Nettles
By Lemon Tarte
- 4603 reads
We cluster around the rusting tractor
We strangle the bottomless buckets;
We are too green, filled with the fertility of filth.
A massing army in the woodland glade
We tell a tale of fertilizer bags strewn here,
Or a dead fox.
In the gutter of the field-edge
Latrine of cattle, we suck up excrement,
To weave our banner of venomous silk
And build a barricade around the stile
Close around the footpath our thrusting forces
Barring passage.
We are vicious from our bastard birth
Each seedling a hidden burst of pain
We bind the flower beds with tough rope
And set a trap of soft leaves amongst legitimate plants
Our voiceless throats ache with desire for
Your sharp cry.
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Comments
Wow!
I'm a glutton for nature poems especially when they are as good as this one.
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Agreed. This is fantastic. I
Agreed. This is fantastic. I love the voice and perspective, here - so unexpected.
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yep, unsettling yet something
yep, unsettling yet something familiar. Wonderful.
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Wonderful poem
great verve, colour and having just come back from a walk and several stings climbing over a style, so true, really enjoyed this... thank you!
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To lemon tarte--- a great
To lemon tarte--- a great poem, with lots of oohs, aahs and womp. I can see a Black Widow spider, tired of blockades, let down friends, spiteful circumstances, and now --- silently with a ruthless glee, REVENGE in the sting of her salvation! All the best in your future work.
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