Lamont Palmer

Rookie - 785 Points (July 12th,1962 / Maryland)

Ancient Horticulture


..........Distinct goodness does not grow like vines,
though the blackness of time skips: place to heart,
to images on windows, gathering dust.
I am tired of the disjointed branches,
which look like talking snakes and grand themes,
combined to make the life they lead, a dream.
Juxtaposing the planting with the digging, its
the confusion of seeds for meat, a gross
misinterpretation, leading to rotting bellies.
Grand voices frighten the supple fruit,
as the gardeners run for dry shelter
and fig leaves are placed at strategic doors.
Knowledge is masked: nothing grim shines through,
(though the Tigris breathes deeply in wary chests)
As the lushness of plants seem to spare us.
Eden's misstep? Born in each great root,
subtle as bylaws refuted by angels.

Submitted: Monday, February 28, 2011
Edited: Tuesday, March 01, 2011

Form:


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  • Veteran Poet - 2,525 Points Patricia Grantham (7/24/2013 8:27:00 AM)

    This poem is very profound just like the vines and foliage that runs
    deep into the earth. There is something about ancient horticulture that
    assaults the senses with it's luscious flowers and foliage. Even the light
    finds it hard to permeate through the thickness of it. A great write. (Report) Reply

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