The Garden Plot

‘What’s at the end of the garden,’

I would ask my Lisa May,

Each time she came through the garden gate

With that look of pure dismay.

She’d shake her head, ‘It’s the garden bed,

Overrun with weeds and toads,

I’ve said before we should move it more

Away from the old crossroads.’

It didn’t seem to be logical 

To remove a garden bed,

‘What difference, if it goes east or west,’

Is what I plainly said.

But Lisa May was intractable 

With her fixed ideas and views,

She said she hated the crossroads that

Still ran beside the mews.

I never used to accompany her

I’m not a gardening man,

I tend to let it run riot as

It does, in nature’s plan.

But Lisa wanted to tame it, by

Applying stakes and rules,

To straighten this and align with that,

She’s one of nature’s fools.

I never took her too seriously,

She’d come back and complain,

‘Those toadstools seem to be spreading from

The vermin in the lane.’

I didn’t know there was vermin so

I said that I’d take a look,

Reluctant, as I was always but

I sighed, put down my book.

We made our way down the garden, and

I noticed that there were toads,

Their croaking seemed to be loudest 

From the site of the old crossroads,

And toadstools clustered around the base

Of an ancient weathered post,

As I heard a sound that came from the ground

Like when a victim chokes.

‘The mud there seems to be heaving,’ said

My naive Lisa May,

She didn’t know that the post had been

A gallows in its day.

And felons, hung for a week or so

Were buried at its base,

I hadn’t dared to reveal it or

We’d never have bought the place.

‘The land’s a little unstable here,

I see just what you mean,

Perhaps we can move the garden bed

To the other side of the green.’

But Lisa May wasn’t hearing me

For she stood stock still in shock,

She was staring down at the muddy ground

At what I’d thought was a rock.

‘That’s not a rock, but a skull,’ she cried,

And I must admit, it’s true,

That skull rose up of a killer

Buried in 1822.

Then Lisa May, who screamed and ran,

Now leaves the garden alone,

So nature’s riot has run amok

And the grave is overgrown.

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[Lady Lola]

You just recorded every gardeners worst nightmare! Digging up human remains...
Having your garden at the site of the former local gallows is a good reason for some strange things to be going on on your property. There must be some seriously disturbing atmosphere in a place like that.
A very gripping work and lyrically it is as beautiful as ever; a wonderful poem, David.

[TPK Stories]

Nice twist to the ending...well written...

[Jordan]

You amaze me at how you make dark things seem so bright and cheerful. Even with skulls bubbling around it just seems like an ordinary sunny day. Or maybe I'm just an odd sort.

As always, I loved it!

[andrew mitchell]

A lovely sinister tale told so well David lol I bet the veges were grand with blood and bone lol!

[R Smith]

excellent poem, almost a historic novel in a funny way, not the best place to plant a bed I'd say :) You always have that extra ace up your sleeve David, always a superb ending :)

[Barbz]

To good for a review, except to say that your imagination is beyond compare, and it's rhyme, Metre and diversity is incomparable , as well! Thanx for your magical contribution to this Art. Barbz

[Valentine]

Have to laugh out loud at the ending. This was really well written. Not many women would want to tend to a garden. A flower garden perhaps, but a gallows pole and a skull. WHEW...where do these ides come from.
Good one. Valentine