Description: My father and I have always had this plot to plant crocuses all over our lawn for spring, which would drive my neatness obsessed grandparents into maddness.
Taking back the Suburbs -------------------------------------------
Summer’s poetry lies scattered,
a charred mass of leaves and snapped twigs,
decaying in the chill moisture
of an autumnal evening.
Tomorrow, the blue sonnets
of passionate bees and the creaky
rhyme of blossoming azaleas
will be raked away and burnt from memory.
Autumn is a time for burial.
We crawl on our bellies through the night,
burrowing our hands into the damp soil
riddled with freezing dew and slick orange clay
mingled with cartloads of transported humus.
We slide our hands between the slats
of white fences that corral the rhododendrons
and herd the precise rows of grass blades,
releasing crocus seeds from our clenched palms.
The neat spaces between patio stones
are laced with potential dandelions
and soon to be snowbells are smuggled
into the carefully planned rose gardens.
We guide the roots of the frail forsythias
underneath metal girded property lines
of jealous neighbors,
praying for a riot growth come spring.
We will bring back the meadows
where stately irises are surrounded
by humble violets and pansies knock
against the arcing stems of tiger lilies.
We will resurrect the wild brambles,
banished from the back yards of suburbia
where the wild red currant bushes are free
to roam and tangle with rose bushes and azaleas.
We will burn the white fences
and watch our dandelions tear up the patios
until suburbia blooms and is ripe.
The first line aboslutely grabbed me, and I was hooked. Beautiful descriptive poem, a wonderfully mischievous plot, and if I hadn't read your explanation, might have thought the whole thing a huge metaphor for some uprising against the property developers...lol...The numbers come up now and again instead of an apostrophe, it's a glitch in the HTML code or something like that. Loved this, Be happy, Graeme
I don't understand what the numbers and symbols are doing attached to summer in the beginning, but i have a hunch its not supposed to be there. haha. Other than that its an awesome poem. I loved picturing a father daughter being all sneaky and running around my neighborhood (mind you im picturiing this) planting flowers everywhere and then all the old ladies waking up and having heart attacks. haha. Cute idea.