Weeds and other stray thoughts 

Jill Martindale Farrar
Bright fugitives 
escaped from ‘visit-worthy’ gardens
appear along my fence line.
Having fled from pruned hedgerows 
these exotic invaders wave at me 
as I trundle my trowel
through the landscape. 

My garden profits from these interlopers:
philodendron, fragrant fennel,
native tamarind, the sought-after brush cherry.
Not all of them weeds, but some are 
disapproved of by the plant police 
so, in their company, I feign despair 
as though the victim of freeloading guests 
who will not take the hint to quit.

But a weed is only a plant
in a place it’s not wanted, 
and some of this stock 
reminds me of my own 
tangled roots, battered foliage,
slow drift toward entropy.

In the evening, by the firelight 
I draw my notebook to me 
and make a start.
I want to capture wild thoughts
as well as flowers; weeds too 
invasive, disrespectful, and strong.
I want my history to hold
the rogue scent no one wants 
to own or admit to ⸺
collected here as record 
for generations to come. 

Jill Martindale Farrar is a published poet and journalist, She divides her time between Sydney and the NSW South Coast



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