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Jungle

By John I. Blair

Crawling around in the damp dirt
At the rear of my garden,
I yank vines, grub out weeds,
Whack tree sprouts
In a rough war to keep my flowers
From vanishing under the rampant mess
I once called "ground cover"

As I look up at the leafy wall
I'm striving to repel,
Suddenly I get a creepy feeling
This is the primeval wilderness
We humans have fought for eons.

Before history began
We slipped from living with the forest
To living in its face,
Struggling to survive;
And wild nature was always there,
Waiting to take our world back.

And now here I am, on my hands and knees,
Glaring at the Jungle outside my door,
Even though it's just a foot high
And I planted it myself.

2003 John I. Blair  

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Reader Comments

Name: Brooks Taylor Email: brooks-taylor@sbcglobal.net
Comment: I like your poems with the strong nature connection like this one. The relationship seems very real, gritty. Reminds me very much of some of Robert Frost's.

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