Poems of Garden Gnomes

Poetic Path


My poetic journey is nearing its seventh year mark. It began as my fingers walked over the keyboard, composing the first entry on my shiny new blog. I was surprised more than anyone when what my eyes saw forming on the screen was more like poetry than prose. I suppose the poetic words that danced in my head as a child were always there inside, but decades of dormancy were ended that day (as I sat with my laptop in a waiting room for jurors). My words have since Whirl’d me on a poetic path through gardens and cyber pubs, down poetic streets and back again. And I will be forever grateful for the friends (nay, family) I’ve met along the way.

celebrating words
by writing even more words ~
my poetry blooms

P. Wanken

 Shared at Poems of Garden Gnomes

Work To Live


Each day spent here on the seventh floor, surrounded by paper and pens, it’s only my mind that wanders on a journey, past my potted plant and kitty tchotchkes, while my derriere stays firmly planted in a chair. Through the window I wander past the empty corner office across from me (one floor down) and out into the sun-filled street below to the adventures that await.

the places I could go
were it not for the job I need
to pay for it

P. Wanken

 Shared at Poems of Garden Gnomes

Autumnal Equinox


The page has turned to pumpkin spice this-or-that, yet my feet take me to where my mind wanders when the long hot days shorten into crisp night air. Strolling through markets and malls, my eyes dance over the wares, my fingers lingering on the flannels and fleece that forecast the days to come. Items are added to my virtual list for the nice, and even the naughty (they are not exempt from Mrs. C’s list). My mind’s eye sees the wrapping and ribbons, and tags printed just so. Delivering these items to family and friends is a joy, but the planning and anticipation is a journey that feeds my soul.

fall window shopping
puts extra pep in my step
-ping toward Christmas

P. Wanken

 Shared at Poetic Asides and Poems of Garden Gnomes

Captain Black


As his scent
lingered in the air
long after
her heart and home were wrapped in
memories of him.

P. Wanken

 Shared at Poems of Garden Gnomes.


I remember smelling my grandpa’s pipe long after he passed. I’m not 100% certain that Captain Black tobacco was what he used, but my very distant memory recalls the tin shown here.