Dumping Ground for Derek's Poetry

immigrant arts

all you dour bastards who complain
of weeds in the cracks of paving slabs
of flowers in the crook and cranny of a wall
of the bold bright budleia who sprouts from the roof
with a foothold on nothing at all

you who deride these brave offerings as "unsightly"
who sic the council upon them daily & nightly
who complain of neglect and of property prices
who think no bloom should be left to its own devices

tell me, how does it feel to have no joy in your heart
no sense of aesthetics, no love of the greater nature
which flings up fragile flowers wherever it is able--
be that location so very unstable--

how does it feel to be empty and scared
to reject the rewards of a nature so selflessly shared
what gave you the desire to tear branches down
to see violence done wherever grand wilds play the clown

the lack of appetite for visual metaphor betrays you
this struggling bright budleia should amaze you
the irrepressible nature that springs from the cracks
grows like a weed but highlights your acts
it shames and dismays you to stand in the light
to see your own selfishness in another's plight

well no matter, it's your town after all
but those weeds won't give up
even if you tear down
this hateful wall