i
There was a lovely field up for sale
Greed over beauty often prevails
Yet came a Witch who cast a spell
And the field vanished behind a veil
ii
It is still where it was of course
But now resides in dimension twenty four
It is now as safe as a field should be
For Pheasants and lives born of green
iii
Money cannot rise above
The standard hubbub of sniff and grub
Tis a wormy, diseased and phallic thing
A reverse parasite to whom the host clings
iv
Therefore the field is no longer for sale
The realtor may as well peddle pain in hell
For the world is never ugly at peace
In silent repose we are free to dream
Saragun Springs 
Ah – dimension twenty four – may I visit – sounds like a good place to be. dd
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Hi Diane
Dimension twenty-four is highly recommended. No ugly track housing!
Thank you
Leila
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I forgot to mention that the field in the picture (across the bridge from where I live) is For Sale, which makes me I’ll because I know what will happen to it.
Leila
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Leila
A BEAUTIFUL poem which conjures up feelings of love in my heart for the poem and for the poet who wrote it because of how much I love beauty, and this is beautiful.
It has the tragic aura behind it, because we all know what goes on in this world, on this planet, to this earth, IF we are even half awake, and that fact will break your heart, and does break hearts, if you let it.
And yet, this poem is consoling, because it says it doesn’t NEED to be that way. It also says there is a place where it is NOT that way – in another realm, but somehow here on earth, too. While life continues to live on this planet, there will always be beautiful corners where the Monsters of Greed and Uncaring will not have been able to extend their nasty, self-serving, phallic tentacles (whether woman or man).
There is NOTHING more timely or important now than the subject of this poem; at the same time: this poem resonates with the history of poetry in English. Chaucer, Tennyson, Robert Frost immediately spring into the mind. Not in the rip-off way, but in the good way of all good poems. Harold Bloom said no good poem is written without the poems that came before it. If you can’t hear those (faintly, and sometimes loudly), you’re not reading good poetry. THIS poem also sounds Shakespearean.
THANK YOU!
Dale
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Hello Dale
Thank you! The field in question is in danger of being dug up, paved over and ruined in about fifty ways.
I hear the old we need housing screed and counter that with why not raze derelict buildings and use those already ruined spaces? We all know the answer, $$$.
Thanks again!
Leila
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PS
Beautiful Blakean image to accompany the images in the poem, too!
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PPS
Love the title
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PPPS
This piece also deepens each time you read it. A knock-out on the first go-round, and well worth being returned to, too…
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“phallic”?
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“Then, owls and bats
cowls and twats
Monks and nuns in cloisters…”
Robert Browning
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