Leaving Footprints (title change) edit

[milo]

Hello ella, it is good to see another incarnation of this one.  I think I see what you are going for with this title - kind of the lasting negative impact of our actions personified as a stomp.  The title is certainly interesting enough but I am not quite sure it works other than that.

Heavy Footprint Stomp

To undertake a garden dockside's ill-
advised, the poisoned planks are bound to leach
preservatives that taint surrounding soil.
The alliums for April’s flowers' sake,
the daffodils and hyacinths are fine
but vegetables would drink up arsenic.

the enjambement on ill is clever but probably gimmicky and distracting for the long term.  "Are bound to leach " feels like a less graceful version of "will leach" to me which is still less effective than "leach"  - "poisoned planks leach preservatives - they taint surrounding soil" converts the triple passive into all active bringing your metaphor out to the sunlight.

dockside's ill reads closer to the possessive than the rather ill advised contraction.  The strophe as a whole seems overly dependent on these contrivances to make it work - "April's flowers' sake" being another example

Attached by hollow stems to muddy roots
proliferating lily pads provide
a stage for turtles, frogs and dragonflies;
they multiply encouraged by the gush
of runoff drained from winter salted roads,
the heralds of the choking weeds to come.

This is good scene setting but I am not sure what for.  The most I can get is the continuation of the benefit/trial of living on the lake.

Our hilly roads are named for trees and groves,
for coves and inlets nestled under old-
growth canopies, the interlocking boughs
suspended over cabins built below.
The yellow poplars (nicknamed tulip trees)
bear springtime flowers large as tangerines
with golden petals orange at their base,

some plural singular confusion there.  The sounds through here are lovely.  Plenty of assonance as well as just pleasing mouth feel and rhythm (in addition to the IP of course).  Once again (probably) good reportage but a bit of an indulgence.

the blooms on branches high above our view
until dislodged by squirrels, landing fully formed.
Their trunks are wider than my arms can reach
around, two hundred year old hickories
and oaks dispense their bounty every fall.
They lean their limbs out towards the sparkling lake
attempting to absorb reflected sun
but when they threaten rooftops underneath
they're chainsawed down, transformed to firewood.

We navigate the still clear spring-fed lake
and ask each other: Wonder where the rich
folk are today; we know our luck is prime
but carve our precious assets to our whims
and chip away at what we value most.

ahhh . . . it was my knowledge of the previous versions that led me astray - you have changed your metaphor.

I think the scene-setting is rich and well done.  The sounds are good throughout.  The beginning is the roughest for sure.  I feel like the poem ends when it ponders where the rich folk are today.

Thanks for posting