The Gardener & Aerial

The gardener

He's quiet solid
built like a wooden carving
tanned from toil and sunlight
gentle as a shrub 
and the lick of thyme
and mint is on him
like the soil stuck to his bum
and his Cardigan drawl
humble 
but a wit as sharp as 
secateurs
he has two degrees
but gardening is what he does
and does it best
he doesn't go mad
or try to kill himself
through work
he plods along like a rock
or rhodedendron
bush
and I wish that I could be more
and be more like him
quiet and respectful
of time
and jolly in the face of a thinning
hairline
he even bought me several pints
talked of my Mamgu
how she'd tend her plants
and he would stand there
marvelling
even he could not keep that chaos in line
how I loved that jolly gardener of mine

Aerial

How do we compromise
with a relentless wind
a torrent of noise
frequency tangent and sheer gaseous volume
how do we rein her in
do we bolt the door
beat down the cellar hatches
do we stick to the floor
or do we put out weather balloons
erect wind socks
and build more aerial towers
to take measure of the incoming wave
develop wings for our craft
learn to ride its tide
dip in to and out of currents
and keep her on our side