Thursday, January 24, 2013


Between the many medieval villages
Crumbling walls give way to history
Lost among fields of native grass
And wildflowers beneath the scorch
Of Italia's summer sun baking hard
Once arable land now thirsting so
For a merciful rain not in any forecast
And fences fallen into disrepair are left
To rot, sheep and cattle both, roam
Free - to find water and feed wherever
Possible - or death, which one comes first
It is the fourth or fifth desperate summer
In a row and fences mean nothing nor
Does the idea of farming or ranching
Not down here anyhow - where Christ
Reputedly stopped - Eboli, and south
It is not hard to believe no God comes here.


  1. A bleak landscape, perhaps, but a beautiful poem.

  2. A strong portrayal of a difficult time. Yes, walls DO give way to history...good way of expressing it.

  3. SO powerful, this poem that tells the reality of many places in may historical times. Details of scorched flowers and rot bring this to life.

  4. What point dividing parched land eh? very intense, I like it.


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