A Guerrilla Gardening Poem

Garryas of New York
Their invention is in not trying to impress you,
with no intention of trying to convert you.
They do it for themselves; for satisfaction but yes, perhaps,
for reaction
to see things so,
to see seed sowed
in rundown, worn down, unimaginable, unmanageable areas
that need tending, defending, from the ravages of time,
savages of neglect, to erect a basis, an oasis
of calm, with no harm meant from
these expert extroverts -
these are the people who reform and transform -
these are the Guerrilla Gardeners. Harbingers
against politically correct institutions. With quiet resolutions,
taken from the ancient ?Diggers?, invigorators of traffic islands
in low and highlands; of empty plots, vacant lots and virgin verges.
Driving round a roundabout to see who?s around and about -
with verve and nerve and not a little aplomb, a seedbomb
is mackled if it can?t be tackled
and though not thrown at random, is still abandoned
to its fate,
to gestate and
to await an explosion at a later date with
a saturation of seeds, a suffocation of salvias,
a bombardment of begonias.
Have a brush with a buddleia, a butterfly bush
or populate with poppies but, if all else fails,
it won?t be poplar; nor as popular, and to do or die: plant leylandii!

David Allinson July 2010

(via GuerrillaGardening.org)