Extended Eulogy For Hussein Alasdair McGaw, 12

also my irreplaceable surrogate uncle,
an uncommon unc eninkling me ‘bout nicessities
like rooibos, sanity, moist chive and moist mint,
how stilton was best served unrefrigerated, ripe.
Who wowed me with Radios 4and3. 
Who slibbled as he fearlesslyfilterlessly 
chuffedthru dozens of Dutch pouches,
vile dutyfree Van Nellie tobblacko so yucko I had to
peel the spliffs. Who was a psychodeliasmith, baked baker
whose spacecakes’ gringredient, slimelime butter, wibbled
in his fridge (where conventional comestibles went dry
if meant to be ate wet, whilst dry viands got wet
with rot as consumebydates weren’t binit minute
for an anarcook and postwar tot
 - not  just coz date’s indiscernible
to chonggorged gearmands!)

And neverso blowblotto he couldn’t crapcuttingly crossexamine
awful  risible aphorisms, dialectically disperse
les idees fumeuses, pap my CB1receptors piped 
when CBD pipped sentispeed. Certainly, onceortwice
he’d catechisingly chide this dumbtoearth hashead,

but in the spirit of Socratic digs planting a Plato.
He transplanted and trained in me a clearing
like ‘die Lichtung’ Heideggerean, epiphanies like a glade,
a leafier aletheia - ‘twas photophilie openness
to how a pitchfork tickles the soul of the earth,
how a spade stirs the saltsoftheearth!
How a sunflower’s famulus has selfworth exhumed,
as if sowing mild oases of heliohaloed highblooms, all veg-
genomes honed humes in the sweatbeaded sod too. 
F’only by being first earthsteeped can one climb
roots’ rules, rereach and relaunch Sol’s laws,
inaugurating a bright garden that even 
breaks the gods’ august boredom.
And how radicle seed stumps up in readysoil,
pullulates reticularoots, a safe teaandsupper net
for catchers, cooks and creatures yettogracetheirmeathooks,
with Eden’s enchanted sufficiency oft’
dredged from the dry, and greenelbowgrease
a perennial fix of productive productiveness in peace
- Bible swears brainfood Robinhood and her ribdad swain
were figthonged forbears, but dire dues postlapsarian
would appear perfectly palmedoff if w’only
sharin’ all the chow aflower at this hour.
Or was it how the
enjoyed toil of the glebe’s liebhaber 
blindfields a shoulderjumping monticle, 
and how that minihill o’ blithely backchucked shovelfuls moundsup, 
reinterring any rearward Stygian scrubland rearedup
atop soil, drawnto domains deforested downto
hell’s roofgarden.

He expounded 
the thousand hows how
good gardens repot
(otherwise groundless yearnings for) a Utopian upshot.
I dug his digging, his digs and even his digs,