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The City Park Poem

November 3, 2011

I apologize for the late update: I had some uni essays to finish.  This week’s post is an oldish nature poem poem. Also, I’m supposed to be doing National Novel Writing Month so bits of that might pop up in the following weeks. We’ll see.

The City Park

hushed nightingale to sing the morning’s horn

within a place of nature marooned by ordinance

(the blue damp makes an adequate kisser)

its occupation to caress the human race with mother nature


absent is the brush that once stood as gate,

(not lost is the thought but cars must cross the road)


her twenty years’ trees belly-dance to bell-chime

straggle by wind’s wisp in stop-motion screen shots of vines

all more stop than motion and a film we’ll (sadly) never see is amassed


a carpet is laid: someone’s pruning as sent for,

plague-ridden by fleas

her grass from the jurassic has not been here since

but is tonight


if tempted by the gopher hole, the foot is guided towards the benches and bins

who orient the visitor as plastic bends

Bicycle card past

(Go this way not that.)


for the obligatory green space holds the flowers

where they are commanded as our atonement’s edge

for the destruction of creation

I circle it.


From → Poetry

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