poem: The First of Many Swallowtails

It was just that simple, we all thought one day amidst graffitied f**k-you's and political slurs razor wired compounds, diesel and concrete, blaring and glaring and wearing thinness of it all. But then we followed a sparrow home to its resting place, a wisp of cotton insulated crack in the wall of some guarded installation or other and one of us, I cannot recall whom, decided that day, we would dig a garden bed, right there in the middle of the glorious mess we had made of things. And it required a pick-axe, a jackhammer at first until we got the hang of working this soil and someone thought to use a till to turn the earth gently, letting it breathe, and we tested it, found it lacking in basic nutrients; so we gave it organics- our piss, some horse s**t, leftover scraps we had to spare from talks over dinner tables.

 

Then one showed us how to fertilize it with his own blood, and so we honored him by finally screwing down our courage and putting that first fragile seed in soil, and we utterly rejoiced out loud, in effervescence, when those little leaves bravely pushed forth through the collected junk and brightened the smog-filled corner even a tiny bit.

 

And it was HARD work to keep it going, remembering it when we had our fights with our mates and dinner to put on the table and unreasonably driven deadlines from sameful faces behind lines in cubes inside walls like boxes, homes without trees or sunlight and we needed each other to recall what day, what season for without sun we forget. And when children came, we taught them how to grow tomatoes and beans on barbed wire and at first we only planted useful things, like that but then one girl asked, please, for some flowers- and and first we said there is not enough space, but then someone pointed out herbs produce flowers, and so we branched out into beauty and spiciness- and with it came the first of many swallowtails, little bodies suspended like tiny kites on invisible strings; and now today, we have turned over this patch of dirt, and we have moved on, saying, today is the day of a larger dream, and we will go forward, releasing butterflies on other battlefields.

 

Author's Note

there are many different ways to be a guerilla... I actually found this video after writing the poem, and it worked so well I included it here. I hope you take the 10 minutes to listen to what this guy has to say, because this is what real power is about.

Reviews

[emmajoy]

BRILLAINT .. and BEAUTIFUL .. and please, don't change a word, not a word! Everyone should read this, there's adventure and optimism, work, want, life and lingering beauty in it. At the end, i was near to tears, laughing, near cheering.
BRILLIANT!

(plus the way it's blocked, the phrasing, the lack of excess makes for more than fine writing.

[Marie Anzalone]

thanks, Emma, I think you were one fo the few to pick up that this was not really about "just" planting a garden. It is not the wording I want to change, but the justification. This piece wants to be written as a wall, and I was even trying to get it written on perspective, which I could do in Word (though I could not get justification to work in any format), but could not translate here. Might try later today when I get some down time here in the States.

[Ken Simm.]

Special truths through out. And a very special poem. Nature comes.

[Marie Anzalone]

ken, have you ever seen the books that talk about what would happen to our cities after we are gone? Interesting reads, they are. I have long thought we have far too much reliance on an either/ or mentality. We need green spaces in our homes as much as in our lives, I think.

[Petrichor]

Wow... I loved the depth you dipped your words in... beautiful.

[Marie Anzalone]

Thank you, Petrichor.. I find that deep wells are best when you want to write, even for surface things

[Leslie Philibert]

If you are tired, please stay tired when you write. This is excellent, a prose poem that exudes honesty and observation in every line - like this very much.

[Marie Anzalone]

thank you Leslie... and yes, when I wrote this, I had been awake for about 36 hours straight... hopefully that does not always have to happen. Glad you enjoyed this.

[Emily B]

this will be my battle cry!

[Marie Anzalone]

we should all strive to hold such standards aloft, I think

[Larry Dyson]

hmmm great line of releasing butterflies on our battlefields...some may be too removed in lifes happenstance or by choice of occupation..from the soil, the old worn-out dirt mixed with wind blown sand....hard to plant in sand..it is not permanent..but wtih a lot of work its becomes..soil....loved this piece..

[Marie Anzalone]

I read soemthign recently that talked about how the US culture is so far removed from natural cycles that we get it all wrong even as young children... and do not stop anthropomorphizing the natural world throughout life as a result. We forget the sticks and stones and blood and bones structure of things that connects us to those larger cycles. The effect is more pronounced in our culture than anywhere else in the world. Fascinating stuff.

[Richard Man]

I love the flow of action, ideas, deeds, words, nature and time. As I read it .... out loud... I always do... I became breathless... not due to the length of sentences... the absence of punctuation... nor for any other literary reason... it was the excitement and exuberance of the piece. Thank you.

[Marie Anzalone]

You're welcome, Richard. I believe ideas are like freight trains in the way they can gather momentum and work on the force of their own mass.

[Richard Man]

KE=1/2MV^2

[Marie Anzalone]

I wonder sometimes if that is enough energy to describe an idea whose time has come???

[Richard Man]

Quantum/atomic.... MC^2

[Marie Anzalone]

was thinking that, yes

[Richard Man]

See biologists, botanists, environmentalists, psychotherapists, psychologists physicists and mathematicians can all talk dirty formlas to each other epecally at poets corner.

[Marie Anzalone]

ooo I do love me a good derivative curve, tangential to the climax...

[Richard Man]

On reflection, It's all perfectly normal. The areas under those curves are well.... integral!

[Richard Man]

Or is it all a standard deviation?

[R J Askew]

great job .. in ALL QUIET ON THE WESTERN FRONT .. the young German soldier fondly remembers his butterflies back home and there is one exquisite moment when he is peering out of his trench at some butterflies sporting in the air .. luckily he gets home to see his butterflies again.

We are all of us like that german soldier stuck in our collective trench. is it too late for us? genetic crops, soil exhaustion, weather extremes .. ach, there are precious few sparrows to be found in British cities now.

I like the ferocity with which you evoke the dream of a few instinctively natural souls to fight for a more natural way. But all the while millions flock to cities every day. China throws up more coal fired power-stations.

That said, the fight for a more natural way has to be won.

[Marie Anzalone]

thanks, Orlando, and you really get it. Hats off to you. It is not just the planting that counts, but carrying the ability to see the better world, with you when you go into dark places. We all must enter dark places. We should teach our children, instead of avoiding the dark places, to remember how to draw strength from what is important when we enter, so that we can leave them again instead of spending years wandering cold dark mazes.

[Shmoke-Sifted Heftlander]

and you added those personal touches, in the compost description, etc....it was very post-apocalyptically colloquial

[Verser]

This has terrific potential. I think it could gain great power if it were formatted thoughtfully, which I suspect you were about to do. I would love to see it when it has been finalized!

I hope you will ask for a read request then!

[Marie Anzalone]

thank you I plan to keep working with it on my down time

[lee von cleef]

Thank you Emma, thank you Marie, To pry open the apathetic world, don't bother me world, wrapped in french cup blinkers,who has the whip?, who has the spurs?,what has the vet given me running through my veins ? I can't see, I can't feel world of success, throw away excess, bomb infected puree of hypocrisy ,Now Marie you have written ,and Emma has requested,Now at midnight how do you get this to appear in every church bulletin,on all bathroom stall walls,and Rice bag in the world ? Places to read and believe.

[Marie Anzalone]

My freind lynne did a yearlong project where she printed and dropped free booklets of poetry in all sorts of random places. We do need more of that, I think. Something to jar awake the dopamine addicted brains of the cynics.