Author Archives: The Manic Gardener

There have been intimations (ahem, VP) that the Dueling Bloggers might be willing to lay down arms or banjos. Nothing could be further from the truth. As to the suggestion that I, Kate of The Manic Gardener, An Organic Gardening Blog with Twisted Roots–and no, I don’t want to explain that name at the moment–am ready to beat a retreat, I laugh–ha ha!–and point out that it is James who has just "gone away," as he would put it, though fled would be nearer the truth.

For those of you who stumble, bewildered, upon one of the posts about this ongoing international dispute and who seek an even-handed account of its origins (i.e. you want to know what the hell is going on), good luck. If you find one, let me know. In the meantime, you’ll have to settle for my version, a soon-to-be-available-page on this  blog that lists all the relevant posts in order. If I’m miss ing any, tell me. (It tells you something about this dispute that you have to rely on a page that doesn’t yet exist, assembled by one of the main antagonists, to get any information at all.)

With apologies to James, Fred Astaire, all poets, the Thames, and anyone who cares about the English language, I offer the following poetical compositions for your reading pleasure:

                    I.
A blogger named Black-hearted James
for his sins was once tossed in the Thames;
    If you say, “That don’t rhyme,
    And me grammar’s just fine,”
You can join in his deep-water games.

                II.
The garden of James A.-Sinclair
Could out-tapdance bland Fred Astaire
    throw its hats in the air,
    toss its shirts everywhere,
And flower its socks off—what flair!

                    III.
There once was a blogger from Blackpitts
Whose flowers all suffered from sock-fits;
    When they bloomed they exploded
    (It seems they were loaded)
And tossed their socks skyward in cloth bits.

                    IV.
For crimes against Kate, Blackguard James
Deserved to be flung in the Thames.
    Said she, “Keep ‘im dry;
    If he’s wet he won’t fry—
What a waste of hell’s hottest flames.”

                    V.
James Alexander-Sinclair?
Last heard of, his garden was bare.
    It flowered its socks off,
    ‘till cops had to block off
The street, and a curfew declare.

                    VI.
A sniveling blackguard named James
Once crossed one of Montana’s dames:
    She wanted to shoot ‘im,
    But settled for hootin’
and hollering, “Them’s all false claims!”

First things first: When I went to Benjamin’s blog to get the URL for the link below, I discovered that today is his wedding anniversary, so, Happy Anniversary, Benjamin and Jackie!

Last week for Garden Blogger’s Muse Day, one of my favorite blogs, The Deep Middle — a title I find allusive and alluring, curiously abstract for all the simple geometry of its two main words — turned up with a poem by Tom Wayman, one of my favorites. Reading it brought back to mind the poem below, which indirectly says a lot about why I garden and why my gardening focuses on vegetables. Since I seem unable to put on a pair of shoes these days, much less a sock, without spreading controversy across several oceans, it’s not surprising that this poem is political and will probably raise some hackles.

Continue reading →