The Power of the Italian Journal of Agronomy comes from The Greenwood Poet, a book that came out last week as part of my ongoing romance with doubling my years on odd years and then writing that many poems.

I spent a couple of years, off and on, writing about the gothic fantastic and the environment and death, before and after COVID (thought that obviously wasn’t the original intent). I’m going to serialize them on the site for subscribers. If you subscribe for three months, you’ll get this for free. And besides, subscribing is free for the first seven days, so why not try out the Showbear archive?

Of course — 20% will be free for everyone and I encourage you to pick up a copy of the hardback.

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The Power of the Italian Journal of Agronomy

The Italy of Europe and its Union erodes
Like marble stones. Mind the cracks
BnBs booked over the Air
Whipsawed through wind in wood beam
And stone seam. Sirs and daughters,
Sons and madams searching the country 
For a home or a hearth hiding in the farms,
An urban to rural umbrage for pilgrims
Once sent so west that they settled there
And birthed babies in Brooklyn (as they had 
In Sicily) as soon as they saw The Lady.

Reminds me of the Merry Christma–
–Stravaganza that struck a chord:
The Oh Hellos off in an old blinding 
Manger and Mundis melody of joy
Over the ears of almost pilgrims
Blood faced and black necked
By Christmas lights. Caroling loud, 
Persuaded to sing, spurred to worship.

We wander. Watch our earnings
Chase us asunder. Chance plays such a  
Small role in smiting our chances:
It’s greed’s grip on growing things.

But cauliflower still pierces stone. 

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Photo by Adam Bouse on Unsplash