Return to homepage

MORE SHUGBOROUGH GARDEN POEMS

This is a selection of entries from the Shugborough Garden Poem competition.

Caitlin Muir (age 5)

Gardens are great
Ants live in gardens
Roses are red
Dragonflies hover over the pond
Eggs in the blackbirds
Nasturshums are colourful!
I love my garden

Charlie Sant (age 11)

My Garden

Swaying, swaying, in the summers breeze.
Dancing, dancing, just like the trees.
Hear, hear, the whistling wind.
I look, I look, at these wonderful things.
I smell, I smell, the lovely flowers.
I could touch, I could touch, for hours and hours.
I look, I look at these wonderful things

Cliff Denton

The gardens of Paradise

And you shall walk in gardens, God’s true prophet said;
Among the shrubs and flowers in a place where Angels tread.
And there shall flow cool rivers through the Gardens of Delight;
And there shall be sweet blossoms aglow with radiant light.

And you shall learn that God’s true prophet told;
The gift of joy of gardens, as did the men of old.
And you shall know the beauty in a place there is no vice;
For the Holy Koran will tell you of God’s ‘Garden Paradise’.

In Allah’s wondrous gardens; the gardeners work with joy,
The flowers there don’t wither nor ever fade and die.
And the beauty of your garden is part of life’s great plan;
For the path of life is outlined in God’s Divine Koran.

Daniel (HMP Stafford)

The Rain

Places pass by that make our heart beat. Every billboard
reminds me of her ways. You hear her name in films and
books, dreams and conversations. Wake up empty hearted
one pillow, one coffee and only the radio to listen to. It’s
the start of a new era a different world and different steps.
Without her hand in your is like wearing gloves In the
Summer and without them in the winter. I’m a flower,
stepped in and blown into the wind but my petals are still
ground into the grass. Will I re-grow next season and
spread my arm like the reddest rose in Hyde Park, or will I
fail to grow tall and unnoticed by the very people I need.
Fallen has my armour, gone has my sight fog has drifted
into my heart and clouded my soul. Turn has my head more
times than a game of table tennis. Each turn she’s not there
just the shredded snake that was once there but empty of
words and touch. The radio plays our song eye to eye, word
to word no more showers no more walks the fog has
drifted slowly but the rain will never stop falling. The bud
has developed but shall I bloom

Andrew (HMP Stafford)

Stafford’s English Rose

This is not meant as verse of rhyme,
Just a true perspective of my eye.
About a beam of light that shines so bright,
Throughout the shadow of these times.

Appeared on day this bright light,
Vivid and airy as sheer delight.
With words of wisdom to inspire,
Encourage to open my closed mind.

Weary of this little beauty,
Began a journey of new schooling.
When once the words came with ease,
This time around heavy and gruelling.

With encouragement she nurtured,
Inspiration she inspired.
Suddenly an uphill tussle,
Once again became quite comfortable.

So for all your help along my way,
These last few words I’d like to say.
Oh my cute little English Rose,
Gentle and kind, opener of mind.
Thank you.

Joy Tilley

War or Peace

Before engaging the enemy,
Carry out an arms inspection.
Chemical weapons? Check!
Machetes? Check!
Flame throwers? Check!
Entrenching tools? Check!

Before engaging the enemy,
Be sure you know his tactics.
Beware the following subtle attacks:

Camouflaged caterpillars;
The secret underground of grass roots;
The organised infantry of arthropods;
An airdrop of groundsel and willowherb
Parachuting in behind your lines.

Then, the voice of Nature calls
“Halt! Who goes there?
Are you for or against me?”

Before a squad of grinning dandelions
A daisy hands me the White Flag.

Edith Holland

In praise of gardens

Come to the window, the garden looks lovely,
Now Winter’s gone and the jasmine’s in flower.
How we look forward to the new life of Spring,
Crocus and daffies refreshed by a shower.

Come through the park gates, see the straight edges,
Admire the brave borders laid out with such care,
Watch the park-keeper trimming the hedges,
Promise of Summer is plain everywhere.

Come to the view-point hard by the fountains,
Trace the long rows of the specimen trees,
The golden yews are pruned to perfection,
The late summer border’s alive with bees.

Spring through to Autumn, the gardens give pleasure:
Our own and the formal ones seen at our leisure.

Ellie Nadin (age 10)

The Memorial Garden

You may wander freely, but don’t stand still,
You may feel the breeze, off the windmill
You may boat or barge down the river,
You may stare at the statues so marble and silver.

You may sit on the bench, but don’t scare the birds
You may sing our little song, but don’t forget the words.
You may watch the squirrel, but do not climb the tree.
You may find another, but please don’t forget me.

Kate Lee

Time in the garden

I sit,
and the serenity settles upon me as gently as a butterfly.

I listen,
and the ghosts whisper in my ear, leading me languidly into the past.

I look,
and the view fervently fills my vision.

Shapes and colours collide,
Scents and sounds surround me, holding me hostage,
Trees stand sentry, guardians of memories from years gone by.

I lie down,
and the grass tenderly touches my skin, holding me softly until,

I fall,
- asleep.

Hannah Camall-Ayland

I’m a little acorn

I’m a little acorn,
Hanging on a tree,
Along comes a squirrel,
Happy as can be.

She has a fluffytail,
The biggest I’ve ever seen,
She has bright, inquisitive eyes,
That never miss a thing.

Look at the pretty flowers,
Huddled round the tree,
The emerald green grass,
Is staring at me.

The tall, tall trees
Standing straight and proud,
Buzzing little bees,
Flying all around.

Look at the lovely garden,
The prettiest anyone’s ever seen,
I’m a little acorn
Hanging on a tree.

Hazel A Deathridge

Contemplation

Fountained tinkles on mossy rock, a giving of soul’s ease.
Rainbowed hues of sunkissed flowers,
Grasses whispering in gentle breeze.
Headiness of fragrant rose, red glowing neath trees’ shade,
Sun’s warmth shimmering on the wall,
Soft shadows are displayed.
Blue tit cocks eye at silk spun web, the spider’s world called ‘home’.
Pollen laden honey bees
Wings whirring to sound drone.
Crazed pave anointed with Alyssum and aromatic thyme,
Sweet honeysuckled tendrils
Spired through a trellised vine.
Time for contemplation, vain-glories all have flown,
For all life in this garden is Mother Nature’s own.

Lauren Muir (Age 10)

What I like about my garden:
The sound of the frogs croaking in the filters,
The trickling sound of the waterfall running over the moss covered rocks,
The smell of the barbeque cooking away.

The scent of the Honeysuckle as it spreads around the garden,
The softeness of the leaves of the lamb’s ear plant
The sharpness of the spiky Holly
I love to see the colourfull plants:
The spoonflower with its spoon shaped petals,
The elegant alliums and
The beautiful shape of the Irises.
That’s what I love about my garden.

Laurence .S. Roberts


Lets go for an amble a journey through time
to a place for all seasons with gardens sublime
we could visit the farm house the dairy or mill
and the triumphant arch up there on the hill
it will give you an insight of how things once were
and it's Shugborough Estate to which I refer
it has animals to pet when you visit the farm
and a place for the children to play without harm
they have tea rooms for luncheon or coffee and cake
for a little repast if you so wish to take
see the Brewer Baker or Woodturner too
all working together to make things for you
So whatever the weather come rain, snow or drought
Visit Shugborough Gardens it's a cracking day out.

Lee (HMP Stafford)

Country dreams

The buzzards soar over head,
As the leaves turn yellow and red,
Lying there while I’m watching,
I hear the ants crawling,
And the stags roaring.

The suns rays shine through the trees,
As I listen to the humming of the bees,
This joyful place I wish to stay,
Through the spring and making of the hay,
Although I should be far away

Lee (HMP Stafford)

Woodland sounds

Avoid and ignore me then!
I said as the robin passed me by,
The little wren chirped,
To say I’m here, look at me,
The woodpecker rattles,
Its me, its me up here in the trees,
Foxes bark as darkness comes,
Crows caw their way to roost.

Linda Millard

Sanctuary

Shugborough is my sanctuary
A wild birds aviary
A place to quietly contemplate
To rid our minds of thoughts that grate
Let your mind just drift away
Images flash of Anson’s day
Rare breeds at the river banks waiting
As if captured in a scenic painting
Landscape features intriguingly stand
Adding myth and mystery to the land
Sounds and senses enhanced by the hue
Filing my soul with nature anew
Picturesque vistas to equal the best
Your intimacy and charm outweigh the rest

Margaret Hall

Garden Poem

How many feet, I wonder,
Have walked the path that I do tread?
The swish of silk and satin, of ladies now long dead,
The striding steps of travellers, on their journey homeward bound,
Or explorers with their discoveries,
In this garden, all around.
The pleasure is deep within me,
As I walk its aged ground,
And gaze upon the plants and trees,
In this garden, I'm spellbound!

Mike (HMP Stafford)

T.V. Gardening

Look at those weeds,
They’re as big as bloody trees!
Osama bin Laden
Could be hiding in my garden!
All these summer showers
Don’t just feed the flowers,
O, good grief!
Look at that Dock leaf!
I’d probably be able
To use it as a table!

I’ll have to ask next door
To borrow his chain saw!
This place is in a mess,
My fault I must confess!
“I’ll cut the grass tomorrow!”
As more time I try to borrow
To sit and watch T.V.
And yet another D.V.D!

The answers just unfurled,
I’ll watch “Gardener’s World”,
And get a few more tips,
Whilst I sit and eat my chips

Ruth Audrey Hollins

An English country garden is a joy to own
It can cheer the coldest heart of stone
Its border flowers and paths so straight
The shade trees and garden gate.

Breezes, birdsong, the perfumes of flowers
A place to while away the hours
To sit and read a favourite book
In a calm and peaceful little nook.

Lilies and pansies, and roses galore
Their scent makes me want more and more
The heady aroma gives me great delight
My life is happy, my heart is light.

Ann Talbot

Brake down the bricks and mortar bounds of toil
Crouch low to scoop the richness of the soil
See how man long ago once saw
The virgin earth, the very living core.

Tear away the shrouded curtain view
And with the parting promise to renew.
Acept the challenge of the seeing eye
And gaze with sudden open vision at the sky.

Catch in your sight a tree, a blade of living grass
And peace with joy away from teeming mass.
Plant happiness and nurture hope
A garden is a tool with which to cope

Audrey Ritzkowski

Ode to the Bindweed

When long stemmed daisies nod their heads and sway
Their white heads to the rhythm of the breeze.
When roses waft their scent my way
Making me want to sneeze.

Then the garden becomes a problem
Full of wayward weeds
Which get bigger every day
And refuse to go away.

I look at the roses and I say
“Why don’t those weeds just go away”
I will have to buy that “Knock out spray”
That only sends those weeds to sleep,
They will wake up and be back next week.

Mrs Eileen Skelton

New Gardeners

The twins have got a garden, with grandad’s help they grow
Peas and carrots, onions, beans, and radish in a row.
Grandad gave them sunflower seeds, then showed them how to make
A “wigwam” for their runner beans, and how to hoe and rake.
As interest grows, so do the plants, they’re ready now to eat
The peas and radishes are munched, the veg go down a treat.
They eat their greens without a moan.
They’re “different” when you grow your own
The flowers grow; too tall now. For the boys to measure
Bur daddy got his camera, and so with pride and pleasure
Captured the twins with rakes in hand, one sunny summer morn
And granddad watches, as proud as punch to see his kills reborn.

Mrs Rita Knight

As I sit here in my garden – a cup of tea in hand
I think of all the hard work it took to tame this land.
There’s pergolas here and arches there with stepping stones and grass
Trees and shrubs in borders and exotics under glass
My shed’s a kind of haven when the weather’s at its worst
It’s full of my equipment – so full it’s fit to burst
My flowers are mainly perennial, annuals there’s a few
I have baskets and containers – oh and a water feature too
My garden gives me pleasure – much more than I can say
It changes with the seasons and I love it every day.
Friends will often visit with a cutting of this or that.
We pool our information as we walk around and chat
So if you should be passing a visit would be nice
I’ll take you in and show you my corner of paradise.

Yasmin Lewis

The memory of Shugborough is to me
Of a wonderful yellow daffodil sea.
Close to a stream, meandering softly away
Water rippling over stones, gently at play.
Winter hardened earth solid beneath my feet
Early April sun providing much needed heat.
At the gardens alone, purely by choice
A chance to listen to my inner voice.
Today’s world goes at such an unholy pace
Sometimes you need some personal space.
To see happy families or just stand and stare
It gave my heart back the time to care.
I loved my visit, my time alone.
But I ached for a family waiting at home.

Susan Deehan

Spring time

The first to appear the lovely snowdrop
So white and dainty a delicate crop
Next is the crocus that spreads joy around
Those colours so vivid down on the ground
So cheerful the daffodils we’ve all waited for
Their glory outshines to delight us once more
The tulips elegance enhance any garden display
But look just as lovely in a vase people say
Lilly of the valley with a light perfume
Look elegant next to bluebells in bloom.
Primroses appear along the roadside
Where celandines appear trying to hide
An array of polyanths in the sunshine
Now all at once my garden looks fine.

Marjorie Neilson

Renewal

The winter silver mist with ice-cold fingers chill
the very being of Mother Nature’s soul.
as the once verdant green
and vibrant colours
of fields and gardens
give way to shades white and grey.

Yet even the shimmering, snow-clad earth
yields to the warmth of the early Spring-time sun
as the world revolves
and the first sign of life’s renewal peeps through the soil
when snowdrops with their drooping heads
chorus aloud their glorious floral song.

S James

A garden in mind

In his mind’s eye around the romantic red brick folly, bees buzz,
Smells of peaches soften him as he stares up at the poplars,
French lavender sways like choirs of ladies in purple evening dresses, to a perfect tune of their own,
Here Emily Dickenson’s poems blend with Copland’s music as the wind blows the long grass like waves at sea,
Lush peonies point their resplendent heads at the budlea which in turn reaches out to
Acers deep red leaves telling of the Asian ancestry.
Under the American magnolias shady corners foxes rest upon moss mattresses.
Aromas of honeysuckle entwine with fragrant climbing roses, the soft cerise and peach petals sprinkled liberally.
Around the sun dial cosy with lichen.
His place, benign, a turquoise sky to dream where the breeze touched his face and would blow through the trees in his mind.

Sam (HMP Stafford)

Life in a garden

Life is like a fruit tree, bears fruit and leaves every year,
Sheds tears when the ground is dry, why does it cry,
Life is the same bears love and children and dies when all around cry’s,
If it is to hot the sun burns you cry,
With pain like the tree with out Rain
When its cold and your old you cry
With pain like the tree with know rain,
So what is life just a pain or just a tree with no rain.

Sheila Culshaw

Bright Smile

Low through my heart; the musical mingling
where rivers meet,
And laughter in children’s voices
Then comes the lilt of a melody sweet
with the musk of yellow roses,
And the mellowness of ancient things.
I see again the sunlight fall on the beloved garden
And the sun’s last blessing on even lawns
And the rich mellowness of ancient things
After the stars were born.

Simon Hollowbread

The demise of winters hold.

The dull and drab of winter’s sleep lies all around
Bathed in light and warmth new life is called into being,
Within the seed ensconced in silence, life begins to stir,
Breaking free of chilled enclosure, it stretches tentatively,

With newfound freedom, it becomes bigger than the walls that confined it,
It reaches downward to anchor itself, to cement its position in life,

It has one last earthen, iron hard, hurdle to overcome,
Before emerging glorious into waiting springtime sun,
To join with others, in an overwhelming riot of colour,
Proclaiming their liberty for all the world to see.

Victoria Ramshaw (age 11)

The squirrel

Did you ever wonder, what its like to be a squirrel,
A lovely, little bouncey squirrel?
From the treem the acorn tree,
The squirrel sees everything.
From each flower to each bee,
The squirrel sees each statue,
Each acorn and each view,
In his tree top house, he sees far and wide,
He watches every graceful glide.
I’ve let you see the world of me,
I am a squirrel and I love what I see.

William Lockwood

Poem: Haiku (ish)

SEED
Quiet morning
Beneath this blanket of soil
I struggle to emerge and grow.

Return to homepage