Come wattle the land
Greenest grass that you can
You shall hear now how I pine for naturalism
A sun-learned land
And hard-of-hearing sand
Hark, see there that growing flock of waves
O’er the mushroomscape
Those cumulations from magnetised moon.
I don’t say it believing it
But by saying it, it gives me hope
That her land will be mine, not only, but mine, only not.
For the ones for whom I thirst
Thrive in the picnic-quiet
Of refrigerated lands. Obstreperous lands. The goose on the outpost
Needn’t keep watch when life is pillowed by creature comforts.
Oh you idyllic fuck
aestheticising moderne cornucopias for the timorous at heart.
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Jim & Martha: A Novel on Eco Living
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Love Your Fear: A Quick Self-Help Guide to Managing Anxiety
Joel Schueler’s work appears in over ten countries in over fifty publications including Pennsylvania Literary Journal, London Poetry Magazine & The Brasilia Review. From London, he has a BA(Hons) in English Literature & Creative Writing from the University of Wales, Aberystwyth.