Grass Roots (Poetry)

At night,
tucked tight — securely boxed
in neat compartments, terror-locked
against unknowns,

we rest —
undressed and posture-sprung,
unsettled by the wind’s dark tongue —
its mystic moan

invades,
and shades of fear revive
old superstitions breathed alive
in shadowed zones

from where
this bare voice, through a crack,
warns of wasteland inching back
to flesh picked bones

of roads.
Explodes its sly bomb-seeds,
pollutes with subtle ferns and weeds
stark, city stones.

Defiles
once-sterile bricked-in squares
with stabbing shoots thrust everywhere —
primeval tones

lay claim
maintain determined grip —
plug cleft and crumbling urban lip —
moss stifles homes.

Through walls
roots crawl, insinuate
a growing army, recreate
green chromosomes.

Grass waits,
propagates, revives its threat —
the wilds will repossess us yet —
our lands resown.


Part of HWC display at Horsham library
Est. early 1980s