"AND HERE WE MUST DRAW OUR LINE"


Front Lines

The edge of the cancer
Swells against the hill-we feel
a foul breeze-And it sinks back down.
The deer winter here
A chainsaw growls in the gorge.

Ten wet days and the log trucks stop,
The trees breathe.
Sunday the 4-wheel jeep of the
Realty Company brings in
Landseekers, lookers, they say
To the land,
Spread your legs.

The jets crack sound overhead, it's OK
here;
Every pulse of the rot at the heart
In the sick fat veins of Amerika
Pushes the edge up closer--

A bulldozer grinding and slobbering
Sideslipping and belching on top of
The skinned-up bodies of still-live bushes
In the pay of a man
From town.

Behind is a forest that goes to the Arctic
And a desert that still belongs to the
Piute
And here we must draw
Our line.

From 'Turtle Island' published in 1974 by Gary Snyder... A poet from the beat generation hanging out with the likes of Jack Kerouac.
Today an advocate for the land.
This poem speaks to how I feel about the misuse of land and the ever expanding sub-division...
places along our national parks and forests being invaded and degraded to the detriment of ever more wildlife.


GARDEN BLOGGERS' MUSE DA Y

Sweet Home Chicago Garden