Written by Susan Lane

I’m just an old garden bench

I came here from another place
All battered and worn
I looked a disgrace
But that was only surface, you see.
Nothing to shout about
It didn’t worry me

I spent so many happy years there
Until my owners died and went away
Now I’m enjoying a different life
Almost like one of her strays.
But I actually like it over here

Not that it’s all partying
And good cheer
It’s just different
From what it used to be
And it’s a little too noisy for me
With next doors’ Cockatoo

Shouting quite merrily
When her owner drops in for food
And a glass of something sparkling
She squawks and screeches

She’s so pleased to see
Her female owner
I get quite fed up
Because I keep wishing, please.
Go away but that’s not to be

Garden Bench and the Cockatoo . . .

You know what really bothers me
It hasn’t got a volume control
So, you can’t turn it down
Just before you have a sleep.

I’m quite close
To where that bird seems to be
And I like the protection
Of the huge shrubbery

I’ve been broken and,
Unsuccessfully, repaired
Several times before
Throughout these past few years
But I know the score

It doesn’t really matter because
They don’t ever sit on me
No-one really cares. 
Because it’s inherited, you see
It’s not like they actually
Chose to buy me

Because I’m slightly broken
And they might land on the floor
They obviously
Don’t want to blame me
For chucking them off and
Making them sore
So, I’m still here.
Happy but a bit bored

And I’m still enjoying this garden
I watch the comings and goings
Of all that nature has provided for me
The birds, the bees, the squirrels

And the wretched flies,
Which are only there because
Of the cattle I don’t see
The local foxes and the cats,
They all pop along
To see me

Aged Bench . . .

The old geriatric who looks a bit odd
In this garden scene ColourMine has got lots
Of photo shots, without me,
I think she must be ashamed
To let me be seen.

Everyone comes to join in the throng
The shrubs and the trees, 
They come along
Then when they’re finished
And it’s time to go
One morning we wake up
And they’re a no-show.

Hopefully, I can stay because although
I may be old and really low
A garden bench
Actually helps everything flow
Now it looks like I may be
Staying because the lady of the house
Appears to have another use for me

She writes poetry you see
And inspiration strikes
Whenever she looks at me
Mulling all that has been
And pondering all that could be
Knowing in the evening
If she sits quietly
The bats can be seen

She remembers all the times gone by
Things that she has seen
When the sun came out
On display to enable the
Kids play and hide
And have a game of eye spy

Now the season has changed to winter again
And life is not so full of cheer;
I’m getting cold and damp
She trimmed all the bushes
Last month and therefore
I’m not quite so sheltered here
It’s turning quite chilly
For the time of year

But I’m not complaining
Oh, no, my dear
I’m just an old garden bench
And I absolutely love
This place I’m in now
Is far more secluded
Than where I was
This time last year, brrrr

© Susan Lane. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form without prior written permission from the author.

ColourMine poetry, and the original photographs, are completely authentic to myself, Susan Lane – no AI, no plagiarism, all checked and verified by copyleaks

Apologies for the emoji presentation – I tested several, but this was the only one that worked reliably on ColourMine. Just click the box next to the emoji and hit submit, and I’ll know if the poem resonated with you. Thank you for sharing your feelings.

More poems written by Susan Lane, and you can choose by category

Blog | Organic voice | A happy survival of triumph here

Speak freely, ColourMine and myself will be pleased to hear from you.