Baxter Black on gardening

[Don Perry]

Baxter Black was a Cowboy poet extraordinaire. He passed away last June 10th. RIP I think you might enjoy a poem of his called "A Vegetarians Nightmare"

Vegetarian's Nightmare by Baxter Black

Ladies and diners I make you, A shameful, degrading confession.
A deed of disgrace in the name of good taste, Though I did it, I meant no aggression.


I had planted a garden last April, And lovingly sang it a ballad.
But later in June beneath a full moon, Forgive me, I wanted a salad!

So I slipped out and fondled a carrot, Caressing its feathery top.
With the force of a brute I tore out the root! It whimpered and came with a pop!

Then laying my hand on a radish. I jerked and it left a small crater.
Then with the blade of my True Value spade, I exhumed a slumbering tater!

Celery I plucked, I twisted a squash! Tomatoes were wincing in fear!
I choked the Romaine, It screamed out in pain, Their anguish was filling my ears!

I finally came to the lettuce, As it cringed at the top of the row.
With one wicked slice I beheaded it twice, As it writhed, I dealt a death blow.

I butchered the onions and parsley. My hoe was all covered with gore.
I chopped and I whacked without looking back, Then I stealthily slipped in the door.

My bounty lay naked and dying, So I drowned them to snuff out their life.
I sliced and I peeled as they thrashed and they reeled, On the cutting board under my knife.

I violated tomatoes, So their innards could never survive.
I grated and ground ‘til they made not a sound, Then I boiled the tater alive!

Then I took the small broken pieces, I had tortured and killed with my hands.
And tossed them together, heedless of whether, They suffered or made their demands.

I ate them. Forgive me, I’m sorry. But hear me, though I’m a beginner.
Those plants feel pain, though it’s hard to explain, To someone who eats them for dinner!

I intend to begin a crusade For PLANT’S RIGHTS, including chick peas.
The A.C.L.U. will be helping me too. In the meantime, please pass the blue cheese.

 

[Tetters]

Crikey Don, there is something slightly unsettling about that poem
Here's one from our own Pam Ayres.....


Quiet please! Kindly don’t impede my concentration
I am sitting in the garden thinking thoughts of propagation
Of sowing and of nurturing the fruits my work will bear
And the place won’t know what’s hit it
Once I get up from my chair.

I’m at the planning stages now, if you should need to ask
And if I’m looking weary, it’s the rigours of the task
While the creation of a garden is a strain, as you can guess
So if my eyes should close, it isn’t sleep of course, it’s stress.

Oh, the mower I will cherish, and the tools I will oil
The dark, nutritious compost I will stroke into the soil
My sacrifice, devotion and heroic aftercare
Will leave you green with envy
Once I get up from my chair.

I’ve got lots of leeks to dibble and my runner beans to stake
And I want everything hung up – the garden hoe, the garden rake
I’ll disinfect the green house, when I’ve finished in the shed
Then, beside my faded roses, I will snip off every head.

I will excavate the bindweed, treat the moss upon the lawn
That hairy bittercress will curse the day that it was born
I will rise against the foe, and in the fight we will be matched
And the cabbage caterpillars they will curse the day they hatched.

Oh the branches I will layer and the cuttings I will take
Let other fellows dig a pond, I shall dig a LAKE

My garden – what a showpiece!
There’ll be pilgrims come to stare
And I’ll bow and take the credit
Once I get up from my chair.

 

[Don Perry]

Crikey Don, there is something slightly unsettling about that poem
Here's one from our own Pam Ayres.....


Quiet please! Kindly don’t impede my concentration
I am sitting in the garden thinking thoughts of propagation
Of sowing and of nurturing the fruits my work will bear
And the place won’t know what’s hit it
Once I get up from my chair.

I’m at the planning stages now, if you should need to ask
And if I’m looking weary, it’s the rigours of the task
While the creation of a garden is a strain, as you can guess
So if my eyes should close, it isn’t sleep of course, it’s stress.

Oh, the mower I will cherish, and the tools I will oil
The dark, nutritious compost I will stroke into the soil
My sacrifice, devotion and heroic aftercare
Will leave you green with envy
Once I get up from my chair.

I’ve got lots of leeks to dibble and my runner beans to stake
And I want everything hung up – the garden hoe, the garden rake
I’ll disinfect the green house, when I’ve finished in the shed
Then, beside my faded roses, I will snip off every head.

I will excavate the bindweed, treat the moss upon the lawn
That hairy bittercress will curse the day that it was born
I will rise against the foe, and in the fight we will be matched
And the cabbage caterpillars they will curse the day they hatched.

Oh the branches I will layer and the cuttings I will take
Let other fellows dig a pond, I shall dig a LAKE

My garden – what a showpiece!
There’ll be pilgrims come to stare
And I’ll bow and take the credit
Once I get up from my chair.

Very nice ! Is she a poet by trade , published, I meant.
Baxter was a dear friend and a real cowboy. I will miss him. RIP June 10 ,2022

 

[Tetters]

Yes, Pam is a very popular poet whose skill and humour has entertained us all for many years.
I am so sorry for your loss Don. It seems to me that Baxter will be a friend never forgotten. He should have enjoyed the same success with his humour as Pam, and it's easy to see that he was a very special guy.

 

[Don Perry]

Baxter was a poet and author, as am I, but to a lesser degree. He was a cowboy humorist and he wrote several books Like "Croutons on A Cowpie". There are many cowboy and cowgirl humorists here in the U S A. They have an annual meet every year to recite their works and tell new stories.