of my favourite things

  Large crop of fruit that keeps on growing fatter

  Sweet tasting fruit scoring high in dry matter

  Contractors coming as soon as I ring

  These are a few of my favourite things

  Drops in our dollar at overseas markets

  Exporters actually reaching their targets

  No sign of scale or the damage they bring

  These are a few of my favourite things

  When the price drops and the cash stops

  When I'm feeling sad

  I simply remember my favourite things

  Then I don't feel so bad

  Names

  You’d think that in a garden club

  The members’ names would show

  That they were named for plants

  And trees and other things that grow

  I’ll admit we have a Gardiner

  And one Iris standing tall

  But these are only two whose names

  Are any use at all

  Among our members there is not

  One Rose to blush unseen

  No Violets or Daisies

  Even Lilys have there been

  We’ve never had a Hyacinth

  A Hazel or a Daphne

  Poppy, Daffodil or Fleur

  Jasmine or Rosemary

  But none of us are Forrests

  Mrs Plant or Vine, indeed

  If my name was like my garden

  Then by rights it would be Weed

  Nellie the Puppy

  I used to have a garden, I don’t have one any more

  My secataurs and trowel lie abandoned on the floor

  The reason is a young and very friendly boxer pup

  Instead of weeding, now my exercise is sweeping up

  Nellie is a puppy with a tendency to chew

  She started with the sole from off my sturdy garden shoe

  Next she tore a box of cuttings slowly into shreds

  She munched the stem of Albertine that grew against the shed

  She gnawed a hole in two black gumboots left beside the door

  She joyfully ripped up my coat then looked around for more

  She tasted six pink rosebuds that she chewed from off the vine

  She found a bag of potting mix that tasted rather fine

  Next the chair upon the deck went crunch in Nellie’s jaws

  Followed by a garden stake she held between her paws

  Finally she ate a snail that crawled along the path

  Dug up all the vegetables and fell asleep at last

  On A Budget

  Two growers, Jim and Bob, met at the local RSA

  They'd gone there to enjoy a pint and chips

  Complaining of the added costs since finding PSA

  Jim said to Bob, Do you have any tips?

  Just look at what the pruning costs now, Jim said with a groan

  The contractor's price goes up every year.

  I gave up hiring contractors to do it on my own,

  Replied Bob, as he sadly sipped his beer.

  I spent a huge amount on buying plastic clips and ties

  And even more on litres of protectant

  Then there was the added cost I had to organise

  For washing tyres and boots with disinfectant.

  I bought plastic gloves for hygiene, plastic hats to cover hair

  And if all that was not enough I then

  Had to fork out for a supervisor for the workers there

  Plus new sets of secataurs for all the men.

  Then OSH did an inspection of my smoko room and said

  I must upgrade all my facilities

  With a wheelchair friendly bathroom and a ramp up to the shed

  For workers with impaired mobility!

  I had to purchase sunscreen for my workers next, Bob frowned

  To stop them getting cancer of the skin

  Then the workplace safety chappie saw the prunings on the ground

  And said I couldn't let the workers in.

  So I had to hire another blinking lot of men to go

  With a rake, in front, to clear the stuff away

  So my advice to you is give the contractor the dough

  As in the end, as growers we will pay.

  Running Out

  There was gloom behind the shelter belts

  That spread across the Bay

  With the advent of the dreaded

  Devastating Psa.

  The shrinking OGR for Green

  Was such an added blow

  That growers were unsure

  If they could tough it out, or go

  A group of growers chatted

  As they nursed their nightly pint

  The problem is sighed Andy

  That we’ll never get it right

  With fruit too big, too flat, too square,

  Too small, too few in seeds

  We barely make enough to cover

  All our basic needs

  I know we should be grafting

  And converting Green to Gold

  The trouble is I think by now

  We’re all too blinkin’ old

  If we were cars I reckon this

  Would surely be the time

  To get a newer model

  With a paint job that would shine

  My headlight’s out of focus, Tom agreed,

  And wryly smiled

  My traction’s gone to pot. It takes

  An hour to walk a mile

  My problem’s worse than that
, Joe grunted

  All my ball joints creak

  And every time I sneeze or cough

  My radiator leaks!

  Overheard at a Nursery

  Madam

  I saw your sign outside

  But I haven’t come to buy.

  Oh look, that rose is withered

  And it looks like it will die.

  Owner

  Deciduous it’s called my dear.

  They do it, don’t you know.

  It helps them to survive

  The winter wind, and frost and snow.

  Madam

  I guess that you know best

  But I’m afraid I cannot think

  How you can charge two dollars

  For a dried up piece of stick!

  These pink ones growing over here,

  They’re really very small.

  Surely you’re intending

  Not to charge for them at all?

  Owner

  Madam, it’s the cost you see

  Of potting mix and bags.

  Not to mention propagation

  Wages, spray and tags

  Madam

  Well, naturally I know that.

  But it surely wouldn’t hurt

  To give me some for free?

  I mean, it’s only plants and dirt.

  And do you make much money?

  It must be lovely fun

  To have a super lifestyle

  Growing roses in the sun.

  Owner

  Oh well, it’s just a hobby,

  We think it’s such a hoot.

  Normally I garden

  In my Yves St Laurent suit.

  Work? No no! We dabble,

  And the money rolls right in

  (I think I may have chipped a nail)

  Someone -pass the gin!

  Potty

  I have a little alcove

  By the door into the hall

  Where I thought I’d put a pot plant

  On a table by the wall

  I started with a Coleus

  Which promptly up and died

  So a green and luscious lily

  Was the next one that I tried

  A week was all it took

  To turn its toes up so I went

  And bought a tuberous begonia

  Which looked magnificent

  I gave it too much water

  Or I gave it too much light

  It looked good for a week

  Then drooped with collar rot and blight

  As I threw it out and drove back

  To the shop I gave a sigh

  Other people keep their plants inside

  So why can’t I?

  This time I carefully chose my plant

  And it still looks fantastic

  I’ve had it now for two whole years

  Because it’s made of plastic

  Proposal in a Chinese Garden

  It was late last week when I started to speak

  To Tipsy Imperial Concubine

  The delicate blush on her rosy cheek

  Inspired me to ask if she would be mine

  Alas, instead she tossed her head

  And said that our hearts could never entwine

  A lady she, so delicately

  Expressed her delight at my sentiments

  Unfortunately she could never be free

  Even though she accepted my compliments

  Compelled to stay and her charms display

  Her duty and beauty an ornament

  Roses

  I really don’t want to grow roses

  But I might plant Paulii by the shed

  I’ll cut out the fuschia beside the back fence

  And put in Blush Rambler instead

  I really don’t want to grow roses

  But I’ll put Madame Charles by the door

  And there where the archway is straddling the path

  I’ll probably put in one more

  I really don’t want to grow roses

  But there’s room for a Nestor or two

  In fact I could probably squeeze in some more

  And a Banksia Lutescens too

  I really don’t want to grow roses

  But in that bare spot by the wall

  Mutabilis you know would put on quite a show

  Where Goldfinch and Albertine sprawl

  I really don’t want to grow roses

  But I’ll put Hebe’s Lip by the gate

  I really don’t want to grow roses

  But as you can see – it’s too late!

  Super Zespri Man

  They were chatting at the Board

  'Cause the word had gone abroad

  That the ad campaign for kiwifruit was out

  From an overheard remark

  In the agency carpark

  Came an idea that was proving a knockout

  The concept wasn't new

  But they guaranteed it to

  Make our kiwifruit a winner overseas

  The ad guys cunning plan

  Was titled Super Zespri Man

  And the sight of him brought women to their knees

  He was muscled and disguised

  With a black mask round his eyes

  And the Zespri logo proudly on his chest

  The children were in awe

  And the customers soon saw

  That for heroes, Zespri fruit outdid the rest

  There were letters by the score

  There were faxes, calls and more

  All wanting his identity exposed

  They called for photos – in the buff

  Until the chairman cried enough!

  A parade of the employees was proposed

  The secretaries sent

  Correspondence which soon went

  To the shareholders inviting them by name

  To assemble at the Mount

  So that there could be no doubt

  That their hero truly warranted acclaim

  Mike from KGB was first

  Which gave rise to cries of mirth

  As they called out for the next man in the line

  The multitude all roared

  At the Chairman of the Board

  Where's Super Zespri Man? Stop wasting time

  Neill and Craig were soon dismissed

  By the crowd who booed and hissed

  Ray and Tony both got treatment much the same

  The crowd gave quite a hand

  To young Rosstan, fit and tanned

  Some were sure he was the one from the campaign

  But then Lain strolled slowly out

  And the gasps became a shout

  As he slowly peeled the shirt back from his chest

  The band struck up a tune

  And a dozen women swooned

  When they saw the Zespri logo on his vest

  The applause was long and loud

  From the wildly cheering crowd

  Between themselves the growers all agreed

  If anybody can

  It will be Super Zespri Man

  To improve our fortunes in this time of need

  The Bus Trip

  I went upon a bus trip with the garden club, to see

  Some very splendid gardens, it was quite a mystery

  We clambered over hills admiring ponds and flowerbeds

  Just look at that oxalis! Colleen said

  I went upon a bus trip with the garden club, we went

  To a very well stocked nursery where lots of cash was spent

  As we wandered round past pots of flowers in shades of green and red

  They’re trying to sell oxalis! Colleen said

  I went upon a bus trip with the garden club, you know

  We had a talk on how to bud a rose and make it grow

  One cottage garden had a rustic ivy covered shed

  It’s better than oxalis! Colleen said

  I went upon a bus trip with the garden club, and found

  That drought
was drying up and causing huge cracks in the ground

  Plants were wilting sadly and a lot of them were dead

  Except for the oxalis! Colleen said

  I went upon a bus trip with the garden club, and saw

  A grand old house; invited in, we all trooped through the door

  Happily we followed where our gracious hostess led

  That pot plant is oxalis! Colleen said

  I went upon a bus trip with the garden club, indeed

  I wish I could remember every plant and tree and seed

  But one thing I remember is the horror on her face

  When we said, next time we’ll visit Colleen’s place.

  The Elements

  Gentle zephyr, gusting breeze

  Tickling draughts that toss and tease

  Winds that puff and play

  Blasts and flurries chill and freeze

  Gales that bluster such as these

  Are sure to blight my day

  Canes are breaking all around

  Fruit are falling on the ground

  Littering each bay

  Inside, cringing at the sound

  Of tornados whirling round

  Imagine my dismay

  Artificial shelter shreds

  Roofs are ripped and blown from sheds

  And carried far away

  Grafted shoots are left for dead

  As I slowly shake my head

  My orchard I survey

  What with floods of pouring rain

  Hail and frost and hurricane

  My hair is turning grey

  Parching drought is here again

  It’s slowly driving me insane

  I need a holiday

  The First Day of Springtime

  On the first day of Springtime my true love gave to me

  Twelve rows for hoeing

  Eleven shrubs for growing

  Ten vines for trimming

  Nine buds for thinning

  Eight trees for pruning

  Seven pots for moving

  Six bulbs for feeding

  Five fingers bleeding

  Four packs of seeds

  Three compost heaps

  Two creaky knees

  And a large spade for digging up the weeds

  The Fishpond

  It was a wild and windy night

  The sky was cloudy grey

  On that moist and chilly evening

  Of a rainy winter’s day

  A waning moon and scattered stars

  Shone from the Milky Way

  The night that Grandpa fell into the fishpond

  Beside the gate the labrador

  Gave forth a joyful bark

  As Grandma’s blue Toyota

  By the driveway stopped to park

  Grandpa he approached the gateway

  Through the gloomy dark

  The night that Grandpa fell into the fishpond

  He strode out boldly on the grass

  Without a pause to think

  He blundered through the garden

  And teetered on the brink

  Finally with flailing arms

  He landed in the drink

  The night that Grandpa fell into the fishpond

  This mishap it occurred

  Within the blinking of an eye

  All Grandma heard from close behind

  Was one despairing cry

  As with the speed of Christian Cullen

  Running for a try

  Grandpa fell headfirst into the fishpond

  Bedecked with strands of water weed

  He floundered round and round

  Attempting to locate

  And climb out onto firmer ground

  While Grandma wailed and gnashed her teeth

  The edge he sought and found

  The night that Grandpa fell into the fishpond

  Running to the rescue

  Quickly Daddy shone a light

  Revealing to his startled eyes

  A sad and sorry sight

  Dripping water Grandpa croaked

  I’m really quite all right

  The night that Grandpa fell into the fishpond

  To prevent another mishap

  Before Dad went to sleep

  He put a bright and shining light

  Beside the gate to keep

  A lighted path so next time

  Grandpa looks before he leaps

  And doesn’t join the fish inside the fishpond

  The Friendship Garden

  I have a friendship garden that began a year ago

  When my best friend gave me a cutting of a rose to grow

  I popped it in a little patch of earth that I scraped bare

  My next door neighbour called with some sweet peas to put in there

  I admired some pelargoniums when visiting an aunt

  She quickly gathered cuttings plus some daffodils to plant

  I mentioned over coffee to another friend I saw

  That I did love her daylilies, so she promptly gave me four

  The butcher’s wife gave me some herbs, she said she had a lot

  So I added thyme and rosemary and spearmint to my plot

  My sister loved begonias, she passed me on some corms

  Plus a seedling jacaranda which I planted by the lawn

  The RD lady handed me a succulent one day

  She'd found beside the roadside of a garden down the way

  My husband proudly handed me a large camellia tree

  He'd purchased for my birthday from the local nursery

  By now my garden was indeed a blooming lovely sight

  With flowers of purple, pink and blue and yellow, cream and white

  I thought my garden wonderful but then it started seeding

  And now I wish my friends would call and help me with the weeding

  The Green Growers’ Blues

  A group of growers met one day

  For coffee and a natter

  The topic of their talk was how

  To increase their dry matter

  A snake oil salesman came to town

  Dressed in designer gear

  He claimed his product would improve

  Dry matter year by year

  The growers rushed around him

  With their wallets in their hands

  And soon snake oil was copiously

  Spread upon the land

  Alas the snake oil didn’t work

  So much to their dismay

  The growers turned to someone else

  To find another way

  A contractor came driving up

  With fingers ringed in gold

  He said, Trust me and I’ll increase

  Your orchard work fourfold

  We’ll cut off all the growing tips

  And girdle trunks in fall

  The dry matter will go up

  Though your fruit won’t size at all

  But won’t that kill the vines? the growers asked

  Came the reply

  By then I’ll be retired and rich

  So let the blighters die!

  Alas the pruning didn’t work

  So much to their dismay

  The growers turned to someone else

  To find another way

  Then up strode a consultant

  Smartly dressed in suit and tie

  He said, I’ve never grown the things

  But that’s no reason why

  I cannot sell you my advice

  Now, don’t put on urea

  In summer or you’ll find you have

  A low dry matter year

  The growers were impressed by this

  They said, He must have brains

  For he sits inside an office

  While we work out in the rain

  This didn’t work despite the huge

  Amount they had to pay

  The growers turned to someone else

  To find another way

  The fe
rtilizer man came by

  In his imported car

  Buy plenty of my hogwash

  As it is the best by far

  By now the grower’s wallets

  Were considerably thinner

  But they bought up drums of hogwash

  Which they thought would be a winner

  The fertilizer didn’t work

  So much to their dismay

  The growers turned to someone else

  To find another way

  Let’s try the scientific bods

  They’re paid to do the tests

  What’s the reason some of us

  Do better than the rest?

  The scientists cried, Sorry guys

  There really is no reason

  We cannot test and find a fix

  Within one growing season

  No matter what they tried

  The growers’ efforts were in vain

  The marketers gave great rewards

  That only some would gain

  So the growers phoned the marketers

  And said, It can’t be done

  We’ve tried out products, techniques

  And advice from everyone

  The marketing chaps shrugged and laughed

  It doesn’t worry us

  Our jobs are safe. We don’t know why

  You’re making such a fuss

  Forget about dry matter, guys

  As that was last year’s plan

  We’ll have a new campaign next year

  So try this if you can

  Green is out and blue is in

  For this we’ll do a test

  We’ll sample every seventh fruit

  And throw away the rest’

  The growers queried,