Spring Days Want To Stay

Colors vibrant of purple grape to delft blue

wild hyacinths have popped all anew

under the dogwood tree and red twinged brush

amongst the fresh green grass so plush.

Too warm to be wet snowflakes gathering

fluttering cherry blossoms are what cold winds bring

with every moment and each subsequent spring day

comes bearing hope between the clouds, those sunrays.

Anna Marie Gall April 18, 2022

My black-out poem won 1st Place in 2022 Flapper Press’ Valentine Poetry Challenge. https://www.flapperpress.com/post/the-flapper-press-cafe-valentine-blackout-poetry

My delicious lover,

thyme for sugar

and creamy butter.

Stir in love,

sifted, powdered,

share the balm.                                                                                                           

Pour fresh glaze

from the beginning

to the ending.

Living, loving,

you are as good as you look.

Anna Marie Gall January 22, 2022


Fresh sprouts of pea green.
Greens dot the trees on the slopes.
Clover green. 
Emerald green.
Green green.
Olive green.
Mustard green.
Lime green.
Wake up earth to spring green!

Anna Marie Gall
March 30, 2021

Song by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Stay, stay at home, my heart, and rest;
Home-keeping hearts are happiest,
For those that wander they know not where
Are full of trouble and full of care;
       To stay at home is best.

Weary and homesick and distressed,
They wander east, they wander west,
And are baffled and beaten and blown about
By the winds of the wilderness of doubt;
       To stay at home is best.

Then stay at home, my heart, and rest;
The bird is safest in its nest;
O’er all that flutter their wings and fly
A hawk is hovering in the sky;
       To stay at home is best.

Narcissus Jonquilla

The Flower at My Window by Lucian B. Watkins

O! my heart now feels so cheerful as I go with footsteps light
In the daily toil of my dear home;
And I’ll tell to you the secret that now makes my life so bright—
There’s a flower at my window in full bloom.
It is radiant in the sunshine, and so cheerful after rain;
And it wafts upon the air its sweet perfume.
It is very, very lovely! May its beauties never wane—
This dear flower at my window in full bloom.
Nature has so clothed it in such glorious array,
And it does so cheer our home, and hearts illume;
Its dear mem’ry I will cherish though the flower fade away—
This dear flower at my window in full bloom.
Oft I gaze upon this flower with its blossoms pure and white.
And I think as I behold its gay costume,
While through life we all are passing may our lives be always bright
Like this flower at my window in full bloom.


Let It Be Forgotten by Sara Teasdale

Let it be forgotten, as a flower is forgotten,
Forgotten as a fire that once was singing gold,
Let it be forgotten for ever and ever,
Time is a kind friend, he will make us old.

If anyone asks, say it was forgotten
Long and long ago,
As a flower, as a fire, as a hushed footfall
In a long forgotten snow.


There Will Come Soft Rains by Sara Teasdale  (War Time)

There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;
And frogs in the pools singing at night,
And wild plum trees in tremulous white,
Robins will wear their feathery fire
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;
And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.
Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree
If mankind perished utterly;
And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,
Would scarcely know that we were gone.


Spring Morning by Marion Strobel

O day—if I could cup my hands and drink of you,
And make this shining wonder be
A part of me!
O day! O day!
You lift and sway your colors on the sky
Till I am crushed with beauty. Why is there
More of reeling sunlit air
Than I can breathe? Why is there sound
In silence? Why is a singing wound
About each hour?
And perfume when there is no flower?
O day! O Day! How may I press
Nearer to loveliness?


Fallen acorns gather

in crevices still brushed with green.

Morn arrives later

while the sunset glows golden.

Amber bursts sky blue

before autumn paints the trees.

Anna Marie Gall

September 13, 2019

Philadelphia Alley Charleston South Carolina

Summer stroll silence held

alleys of corals pinks greens

textured plush alcoves

Anna Marie Gall

June 28, 2019

Charleston, SC



“She wished she had a little yellow house of her own, with a flower box full of real flowers and herbs –pansies and rosemary – and a sweet lover who would swing dance with her in the evenings and cook pasta and read poetry aloud.” ~ Francesca Lia Block

“I pray, what flowers are these? The pansy this, O, that’s for lover’s thoughts.” ~ George Chapman

“Poetry is a mystic, sensuous mathematics of fire, smoke-stacks, waffles, pansies, people, and purple sunsets.” ~ Carl Sandburg


“I find a recipe is only a theme, which an intelligent cook can play each time with a variation.” ~ Madame Jehane Benoit


“Summer set lip to earth’s bosom bare, and left the flushed

Poppies_in_the_Sunset_on_Lake_Geneva print in a poppy there.” ~ Francis Thompson



Soft subtle snow

whispers winter overnight

Santa angel peers

Anna Marie Gall

December 23, 2017


“The normal food of man is vegetable.” ~ Charles Darwin


“Involve myself with a patch of ground in that real world of humanity does not live by books alone. Even a little bit of gardening reminded me that labor informs the self as nothing else can … If we develop wonder, enjoy it, and follow its promptings, our wants will be fewer and our needs plainer.”  ~ Stephanie Mills


Blinking stars fill dusk

light the field of purple haze

a million fireflies 

Anna Marie Gall

June 16, 2016


“RED GERANIUMS” by Martha Haskell Clark
Life did not bring me silken gowns,
Nor jewels for my hair,
Nor signs of gabled foreign towns
In distant countries fair,
But I can glimpse, beyond my pane, a green and friendly hill,
And red geraniums aflame upon my window sill.

The brambled cares of everyday,
The tiny humdrum things,
May bind my feet when they would stray,
But still my heart has wings
While red geraniums are bloomed against my window glass,
And low above my green-sweet hill the gypsy wind-clouds pass.

And if my dreamings ne’er come true,
The brightest and the best,
But leave me lone my journey through,
I’ll set my heart at rest,
And thank God for home-sweet things, a green and friendly hill,
And red geraniums aflame upon my window sill.


Echoed church bell chimes
Urban violence stirs dust
Bang bang bullets hit

Bang bang bullets warn
Womp womp whirly birds circle
When you know the whole

Justice will come forth
It becomes clear why such force
Echoed church bell chimes
Anna Marie Gall
August 10, 2014


Wispy feathers grace
golden eye with black shadows
hides behind hat brim

Anna Marie Gall
June 17, 2014


Sundog prism peers
Forecasted this windy cold night
Howling at the moon

Anna Marie Gall
January 17, 2014


Perfectly round moon
White spotlight brilliantly bright
Life’s dance before thee

Anna Marie Gall
January 17, 2014


Vines withered, harvest gourds
gather together autumn porch
vintage bench, red leaves.

Anna Marie Gall
November 6, 2013


Aglow crimson red
gold orange green-laced cooper
willow weeps winter.

Anna Marie Gall
November 6, 2013


“There is no ‘The End’ to be written, neither can you, like an architect, engrave in stone the day the garden was finished; a painter can frame his picture, a composer notate his coda, but a garden is always on the move.” ~ Mirabel Osler


“We have learned that more of the “earth-earthiness” would solve our social problems, remove many isms from our vocabulary, and purify our art. And so we often wish that those who interpret life for us by pen or brush would buy a trowel and pack of seeds.” ~ Ruth R. Blodgett


“Nothing is more the child of art than a garden.” ~ Sir Walter Scott


“For man, autumn is a time of harvest, of gathering together. For nature, it is a time of sowing, of scattering abroad.” ~ Edwin Way Teale


“Winter dies into the spring, to be born again in the autumn.” ~ Terri Guillemets


“Love the trees until their leaves fall off, then encourage them to try again next year.” ~ Chad Sugg


Blackberry Eating by Galway Kinnell
I love to go out in late September
among the fat, overripe, icy, black blackberries
to eat blackberries for breakfast,
the stalks very prickly, a penalty
they earn for knowing the black art
of blackberry-making; and as I stand among them
lifting the stalks to my mouth, the ripest berries
fall almost unbidden to my tongue,
as words sometimes do, certain peculiar words
like strengths or squinched,
many-lettered, one-syllabled lumps,
which I squeeze, squinch open, and splurge well
in the silent, startled, icy, black language
of blackberry — eating in late September.


Earth maken new life ~
Worm underneath sprouts of green
Orange breast robin feast.

Anna Marie Gall
March 19, 2013


“Humankind has not woven the web of life. We are but one thread within it. Whatever we do to the web, we do to ourselves. All things are wound together. All things connect.” ~ Chief Seattle


The woods begin to vibrate with gathering and preparation. 

The sounds so crisp, electric.

Her words were “I felt the air change today.”

Red, orange, yellow, green, brown.

They dance while falling.

A choreographed waltz.

Every year she said “I felt the air change today.”

Beautiful, breathtaking, loyal.

The Canvas.

I think I felt the air change today.

~Rachel Leigh Phelps Dickus~


~”Even in a time of elephantine vanity and greed, one doesn’t have to look far to see the campfires of gentle people.” ~ Garrison Keillor


~”Morning is the best of all times in the garden. The sun is not yet hot. Sweet vapors rise from the earth. Night dew clings to the soil and makes plants glisten. Birds call to one another. Bees are already at work.” ~ Emily Dickinson


“Gardeners , like everyone else, live second by second and minute by minute. What we see at one particular moment is then and there before us. But there is a second way of seeing. Seeing with the eye of memory, not the eye of our anatomy, calls up days and seasons past and years gone by.”
– Allen Lacy, The Gardener’s Eye, 1992, p. 16


“A waist is a terrible thing to mind.”


“I kiss better than I cook.”


“Today is the tomorrow you worried about yesterday.”


“Wine is bottled poetry.”



Our lives are like seashells in the sand. 

Arranged on a palette, seemingly haphazardly.  

A beautiful seascape with the ocean, sun, wind,

and sparkling sands highlighting.

Small, significant, striped, or speckled shells.

Ridged, in the rough, raw, reckless, and ruffled.

Omnipresent, opaque, oval, and an oyster’s home.

 Is your life smooth sailing right now? 

Or does it feel hollow echoing sounds,  

reminders of voices from the past? 

Storms interrupting life?

There is a Pearl awaiting discovery.

Anna Marie Gall – April 2, 2012


“My life is like a stroll on the beach, as near the ocean’s edge as I can go.”  Henry David Thoreau


¬ Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul, and sings the tune without the words, and never stops at all. ¬      Emily Dickinson


“Hem your blessings with thankfulness so they don’t unravel.”


My Haiku poem …

Christmas brunch awaits;

Lavender cream scones, ham quiche,

with cranberry juice red.

Anna Marie Gall – December 22, 2011


An Old Man’s Winter Night
by Robert Frost

All out-of-doors looked darkly in at him
Through the thin frost, almost in separate stars,
That gathers on the pane in empty rooms.
What kept his eyes from giving back the gaze
Was the lamp tilted near them in his hand.
What kept him from remembering what it was
That brought him to that creaking room was age.
He stood with barrels round him—at a loss.
And having scared the cellar under him
In clomping there, he scared it once again
In clomping off;—and scared the outer night,
Which has its sounds, familiar, like the roar
Of trees and crack of branches, common things,
But nothing so like beating on a box.
A light he was to no one but himself
Where now he sat, concerned with he knew what,
A quiet light, and then not even that.
He consigned to the moon—such as she was,
So late-arising—to the broken moon
As better than the sun in any case
For such a charge, his snow upon the roof,
His icicles along the wall to keep;
And slept. The log that shifted with a jolt
Once in the stove, disturbed him and he shifted,
And eased his heavy breathing, but still slept.
One aged man—one man—can’t keep a house,
A farm, a countryside, or if he can,
It’s thus he does it of a winter night.


“In our family an experience was not finished, not truly experienced, unless written down or shared with another.” – Anne Morrow Lindbergh



There is restlessness in my spirit as the days go on …

A bud sprouted, green shoots reach for sunlight.

And my leaves continue to be watered reaching to the depths of my deep roots…

My father and mother taught me simple living as a child.

Life is in the earth, sky, and God.

Watch the soil, weather, and plant life as a vigil.

Forecast the weather by the song birds, the family dog, and the sun dog in the sky.

Baby plants smile in their prepared beds.

The winds bring much reprieve from the summer heat or the destruction of an heirloom apple tree.

Seedlings sigh in relief as the choking weeds are uprooted.

Morning baths promise green life through the scorching afternoons.

Stars gaze at dusk to tell the time.

And night time clouds tell whether a frost settles to the earth before dawn.

Winter snows create beds of life to be seen with spring.

A farmer’s tales are gold nuggets of truth and wisdom to this spirit.

My roots swell and reach deeper with each day on this farm.

I am a farmer, my spirit now hears the call …

 Anna Marie Gall

aka  Anna Banana

EarthDance Farms Apprentice

July 23, 2011

5 responses »

  1. Anna I started reading the Vigil and I knew it was your words before I even saw your name at the end. Brought back many many memories. I have always loved the beauty of nature. I love to grow and tend to my flowers and plants….it calms my spirit and brings such peace to me. I know where I learned that love and I will always be grateful. 🙂

    • Laura,
      Your words have touched me deep in my heart.
      There are so many things we do as a person, and never seem to understand how we influence others. As children, we are so impressionable. I am happy you have found peace in nature as my father did, and I continue to. Two brief times in our childhood you lived with us, and your Uncle Marty, my father had an opportunity to teach you. I love you, cousin Laura. {:D

  2. Pingback: Word and Plant Gardens | Deanna Greens and Garden Art

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