BG ( / )

Cutting A Poem

time to cut the grass
harvest another poem
whirling blade, whirling thoughts
helicopter gunships hurled in Shakespear’s spheres
back and forth – this is real
in a square crunching the Virginia Reel
wild violets with their purple blooms
how dare they claim such royal tombs
oops! missed that dandelion with its yellow crown
invading my no zone
should I spare it let it proliferate
let Darwin’s guessing game decide its fate
for which much feuding is to blame
snatch it from the lion’s jaw
drink its tea, make its wine and host a picnic
slice its royal milky throat
with the likes of Richard the lion-
hearted so gentle though I be
on this crusade of pesticide
that bush my witness will surely be
wild strawberries drooping bloody droplets
no sweetness there to taste
but why make haste
Oh Sons of Zion I think not of thee
I wish you could forever be –– free
from the crusades of genocide
over the creeping ivy
mares eat oats and little lambs eat ivy
its poison creeping into my veins
where love your enemy has no rule
my cat he does not hesitate
to pounce on mice he sees
food, food or could it be his sport
well hell I can be sporty too
in this crusade deciding who –
of enemies or happen-to-be’s
ev’rywhere tonsured, trim and clean
no lonely sentinel to this slaughter of reigning plants
the grass is blowing in the wind
my thought are scattered in what I find
I set aside my mower in its silent womb
my poem still abides
my no zone inside
it’s a clone
---------my own

– May 17,2004

User Rating: 3,1 / 5 ( 16 votes )

Comments (0)

There is no comment submitted by members.