Underground teachings

Open spaces swell the abandoned park
to beginnings to alter Darwin’s theory,
the ground inclines to be a writer
without any footfall subjects.

A muse evolves from foliage
behind wrought gates worn quiet,
more than just the species it supports.

Night to develop till morning hours will draw
lawns to untenable beard heights,
folios in the trees collect notes of the wild,
next brush could be a gardener’s cull.

Overgrown ideas bowl along the green,
clamber literate from Russian ivy.
Trail Tsar knots as tight as former fine minds
that composed before decomposure gained,
filling the walls with coiled free verse.

Paper buds with experience and meaning,
and great philosophers grown to white roses,
in contemplation of misunderstandings,
drop petal lines into an untitled, unreadable
summer ending.


3 thoughts on “Underground teachings

  1. sonofwalt says:

    “Overgrown ideas bowl along the green.” I love that.

    Matt, I was too brain dead to take in any more than the cartoon last night, so I came back to read this. I think it wonderfully portrays the way my mind wanders in the woods or at the park, how you think you have suddenly put some sort of historical/philosophical puzzle together… like all the answers are there, but in the end it drops “into an untitled, unreadable summer ending.”

    Sometimes I try to capture the wonder of those stray thoughts induced by the willow branches on the wind and the ducks in the water, but I never seem to be able to bring it all down to the paper and into the heart of another person.

    This makes me feel less alone (and I wasn’t feeling lonely, so that’s an accomplishment!”)


  2. Matt says:

    Thanks David, appreciate the great reply. I was thinking of an abandoned park (although it could be any wild area) and thought that there always seems a knowledge held within that we can only marvel at. As if you want to take away a complete impression of the place, but you never quite can, you have to ‘be there’ to truly experience it. Then the idea came of what if they could write, which ended up as a metaphor for enjoying the mysteries that are nature and its evolving, yet timeless ways.

    I’m glad you enjoyed, and got something out of it. 🙂

  3. nectarfizz says:

    I wish my work showed as much careful behind the words thought as yours does Matt. I can almost see you thinking in there.

    “A muse evolves from foliage
    behind wrought gates worn quiet,
    more than just the species it supports.”

    My favorite line. Wrought gates worn quiet…hits me right in the heart.

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