These Black Seeds We Scatter

These Black Seeds We Scatter

We do not want these cultured gardens,
staked and measured, laid out in stately lines,
well-drained gravel paths gently cambered
to subtle ditches dug at precise depths,

we do not want their tissuepetalled peonies,
their virus-ridden, dollar-driven tulips,
their fractal mosaics of rococo rhododendrons,
or their mirthless roses of ancient, inbred lineage.

We are busy enough with these tall poppies,
with these tall poppies and their black seeds
we scatter religiously everywhere we travel.
We have enough in the tall poppies we always
leave behind to tatter in the wind, smear the air
as drying bloodstains, red and black against green.

About John MacKenzie

I'll mumble for ya. Poetry, plus most things quantifiable: science, neuroscience, memory, epistemology, baseball. And so on.
This entry was posted in Art is lies, Art is theft, Capitalism, Corporate Capitalism, Death, Epistemology, John MacKenzie, New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry, Religion, Social Commentary, Sonnet, Time, War and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to These Black Seeds We Scatter

  1. Pingback: The Hypothetical Sonnet (a note on playing with the form) | Mumbling Jack

  2. Pingback: Roses Palinode Haiku | Mumbling Jack

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