The Insolence of Poisoned Ivy

The stench is rising, rising once more.

With no hand to husband these fields,

furrows, now bleach intolerant,

take to their long dormant seed,

revive a reviled germination -

its brute harvest, unduly denied.

 

In sanguine rain through sag wire,

clod dirt percolates acrid low lying

plumes flag-twisting and spun upon

indolent airs and a languid sun;

the gathering shoots split once

fertile soils by color and stone.

 

Before this lurching mob of vine,

among this tangled noxious fear,

common aster finds no ground

open to bloom, our wild boundless

bounty sorted, refused, mangled

in white insolence and poisoned ivy.

◄ The Monkey Trap of Suicide Hill

In The Valley of Your Bones ►

Comments

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Devon Brock

Fri 21st Jun 2019 00:00

Ugh! I'm so terribly allergic.

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Lisa C Bassignani

Thu 20th Jun 2019 23:53

I recently read an article about poison ivy becoming more plentiful AND more poisonous as the CO2 builds up in our atmosphere.

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