A Curious Day at the Garden

Fantasy - Uhm. A bit?
Maturity - None, really.

This poem doesn't really flow at all, it makes no sense, it may not rhyme, it's confusing, and it's wierd... But I am posting it anyways...

A Curious Day at the Garden

I walked out of the house with a chore to do,
Ignoring the colorful trees of fall.
I frowned because I had reason to,
It wasn’t a very bad chore, though – picking the weeds – that’s all.

I walked down to my garden to take out any weeds.
But found myself walking much longer than usual-
But, finally, I found myself on the path to which the garden it leads.

Inside my little garden, among the flowers which grew.
I saw a funny man wearing only one shoe.
I raised an eyebrow and started to stare.
Remembering he was a stranger, I said, “Who’s there?”

“Is he now?” the man replied, sounding quite shocked.
“I thought I left him back at home, sitting on a wooden block.
And before I left – I made sure from the outside I locked!”

“Who are you talking about?” I asked him, very confused.
“Who, of course!” The man replied, as though it made much sense.
I looked around and saw that the flowers looked amused.

I forgot about Who immediately and asked with great surprise,
“Is it just me, or do the flowers have faces which I can see?”
The man replied, “To say ‘it’s just me’ would be another one of your lies.”

“Another?” I cried, not knowing what he meant.
“That’s what I said,” he simply answered.
“I’ve never lied,” I said with pride, “Not when I’ve spoken, or in the letter’s I’ve sent.”

“You lied again!” he declared in mild dismay.
“What have I lied about, then?” I said, starting to get mad.
“‘I’ve never lied’.” He mimicked, “Now, is that true? Nay.”

“That could be true, you know!” I said, defensively,
“You never gave an example of a downright lie I’ve said.
So, to believe you – just say a proved lie I’ve said to me.”

“Well,” he said with dignity, “You lied about Who being there.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I replied.
“Oh, are you denying it?” he asked, “Do you dare?”

I rolled my eyes, quite rudely, I might add.
“Nevermind,” I had given up the fight.
“I just need to pick weeds before my mother gets mad.”

“Weeds?” The flowers cried out, and jumped up in fright,
“A weed in a garden?” the man clicked his tongue, “That’s just not right.”
“Well, of course not!” I said to him, though it was not him I looked at, but the flowers.
“That’s why I’m picking them all before the end of tonight.”

“Tonight?” the man asked her,
“Well, that’s an awfully long time to work.”
He whistled loudly and then yelled in a slur,
“Mackenzie of York!”

“What are you doing?” I asked the man.
“Calling Mackenzie (of York) to pull the weeds, of course.”
“Well, he must put the weeds in a dish – or pan.
“It’s lots of work, and he may get tired from using so much force.”

“Pish, posh,” the man said in a silly voice, like a little boy.
“Mackenzie’s strong and get’s work done fast.
He’ll be in and out quickly – unless you let him play with a toy.”

Mackenzie came as quick as quick could be.
And quick can be very fast, indeed.
So Mackenzie made it there half the time it took me.
He wrinkled up his nose in distaste when he saw each and every weed.

“Am I to pick all of these?” he said, looking at them all.
“Now, don’t be silly, Mackenzie,” the man said,
“Just pick the ones that are short or tall.”

Mackenzie looked around again, seeing they all were short or tall.
“So,” he began again, “I’m to pick them all?”
“I already told you!” the man said, his patience growing thin,
“Get on with it, Mackenzie, so you can be done before din!”

I started to the man, “Sir,
“maybe I should do this work – I was asked to after all.”
The man ignored me, taking something out of his coat.
What he pulled out was a rubber ball.

“Give this to Mackenzie when he’s done.”
“But-” I started, but was cut off.
“It’d be rude not to give him something for pulling weeds in the hot sun.”

Before I could put in another word, the man was sauntering away.
I sat on the ground, putting my head in my hands.
Should I shoo Mackenzie away before I had to pay?

Mackenzie finished before I could decide and I handed him the rubber ball.
He played with it for a few hours, making him stay for awhile.
When he was finally gone, I went back home, admiring the trees of fall.
Thinking of the crazy day’s events- I had to smile.


^I think this poem is sort of crazy, but whenever I imagine the story in my head - I actually like it and understand it. So... I'm not delusional! I have a whole storyline in my head and this poem is sort of a... really bad way of telling the story. Haha.

Awesome! Haha, it's so random. xD

This reminded me of Alice in Wonderland when she sees that caterpillar. Awesome poem, Sophie!

I love it! xD I don't know why, but poems like these are always so entertaining.

Ratty - Thanks. Baha, I know right?

Foreign- Thank you (: I just finished rereading Through the Looking-Glass, so I probably got inspired by Alice in Wonderlandish poems.

Shadow - Thank you! I love story poems.
Silly story poems, to be exact. -nods-

This is awesome- entertaining, too. Nice Job, Sophie!

Ave wrote:This is awesome- entertaining, too. Nice Job, Sophie!

Thank you very much, Ave! (: