In the spring, at the end of the day, you should smell like dirt. - Margaret Atwood
Photographer: Jean Malek
Nature is losing
Let’s face it. Nature is losing. The wild places of the world are disappearing, and will continue to disappear, until they are no more. I’m glad I’ll be dead before it’s all gone.
While we have brought a few species back from the brink of extinction, and onto the slightly more stable plateau, most of the species on the endangered list will disappear forever. Along with many of the species not even on the list. In a relatively short time.
The plants will be just those we like, or can’t get rid of. Some of the animals will be the ones we’ve spent billions to keep, but most will be our food and friends, and those that can survive being around us, like cockroaches and rats.
But is this really a bad thing? Do hippos add anything to the world beyond being cool to watch?Most people on Earth don’t care very much, especially the 4 billion just looking for a regular meal and clean water. I’m not saying that life will disappear and the Earth will be a dead planet. It’ll just become more like our backyards. Some nice and manicured, some dumpy with weeds. A few nicely kept parks, but over 150,000 years, the Earth had only 10 million people on it at any one time. But our astounding cerebral cortex gave rise to a few key developments like fire, the wheel and agriculture, and an astonishing frontal lobe allowed us to use them effectively.The population began to grow just before the beginning of the Common Era, rising to 300 million during the Middle Ages and to a billion at the beginning of the Industrial Age. Then 2 billion in 1927, 3 billion in 1960, 4 billion in 1974, 5 billion in 1987, 6 billion in 1999 and 7 billion in 2011. This exponential rise is textbook for a bacterial colony in a petri dish, right before it dies from outpacing its food sources and generating too much waste. It’s also eerily analogous for us on the petri dish of Earth.nitely not natural. This has nothing to do with global warming, although a warming world makes it more difficult. This is simply how we live. From the original equilibrium of 10 million people to 7.6 billion people in only 2,500 years. Nature just can’t handle this density of humans, at least not on its own. There’s still time to prevent the complete loss of wild nature. The system is still resilient enough to respond to even a reasonable attempt at conservation. This is completely wrong. Humans have the numbers, and the technologies, to pretty much destroy the surface of this planet. Or remake it in some dumbed-down fashion of a specimen garden.
Let’s face it. Nature is losing. The wild places of the world are disappearing, and will continue to disappear, until they are no more. I used to think I’d be dead long before it was all gone, but I don’t think that anymore.
The Little Garden
There is a little garden in its own little plot near the village's edge
It grows all by itself; no one tends it
A little partridge sings from the tippity top of the old pear tree with its gnarled trunk, faded grays and auburn mixed into a masterpiece
And in the morning comes the morning's breeze
Fresh and clean it caresses the little garden
Underneath the pear tree is a ringlet of fire
Red Salvia entwines itself between the crevices of its roots
And when the leaves grow red and gold
The pear tree is laden with thick rivulets of fruit
And the deer from the nearby woods prance merrily in
the little garden
Using their long tongues and elegant necks to reach for the low hanging pears
A water pond with its opaque water serenades the visitors with the elusive croaks of the polliwogs hidden between the thick reeds
And the sparrows peck the moss laden ground for hidden seeds
While daffodils and tulips blossom and bud
In the little garden by the edge of the village
In nature I hear leaves rustling
In nature I feel showers
In nature I see squirrels bustling
In nature I smell flowers
In nature I taste something puzzling
As she sits on the couch
watching birds fly past,
she thinks what the world would be
if we didn't have grass
She clambers off
onto the floor,
she wonders what the world would be like
if there was never any war.
She walks outside,
climbs onto the chair,
she wonders what the world would be
if no one had fresh air
The Season of Life (Spring)
Sunny and warm so Pink and purple flowers bloom. Rain becomes ponds and rivers, Ice turns into water, and Nature Grows and comes to life. Spring inspired me to create this entry. “The Season of Life (Spring)” makes me feel like I am playing outside and smelling the flowers and playing in the water. Spring is beautiful!
There's Winter in the Air
Upon a sleepy wilderness falls snowflakes from the sky
And as they land a whisper spreads all throughout the woods
The squirrels take haste to find their homes and birds begin to fly
The silent lake puts on a coat, to keep it warm and snug
The deer look up from the hills to see the nearing clouds above
And trees let go of all their leaves to make a cozy rug
As morning breaks through tops of trees, creatures begin to stir
And as they peer from out their homes they see a sparkling world
The snow is spun in the morning breeze to make a silver blur
And all the life is quiet still, for at the beauty of the land they stare
Once the sun has reached its peak, the ground shines bright as jewels
Through the woods, and over hills, there's winter in the air
The snow is white.
The snow is soft.
The snow is wet.
The snow is cold.
I love how the snow feels on my hands.
Hey dude, let’s go on a ride,
Close to the sea, near the tide
Hey dude, let’s go for a drift
Near the high, elevator lift
Hey dude, let’s go fast,
Near the fence, close to the grass
Hey dude, let’s bike for speed,
Our powers, we will need
Thunder and lightning,
Oh so loud! The world rattles,
Scary but so great!
The thundering sky,
Lightning coming day and night,
Great colors flashing!
At the Beach
I eat a peach
at the beach
Mountains of the Sky
They echo calls to all who pass
To explore their rugged plains
Rising up with shadows they cast
They reach for the sky firm and steadfast
They tower over all living things
So immense and tall in size
Their peaks take height though they have no wings
And beauty is where they lie
For they are mountains of the sky
The wind whooshing unbounded
Branches swinging left to right
Fruits dropping to the ground
From the mountains towering height
To the lilliputian plants, which spread miles around
As the birds took flight
As the leaves glide past the compound
the sun shines forever bright
There I was inside
Trapped with no friends or foes
All I do is hide
The doors remain close
I do not confide
In anyone diagnosed
all I want is the outside
But the danger shadows my pride
Thunder roars outside
As millions dance to the sound of the rain
Little droplets going downside
The water will be contained
But on the southside
Dryland still remains
As the northside
Celebrates the last rain
It is Morning
The rising sun casts a deep red glow
Bright and charming, on the fields below
The grass is wet from the minute drops
Of dew from the rain the night before
The flowers open up their petals
As light soon falls on the sharp nettles
As the trees begin to settle down
From the storm the night before
The birds chirp and tweet light tunes above
Telling the little ones to wake up
As the butterflies begin to fly
After the winds the night before
Meanwhile the light shines on a child’s room
With photos and a Chromebook for Zoom
And trophies above the sleeping child
After the power-cut the night before
Because it is morning, and bright
The beginning of a new day
And nature will remain beautiful
Despite the storm the night before
The forest is a place to play,
A place for life,
A place for they,
who with their eyes,
watch the fray
A place where life often unfolds
A place where some hearts are cold
A place where the cold hearts take effect
A place where often its the death
Of the forest kingdom's subject's
Your nature is beautiful. The sunset on your rocks.
People say the word to describe you is WOW.
I think it is beautiful.
The rock formations that you make reflect WOW and BEAUTIFUL.
Nothing can beat you in prettiness.
The stunning sights of your rocks.
I know I said there's 2 words that describe you but there is a bunch.
The list just keeps going.
I walked to see the sights and my mouth hung open.
You are mine.
I will never forget you.
You are so very indescribable.
One will say WOW. Another will say STUNNING. Others will say BEAUTIFUL.
The weather was beautiful. I like the feeling of your wind blowing through my hair.
The morning is hot but at night it gets colder.
See what I mean? You ARE indescribable.
You are going to always be my friend.
The swans dance in the moonlight,
swimming in the most beautiful way,
white wings looking like a spotlight in the moon,
singing the song of a goddess.
But one wears a crown on her head,
sitting by the shore,
watching her others,
bathing in the moonlight.
The summer night gets cooler,
the swans swim around once more,
take on last sip of cool pound water,
and head off to bed.
Now there is only the lily pads left,
enjoying the moonlight,
the cool summer night,
where swans danced.
The Lonely Tree
Stifled, secluded, solitary, I, the lonely tree sit. Beside me not one plant, not one living thing, yet I continue to grow, poking my blossoming head into the fully ripened world.
In the desolate landscape, many young trees simply fall their leaves and shrivel back into the earth. Yet I, the lonely tree, continue to grow. I seem to overcome all obstacles.
I can see in the distance the lush greenery of the trees that once felt my torture, their limbs stretching over the barren ground; They are now their own shade, they live because they have lived; but me, I fight for life, growing inch by inch, longing for the day my canopy will be large enough to supply me ample comfort. I undergo the painful satisfaction of knowing that these trees still feel the heat, they still know my suffering, yet I dare not dwell on this knowledge in fear that their contentment is my only motivation.
I feel the bugs and worms underneath that can travel and find their own way; alas, I’m stuck in the ground, waiting for the day I can grow a flower or a seed so that I may too be able to travel the world. Occasionally I’m greeted by a bird, he soothes my pain and comforts me; yet just as the bugs and worms, he can’t stay forever, he finds his home among the wandering clouds.
I think back to the spring nights, the cool breeze gently whispering through my ever-expanding branches, the sun, who seemed to be my friend, still providing me with its radiant warmth. These are the recollections that cause me to understand the joy of life. Now the sun is my enemy, lashing out its deadly rays upon me, and wind does nothing but destroy my leaves and excavate the dirt which holds me steadily to the ground.
I reach toward the sun, I navigate through the wind; in moments I dance with their melodies. But no song lasts forever, no tree can sway without help from the wind and the sun. My endless climb, though, never wavers. I reach up and up, consuming all of the scarce water, and gradually, I, the lonely tree, grow.
Pleasant Summer Surprise
As I am sitting doing my work
I spot a bird standing on my porch
I think of this unusual quirk
I wonder if it’ll get scorched
I walk outside to check on it
I stumble and almost fall
But it doesn’t seem to move a bit
Even after witnessing it all
The bird, as small as a mouse
Has beautiful green and yellow wings
It’s tiny compared to our house
But its eyes are as big as rings
At first, I thought the bird was dead
How sad I would be if it were the case
As it should have fled
When I tripped on my shoelace
However, on closer inspection
Its eyes are still wide open
Unneeded from protection
Its wings are not swollen
But as my naughty brother runs outside
The cute little bird flies shyly away
However, I am satisfied
As the bird seems to be okay
Ferns etch their way along my line of sight,
Presenting themselves in the most conspicuous way possible: appearance
Their existence is a truth I often ignore;
An existential happening I choose not to regard
As I live in the city,
A desert city,
Where these ferns have no place,
I have no chance to notice their beauty-
No opportunity to admire their strength in numbers
My truth is cacti and joshua trees,
Their elegance defined by no more than…
Leaves, brown dirt, brown sky…
I miss the presence of the ferns,
Pray for their reappearance,
Yet I know their home is far outside mine,
In the thickly-lined serenity of the forest;
I’m still glad they leave me comfort
What It Means to Be Canadian
From the East to the West,
The true North stands strong and free,
From the Canadian Rockies to the sandy beaches, lakes, shores and valleys
We stand together,
United, and bound to be as one
From far and wide, we will always be rejoiced,
As god keeps our land glorious and free!
Canada is a country filled with beauty,
Changes of the seasons there are much to see
From festivals of early spring tulips on Parliament Hill,
To beautiful spring blossoms that bloom in the Cape Breton Highlands
The joy of sliding down snowy hills, just as the beautiful Blue Mountains,
Building snow angels,
To building snowman just out in the balcony,
All the joys of winter are just under our toe tips!
From the high lighthouse tops to the low historical houses,
The wars of the past,
To the wars of the present, Canadians have always been,
and will be
The peacekeepers of the world!
Stories of the Canadian heroes, to the Canadian inventors
Along with the Indigenous people
And their traditional knowledge
Paved the path
To the Canada,
We see today!
Kanata was what they called in the past,
A place with native history, rituals and ceremonies
We embrace this country,
As a place of diversity,
And a vast array of religions,
And a mosaic of cultures
Hello, Bonjour, Ni hao, Hola in the air
This country welcomes all,
With long held hands
We stand together,
Embrace our past
From the present to the future, the journey still stands
A land filled with a scent of maple syrup, peace and joy
We the next generation, stand under the maple flag
And walk into the path of light
People from every corner of the world,
They call this glorious land Canada
I call it, home sweet home!
"Tie Dye Sky"
The phenomenon that brightens up my day,
the feeling it gives off never leaves me astray.
Those beautiful mixes of orange and yellow,
the highlights in the sky seem so close and so mellow.
Oh sunset, how I wish you'd stay longer,
Oh sunset, how I love our bond growing stronger.
Oh sunset, how I always look forward to your presence,
Oh sunset, how I adore the happiness you give me, your true present.
As I walk upon my backyard,
The soft grass slides in between my feet
The blades shiny unlike coal charred
Flowers have never smelled so sweet
A buzzing sound by my ear
A bee was pollinating near
Scurrying nonchalantly away
Spreading its iridescent wings
Over the rainbow bouquet
Nature’s musical strings
Carried through the cool breeze
Waving at the carefree trees
The breath of mother nature
the little chirps of mother birds
Amazed, I realize I am no stranger
To this scenery without words
I slowly drift with the clouds
Higher and dreamward without crowds
Snowflakes twirl and fall
Dancing like ballerinas
Scent of pine wafts by
Wet small sparkles,
Dancing water all the way down!
It brings me so many feelings,
We Are Water
Water is healing
Water is inspiring; motivating
The effortless flow and beauty amaze but surprise me every time, like it’s the first
The crash, a splash, the pureness of the water calm and center me
The interconnectedness of our planet is centered around water
Through oceans, waterways, rain, storms, or faucets, we all are connected by water
We have a duty to protect our planet as champions of water
To protect what connects us, not divides us
I made up of seventy percent water
I am water
We are water
What A Wonderful World
I walk on the dirt path in the forest.
As it leads me to better days.
I hear every sound that echos from the treetops to the rocks below.
I hear the sounds of birds singing a melody that can wake up the world.
The sound of water droplets falling off of leaves and landing on the surface of the earth.
The sound of the wind flying through the trees as it sails to better lands.
I keep on walking like it was just another day.
The animals seem to look at me but they aren’t bothered.
They don’t judge like we do.
They see our souls and know more than we could ever believe in.
The earth listens to us.
It always has.
It kept watching over us even when we didn’t watch over the world.
The earth seems like a breathing animal.
A majestic beautiful animal that can calm the universe with the song of its trees and the sounds of the oceans.
We take it for granted everyday.
We never think deeply how this earth keeps us alive and makes sure we wake up every morning.
It’s so complicated yet so simple.
It can take up our entire mind or can just be an after thought.
It’s so incredible to believe it exists.
What a wonderful world I say.
What a wonderful world indeed.
My Pearl Necklace
My pearl necklace hints at things beyond
Of adventures, of danger, of treasure and more
It sings me a lullaby when I sleep
About the blue ocean deep
It sings about colorful fishes
It sings about the ocean's hypnotizing song
It sings about the mysteries of long ago
Underneath the aquamarine ocean deep
My pearl necklace was born in an oyster
A speck of sand irritated it
Nacre was poured over it
Until it became a beautiful, iridescant pearl
It stayed in the breast of the oyster
Until divers came and fetched it away
And when they opened it to their surprise
Out came a lustrious pearl
They made it into a necklace with other pearls
And placed it in a glass cabinet in a jeweler's shop
Where I bought it and brought it home
And it hangs from my neck singing to me
My pearl necklace came from the bottom of the sea
Where pretty fishes darted among coral and sea anemones
But one day it was picked up, its oyster pried open
So now it sings to me at night about the bottom of the sea
A Little River
A Little River
A little river in the woods.
A little river always could
Warm your thoughts and make the trees sway,
A little river can never be blown away.
A little river
Is the only one who isn’t surprised
When the wind blows his water up in the air.
A little river is all the forest needs
To become peaceful,
A little river
Smart and wize
A little river
Has the best prize;
A place where he can be happy.
The Art of Nature
Everything around us is nature’s work of art.
Flowers are nature’s paintbrushes.
The grass is nature’s canvas.
Every place I go, every landscape it touches.
Nature’s art is on the outside, on the inside, everywhere.
Mother Nature gives us a chance to share
With the creatures on this earth, that we need to respect.
Respect air, earth, water, fire.
Respect for nature’s art is what I desire.
The tree hugger is a wonderful man, who walks in the woods each day.
Night or day, winter, spring, summer, fall, he and the trees do play.
Yet the tree hugger as not been late for a round of ring around the Rosie.
After they all fall down after a game or two, he gives each a great big hug, just like our parents do to me and you.
Yet then the next day the game just continues.
The Sparkling Blue Sea
The sparkling blue Sea is my friend
He washes and foams waiting for me
To dip my feet into his waters
To sing a cheerful song as I haul up my nets
The sparkling blue Sea whispers
Of lands far across his waters
Of coral reefs and rainbows under the sea
His white-washed hands beckon to me
To dive under the sparkling blue Sea
When midnight comes, my Sea turns indigo
And waits for me to give me a light show
He tells the bioluminescence
the sparkling blue Sea doesn't just belong to me
The children slap their rough hands across his face
They sweep trash and sand into his arms
His blue turns brown
His eyes dim
But I love the Sea
I love the Sea
I tell him stories of blue blue water
Clear to the bottom, see through like glass
He sighs and whispers
Wanting to be one of them
But my Sea never get angry
His hurricanes are his tears
His tsunamis are his waving hands
that stretched too high
So many people hate the Sea
They don't understand that he forgives them for
Turning his blue to brown
But I still love my Sea
The bright sky seemed to go on forever. The trees, stretching up to it, had green leaves that stood out in the blue background. The magnolia was shorter than the others, with pink and white leaves. It hung over the fence, stretching its branches across the two yards. A small tree stood in a yard on the other side, its white flower petals blowing in the wind, making it look like it was snowing. A small tulip stood in the back of the yard, all alone.
The wind gives a roar as you arrive at my front door. I remember as the leaves blow the blue skies and lilacs just one month ago. I remember the lilly petals rise as the soft wind blows, now the lillies are bright red leaves which have fallen off the trees. The birds used to fly to get food. Now they fly south for the winter. Everything is changing. Grass... to snow. Birds ... to squirrels. The change is beautiful but horrible.
Bathe me with your milky light
Take me up to touch the stars
Rock me in your crescent hold
Send me to where my dreams lie
Half a cookie
Dark and light
Will you touch the stars for me?
Bring me their warm and friendly glow?
Smile at me from above
Light the path for the travelers
who travel fearful paths
Guide me through the dark chamber
of my heart
Dark and cold
Empty spaces where you once were
Did you go reach the stars for me?
Come back to me
Take me in your crescent hold
Rock me until I touch the stars
Bring me to where my dreams lie
Bathe me in your milky glow
The Oyster's Pearl
Ines Amelia A.
Sea showers crystals
Ashore my sanded toes cross
Away my footprints
Nearby the immense waves crest
My eyes can’t bourne on further
On rose gold sand flecks
Glistening shells half-broken
Curling up one pearl
This grand world is my oyster
And I am its precious pearl
A Rainy Day
Scribble, scribble, Scribble
Goes my pencil writing.
Drip, drip, drip
goes the water raining.
Hurry, hurry, hurry
go the birdies flying.
Swish, swish, swish
go the branches dancing.
Rustle, rustle, rustle
go the leaves all falling.
Boom, boom, boom
go the clouds thundering.
Snap, snap, snap
goes the lightening sparking.
eek, eek, eek
goes my sister crying.
hush, hush, hush
go my parents soothing.
phew, phew, phew
goes my sister calming.
Crick, crick, crick
goes the lightening leaving.
duh, duh, duh
go the black clouds clearing.
Crack, crack, crack
go the fallen leaves crunching.
Wave, wave, wave
go the branches slowing.
Come, come, come
go the birdies emerging.
Drip, drip, drip
goes the water drizzling.
Scribble, scribble, scribble
goes my pencil finishing.
A World Beyond
They give our lives a lively touch
Which we adore
But take for granted too much
I see them through the apartment door.
I see the ruler shouting, hardly softly
It’s subjects quivering, slightly quietly.
The blanched beings bent at every command.
Huddling together over the vast, large land
With natures so soft and gentle.
A comfort so parental.
Then I change my gaze
And I’m treated with a large soldier maze.
They all stand, colossal and strong.
Knowing nothing can go wrong.
For deep inside they know.
This is where their duties flow.
They have a hopeful village to protect.
A village which pays with never-ending respect.
Then, something fluttering I see.
Tiny dancing angels, quite like a baby
Amid them, a blooming pink lady.
At the times when the weather was frigid
Her arms were barren branches
Ever so rigid.
But with the sun now brightly gleaming
Her once ugly limbs are greatly teeming.
A majestic dancer leaps above.
Her flaming color, the symbol of love.
Her countless poised leaps proves
As her arms perform a string of swift moves
She’s as talented and gifted
As her eye-makeup looked.
There’s also a spy.
But you won’t find him however you try
Completely camouflaged, in the weeds,
Cautiously and discreet, he proceeds
Communicating through a furtive code
For he’s on a mission of a top-secret mode
All this nature lit a bulb in my mind,
I realized that I can see, but I’ll be blind
until I treat nature like mankind
When the trees stretched so high
that they may as well have been
fallen scraps of a
low hanging sky.
when the thunder crashed
and the lightning struck
and the rain plinked
and the sun shloofed.
when the mists rolled off the lakes
and we imagined vanilla-chocolate shakes out of the birch bark boughs.
we entwined our fingers in the haze
and told anyone who would listen
that we could touch the clouds.
when the the summer sun would set
and auburn autumn in it's glory would roll in,
we were old enough to regret
that our summer kin-
our summer fun and din-
at least until next time,
to the bin.
I wandered among the tall grass of the fields behind my house,
The soles of my shoes crunching on the parched, dirty terrain.
My feet were on the ground, but my head was in the storm clouds.
I passed a brook, a trickle of muddy water dribbling through dead brush.
I passed a tree, an ugly, hollow thing, pecked by woodpeckers.
My eyes flitted without focus until suddenly I saw
A wooden swing,
Dry and ancient,
A porch swing
That had lost its porch,
Held only by a thin rope.
I ran my fingertips lightly over the rough wood,
Covered in splinters and leaves and memories,
Like I’d found a treasure in a beaten, moth-eaten chest.
My feet skimmed the tops of the trees,
Back and forth, back and forth,
With only the wood slab to protect me,
While the feeling of freedom lifted me up and away.
When it was time, I placed my memories on the others,
And returned the treasure to its chest for someone else to find,
And turned to walk home.
I heard the woodpeckers, the soft chirping of the baby birds,
Embraced by their mother’s wings in their hollow house.
I saw the small brook, the shimmering stream
Running through mossy rocks, flowing down into rivers and majestic oceans.
I felt the soft grass cushioning the path to my backyard.
Sometimes, now, when my head is in the clouds,
I lie on my couch and my thoughts return to a place,
A place with an old, hidden, long-forgotten porch swing.
And I fly.
It’s so heartbreaking
It’s so heartbreaking to know that the beautiful bees going extinct
It’s so devastating
It’s so devastating to hear wild fires are running rampant
It’s terrible to see All the pollution on the Earth
Why do we treat our home so poorly?
The life of a dandelion
The Life of a Dandelion.
The dandelion gasps as the little boy pinches her fragile stem. His fingers suffocated her, choking the very life out of those ivory petals and shiny lime leaves.
Then as the last seconds of her life tick by she remembers. She remembers starting out as just a seed, a little speck attached to the bottom of her mother’s stalk. Her mother, although fair with a sweet fluttering fragrance was one plant out of thousands and the dandelion was no more than one seed out of many.
Still, she remembers quite clearly the coolness of the wind as it broke her free from the stalk. She had waved goodbye to her siblings and drifted away, the prospect of the unknown future filling her with joy.
She had flown above the treetops, heard the sound of the fat robins singing and the tiny plink plink of acorns falling from trees. The strong smell of pine had made her dizzy as she floated along dancing with the wind.
After three days of drifting under the stars and swirling under the sun the wind brought her to the ground. She remembers the warm dirt coating her shell and slowly sinking deeper and deeper into the rich wet mud.
Then she slept. She had slept through the cold bitter nights when the ground froze and the trees turned a sparkling white. She had slept through the frozen lakes and the dark evenings when the sun itself went to sleep.
And then the cold had stopped.
The dandelion had woke to the first rays of spring and slowly smiled at the new bright world. She discovered new leaves and petals adorned to her green body and the birds above her tweeted their compliments.
She had lived life for another four days, listening to the rain patter and making friends with the spotted mushrooms on the bottom of the oak tree.
Until one day a little boy spotted the dandelion and with a tug of his fat finger ended the life of a dandelion who had flown above the trees and danced with the wind.
Moves like water
Flash of gold
Listen to the wind
The branches bow and tremble
Leaves fall down like rain
5 Senses at Low Tide
Here Comes Lady Autumn
Here comes Lady Autumn, who grants bountiful harvests for all. Adorned in a gown of fire and smelling of smoked applewood and sweet pumpkin spice, she treads as gently as a sloping river over the fallen leaves.
I see you outside
looking so happy and free.
Wiggle your roots deep into the Earth.
Feel the warm sun on your young leaves!
Rustle your leaves, sway in the wind
Look at the birds soaring above.
Reach high, little Tree!
Feel the joy
Soon, little tree
You’ll be big like me!
When I’m at the beach
I’m as happy as a peach
The sand is all smooth
And the water doesn’t seem to move
You can be a bear
Not like I will car
The wind in my hair
Like music to my ear
I could play in the sand
But that’s too bland
The sea is nice
But sometimes it feels like ice
Is like to rearrange
The puzzle of the atmosphere
Like a shaken beer
The atmosphere will be destroyed
Like an asteroid
It will look like a deflated balloon
Holding on to the moon
If we don’t do something
There will be nothing
We will be left behind
In our past mind.
The concrete world today,
A gargantuan creation of man
Surely expanding day by day,
All part of a decided plan.
Nature replaced with stone,
The stars blocked out by lights,
Perhaps we may not ever atone
For violating the constellated nights.
Birds are as if behind bars,
Their territory demeaned
Chirps replaced with horns of cars,
A blaringly obnoxious scene.
Homes replace the grass and trees
A new habitat for man,
We do not heed Mother Nature’s pleas,
Although we clearly can.
The weather beaten dirt,
Covered by asphalt,
Perhaps if more alert,
We may finally halt.
A wasteland of rock
Devouring grassy plains,
If the environment could talk,
It would lament over its remains.
Humans have created this concrete world
At the expense of our natural wonders,
Soon the result will become unfurled,
And reveal our enormous blunders.
the kid climbed the Sycamore tree
as high as he could go,
Dreams of tomorrow.
his knuckles hurt
his face was bruised,
blood was smeared on his shirt
and dirt was on his new shoes
he closed his eyes,
and tried to imagine the pain away
while he wondered why
it had to be this way
a hand caressed his
and a shock of pain went through him.
he looked up to see who it is
and saw a Girl right next to him
as She sat still on the branch of the Sycamore tree
picking the dust off Her ripped jeans
as Her auburn hair blew in the breeze
She looked like a farm queen
She then slipped Her hand in his
and even though it was sore,
He let it
as they sat on the branch of the Sycamore.
Four solemn souls
I feel mercy for four solemn souls that are just based on how they seem
They say one is sad and alone for her heart is cold as snow
Her brother silent, and hypnotized by the colors of the world like an eternal daydream
Then comes the star child loved by all, the warmth of her smile can make everything grow
The last brother always expected to be great, so proud, and bold
Always looking for a party, and have a great time
He knows all the secrets of teenage mischief that go untold
His favorite pastime is to go visit the shoreline.
Its cold out just stay in they say
Only noticed because tis the season
Years of being alone has made her grey
What's the point of being joly when you’re only remembered for one reason
Starchild always wanting to spring into action
With all her beauty, hear her song through the trees
She brings all types of reactions
Just ask the pollen, and the bees
The last soul, quiet and from the rest more matured
Sees the people around him in every color
To him we are just falling leaves on a chilled breeze yet he’s still allured
All though he’s quiet and prefers to be alone you can notice his presence toward the end of summer.
The sun dips behind the arc,
Slowly slipping into the dark.
Although his brightness is out of sight,
You never have to look far to see his light.
The trees shine with a tawny glaze,
The sky, a raging chrome blaze.
A river runs like liquid gold,
A cluster of buttercups, blonde and bold.
A lemony bird taking flight,
Riding the rays of fading light.
Fire flies twinkle like countless stars,
Mourning their loss from afar.
The sun rests beyond the mountains,
But our memories of him soar to the thousands.
Although his loss burns like flames,
His endless love still runs through our veins.
Your laugh, your smile, your life we will miss,
But we will always love you Chris.
Summer's Christmas Lights
Summer’s Christmas Lights
An earthy scent travels in the breeze as my father and I tiptoe through the forest. The moon smiles high above our heads and shines her cheerful glow along the path. Although the journey isn’t foreign to me, the night seems to hold something new. All around me the trees rustle with excitement. The crickets play a gentle tune, lulling all the hidden creatures to sleep. I am humming along, looking down at the illuminated path, when I notice the absence of my father’s steps. I slowly lift my head. I know exactly why he stopped. The fireflies. Millions. Billions. Trillions. Countless flashing lights dancing in the pines.
“It’s just like Christmas,” I whisper to my father. He asks if I could take a photo, but I know this moment is too special to capture. There are rare moments in a photographer’s life that should be left to play out like a movie instead of seen through a lens. However, this isn’t the first time I have been mesmerized by firefly magic.
My little toes were tickled by grass and my hands were stretched up grasping at the night air dense with flashing bugs. Giggles erupted from my throat and the warm beachy wind blew my golden curls. A tall, plump figure appeared next to me. My PopPop came outside to help me catch the fireflies.
“Elyse, let me show you a trick!” He demonstrated how to carefully guide the bugs into my hands and cup it gently so I could examine them up close. The little glowing creature crawled all over his rough builder’s hands and took flight soon after. PopPop smiled down at me before moving onto the porch with the other adults to drink his “shluky.” I raced around the yard for another 15 minutes until I caught every firefly that night. My stubby legs carried me over to my grandfather’s lounge chair, pushed me up into his cozy lap, and curled into my chest until I fell asleep to the beat of PopPop’s steady heartbeat.
As the fireflies sparkled in those pine trees, I couldn’t help but think of my grandfather. He would always go for a morning walk on the beach as the sun came up over the horizon. Every morning I would wake up and rush to the kitchen table to find the crumb-bun box neatly tied with red string. He knew how much I loved sugar for dessert. On mornings that weren’t too hot, PopPop would take me and my cousins to the dock to go crabbing. Homemade crab traps made of a thin plank of wood, yellow rope, and a metal clamp with a chicken leg stuck on the end were our weapons of choice. We stayed there for what felt like hours, but they always flew by.
When I miss my grandfather, I revisit those times of my childhood to see him smile and laugh and take care of his family. When I am at the shore taking photos, I remember how he always smelled like the beach and how his eyes were as gentle as the rolling sea. When life starts to get overwhelming, I remember how he could always make me laugh and would never put me in a timeout. I remember when he started getting sick, how frail he looked. I didn’t understand what happened to the strong, smiling man I knew so well.
The wind is starting to pick up and a coyote calls out in the distance. I wipe the tears from my chilled cheeks and get ready to march forward. I know PopPop is gone, but he will forever live inside my heart and my memories. I turn to my father and we both know it’s time to move on. Together we crunch along, further into the forest, disappearing into the pine trees alit with summer’s Christmas lights.
Like the Wind
Exploding into temper tantrums,
Howling, screeching, whining
Tearing past at enormous speeds
Trees bend, scrambling to get out of her way.
Like a kid in a candy shop,
This! That! These! Those!
A spinning funnel
Snatching what she wants.
In January, she turns a cold shoulder
Spitting out icy accusations.
In the wake of her anger,
Lies a silent calm.
Her stiff ways bend to softer caresses,
Relinquishing her anger
She nudges the porch swing,
Finally at peace.
Summer frees her playful side.
Racing children down the beach,
She gently brushes past,
Cooling, soothing, refreshing.
Lulled by the summer breeze, a false sense of security
Just around the corner, her temperament will whip into yet another storm.
ahead by a century?
our humanity in our dealings with others still has a long way to go before we can truly think of ourselves as advanced.
Behind closed doors social media has confined our youth into forming preconceived notions regarding others, and restricted our abilities to making meaningful connections with our peers. Millenials have been protrayed as incapable and incompetent, according to studies, they are most likely to quit and have been given everything on a silver platter
We need more women with careers in stem field
More time spent in real life, not on social media
More love, less hate towards marginalized communtiies and to put the spotlight on diversity as a positive, not a negative (divergent)
We need to start movements just like our fathers and grandparents (hippy)
And stop the stigma associated with hippies
Stop the stigma related to mental health, and combat the current crises in our country such as opioids, cannabis, and environmental consumption or footprint
The future needs technology, and advancement to bridge the gap between the rich and the poor, and allow democracy to put those who are marginalized in favor- expose them to more opportunities to gain enough money and ressources and to allow the upper elite rich to contribute to their societies. We need to give the silenced marginalized communities a voice and allow them to grow out of their situations, and stop the leaders of companies to under pay their workers unsustainable minimum wages. The future jobs will not need labor, utting a greater emphasis on technology and engineering. Our future is about sustainability, sustaining our humanity, our appreciation, our respect towards nature, and our purpose in life.
We no longer want to see our earth's resources as commodities but as priceless possessions which we want to keep for the generations to come after us.
Being a hippy is not doing drugs and promiscuity
But vying fro fredoms adn rights
Our environemtn is declining at alraming rates
Animals, and our own welbbeing is in risk
This leads to me , and what im doing to make a change
I have a passion for the environment, and am in part of my schools me to we
I’ve already started campaigns where weve recycled plastic water bottles and sorted trash
And a part of youth who want to make a change in our society.
If we all work together, our future will be in good hands
i don’t think we’ll ever stop running
through fields of golden, wheat grains sticking
between the gaps of our fingers --
how the whiskers of the seed,
dance with the wind.
i don’t think we’ll ever stop jumping
across patches of sunlight,
finding rocks tucked into our shoes,
braiding daisy stems into flower crowns,
digging our toes beneath cold sand
letting the ocean kiss our ankles.
strawberries in the spring will always taste sour
like a rash on your throat.
a mocking bird sang our argument into a song
there will always be
mud tracks on the carpet,
after fishing with dad.
the clouds will never not
look like a dog or a cat
and the rain always has a different taste
when it slaps the thickness of my tongue
pounce across my belly, dribbling --
i don’t think we’ll ever stop taking walks at 4am
i don’t think we’ll ever stop counting the stars
i don’t think we’ll ever stop laughing, crying, dancing
i don’t think we’ll ever stop
loving the outdoors.
The clearest way into the Universe is through a forest wilderness.
the sky writes me a love note
the sky writes me a love note at 6pm
bruised with pink blemishes and swelling with blues.
hands me another at 9,
this time, a dome sprinkled with speckles of lights.
one in december,
it comes in the form of pure white
that kiss my cheeks and tickle my tongue.
carides home with the rain
drumming agaisn’t my window.
sometimes the rain sounds like music,
or a marriage proposal.
the sky wrote all golden letters --
my wedding ring a tan line,
the sounds of a hummingbird’s wings between
wisps of wind became church bells.
radiant hues ruptured the night --
the sky said
“ i love you ” between the ecstasy,
and i held the love note
cradled in my hands to sleep.
Crushing a red speckled strawberry in his hands the artist smears the sweet juice delicately across her lips. Taking out a small ladle he scoops into the night sky and pulls out a handful of stars, carefully adding a touch of moonlight before dabbing the mixture onto her eyes. Her cloak is weaved from the sun’s rays fashioned with gold ores and sparkly rubies. If you were to stroke her hair, you would feel the tips of the soft thistles that grow by the river.
The artist dips his paintbrush again and adds a layer of fine sand for her skin. He mixes it together with the yolk of a robin’s egg and gently sprinkles her with the scent of tulips. In her heart, he places a single grain of rice. And he watches with a smile as she comes to life.
Bad Hair Day In the Savannah
Bad Hair Day in the Savannah
By Adachi Amaram
A hairy pink tongue flits in
and out of whisker ornamented lips
like a frog lashing out to catch a rebellious fly.
Four legs collapse comfortably,
the muscles ripple like a tsunami
going in reverse.
Golden fur laughs,
tickled by the wind,
with hopes that it won’t tickle back.
A mane of gold eclipses
mini playful, vanity-filled fur balls
each grooming to ensure
a hair isn’t out of place.
all efforts gone to the waste-
lands of the Savannah,
as a black net descends from the heavens
and entraps hair dreams.
The wind blows at my wispy hair
My fingers becoming cold
I start to speed up
running through the leaves
turning in circles
I see the blur of color
red orange yellow and
combining as I run into my freedom
run into my home
and my future
I see what is ahead of me
The world goes spinning as I can’t remember
the leaves I just ran through
I see something different
I see what we all have done to the world
the decisions we have made
what it looks like now
and I know
We can do better than this.
They're good for their wings.
All I like to see
Is them flap their beautiful wings.
I like to see them flying by,
All I know is a butterfly.
The last leaves
An orange leaf is floating down,
Breaking away from the tree's golden crown
Blowing, glowing, gone.
Amber leaves with their warm, gentle glow
Falling from trees like a bright orange snow
Drifting gently down.
The sun is setting in the west
And the cardinals lay down to rest,
as snowflakes drift past.
The ground and trees are coated in white
By the snow that's blown in during the night
Freshly fallen snow.
The leaves lay under the snow, buried deep
While all living things lay down to sleep
In winter's crisp cold.
Tree trunks are a shield
Trunks help trees survive winter
They show bravery
I liked going to Colorado Bend to see Gorman Falls.
We walked for a mile and a half to get there.
The waterfall was 70 feet tall.
It was cold, I could feel it even though I couldn't get near the waterfall.
The air was misty.
The water was really clear.
It was feeding a pool at the bottom.
There were plants growing all over the rocks and being watered by the falling water.
They looked mossy and green.
The Colorado River flows by the pool and by the waterfall.
Red, Yellow, and golden hues
Are the well-known fall cues
Summer has ended
and gardens have been tended.
Days shorten as Night lengthens
and the cold weather begins to strengthen.
Have You Forgotten
Have You Forgotten
By Hailey Chutter
Why do petals
Fall so carefully to the ground
Sit so perfectly in place
Just to be swept up in the wind
Blanket huge mountains
Layer upon layer
Just to melt away in the spring
And the trees
Grow fruit for months
Sweet, sweet fruit
Just for it to fall to the grass
Oh, but have you forgotten?
How the petals love to spin
And twirl in the breeze
How the snow loves to change
And surprise people suddenly
How the trees love to let go
And watch a new plant grow
Love running back to you.
Nature's First Green Is Gold
Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
Our alpha is milky
Her feathers feel silky
Next is Ninja
The only rhyme is jinja
That is a city in Uganda
Though I live in Canada
Then is Drumstick
She’s the one who was hard to pick
After that is Golden
She is very hard to hold in
Last is Deep-fried
And you can’t say we never tried
The underground warriors
Do not march with feet
Instead they noiselessly crawl
Along to their own beat
They do not move within a unit
Nor have use for guns and tanks
They carry out their tasks
None having any special ranks
These soldiers push their ways
Through the hard and rocky soil
Either rain or shine, they all yet still
Relentlessly continue their toil
They help aerate the earth
And nourish all its inhabitants
These small but mighty heroes
Take their roles as the descendants
So next time you see them
Come up through the ground and squirm
Please do not step on one
Of these friendly warrior earthworms!
fibers in june
at night when the heat in the room is spun around by the ceiling
it condenses into spider silk,
and from then on, it falls through the air
and piles on top of me while i try to fall asleep.
the silk is heavy when i am still. on nights
where i am stagnant, i sit up and break through all the millions of threads
and press myself up to the window:
it’s open and a screen sits inside to filter. my sleepy eyes blur out
the sharp intricacy of the mesh. it keeps the bugs out, but worse,
it keeps me in. almost desperately, i clutch the wooden frame
and press my cheek to the miniscule crosshatches; i imagine my hot breath
seeping through the partition slowly into the cooler night,
and the idea only makes my heart rate quicken:
i feel claustrophobic and have the urge to knock out the frame
by the plastic on the sides, or reach my palms right into the wire
and clench my them into fists. i want to feel my fingers pop through the tension
to break it away and crumple and condense it into my hands
and to feel each strand of wire, tiny and thin like spider silk:
i cannot. so i let my face strain against the frame and i still myself.
the wire smells sharp and earthy like what i smell hanging in
the limpid air outside. it smells like my brother’s sweat and a little like dust.
it’s deliciously cold outside, and i wonder what
the screen has done to the air, for it to have filtered in hot,
and what i have done to deserve the way it has made my room so warm.
All Because Of Her
She greets us with a chill in the air and at times a cold and fierce blow.
She pulls our blankets back in an effort to make us get up, look out our window, and see her new blanket of snow.
She brightens our rooms with a very bright and inviting light;
It is no longer the sun but it is the brightness of the outside Winter white.
She forces us to bundle up and shield ourselves with very heavy clothing.
She does this in an effort to prepare us for those fierce blows and that high white coating.
She opens up our doors and the scenery has been scanned;
We are now prepared to take those first steps into her beautiful Winter wonderland.
She now greets us with a not fierce, but gentle blow.
We look down to the ground and notice the disappearance of the bright white snow.
She taps us with her rain releasing it as a drizzling;
She provides her flowers with this beneficial source of life which is another sign that the season has transformed into Spring.
She has taken back her snow revealing her tall green grass.
We look into the drops of rain that possess the action of reflecting ourselves similar to that of glass.
She steals from us this pleasant sight in the effort of another season change.
She doesn’t feel regret because of the next season she will provide in an allowing exchange.
She warms us up with a blaze from the bright and yellow sun.
The characteristics of this season opens up an agenda for a wide range of fun.
A feeling of freedom compels us and it is all because of her;
We feel free because of the lack of restrictions that we encounter during the time of Summer.
She provides a light blow from time to time which is very much needed.
But even with the raging heat it is hard to find any time to be seated.
Take a dip in the water or just lay out in the sun;
Just make sure you enjoy this time before Summer is officially done.
The last of her four seasons is another beauty that separates itself from the others;
It does so by showcasing a metamorphosis of the leaves’ colors.
We wonder what happened to the green leaves and where the red, orange, yellow, and brown came from.
She causes this change to inform us that it is time to fall into Autumn.
Porches are aligned with jack-o’-lanterns during the period of October;
Kids are also going from house to house asking for candy from the homeowners.
Then thanksgiving rolls around and the air is occupied by the smell of cooking food.
This is definitely something that will put you in an Autumn mood.
Throughout this poem you where probably bewildered at times when trying to comprehend who was being referred to when you came across “she”.
Well I’ll give you a hint it certainly isn’t me.
Because of our different preferences when it comes to the weather we all at times find ourselves hating her;
But that hatred doesn’t last very long because all of the beautiful things of the outdoors come from the one and only Mother Nature.
High In The Sky
If I were the wind:
I’d run, flee from the ground,
whisper mischievously in passenger’s hair,
blow birds about the sky and toss kites
high in the sky.
If I were a tree:
I’d adorn my hair with crowns
made from garlands of a robin’s nest.
Stand boldly as the cheeky winds rustle me,
and lift my leafy arms
high in the sky.
If I were a flower:
I’d bloom tenaciously like rainbow silk
where dreams can be weaved from.
I’d bask in the sunlight filtering through the lattice of tree leaves
as I face my silky petals
high in the sky.
If I were a butterfly:
I’d dance in a whirl of colour, swimming
in the air, curling in the sweetest of swirls.
I’d charm rose petals with butterfly kisses
as I, with fluttering wings, fly
high in the sky.
If I were the sun:
I’d rise, pouring my cascades of amber and honey rays
into the earth like a pot of molten lava.
I’d caress my children with scintillating golden lights
while hanging, like crystal orbs
high in the sky.
But I am me, the only thing I can do
is frolic with the wind,
lean on the proud trees,
praise the dancing flowers,
relish the velvety touch of a butterfly’s kisses,
I could look,
look very hard and dear,
with my fondly squinted eyes
high in the sky.
The Jasmine Tree
The Jasmine Tree
As the rain fell lightly from the sky, the old jasmine tree stood, unmoving, but the flowers flew down, all white like snow but with bright yellow underbellies. I sat down on the gray boulder with my two friends Chun and Liya from school. We used colorful chalk to draw our castle and then used our handmade “Shabao” plushies to act like the people inside. It was April in the city, the best weather I could ever have. However, the spring in Beijing was always short. After I lived there for fourteen years, it was still hard for me to catch the “true spring”—those perfect weather days. Summer always came so fast. That year, the rain lasted about a week, and it was finally the season for the jasmine flowers to bloom. Today, kids from school ran past the bushes near the street, some in a hurry to go back home to eat their mother’s handmade milk ice cream, others to fly kites in the field, but none seemed to notice the jasmine tree flowering overhead.
Grandma was there, sitting on her old red-wooden chair, wearing her white silk qipao and her dark green cloth shoes. She sat there quietly reading her favorite book A Dream in Red Mansions and drinking her favorite jasmine flower tea.
The flowers flew from the tree and landed on our chalk-drawn castle. Chun suddenly asked: “Oh, Lucy, how old is this jasmine tree? You said it’s more than 200 years old, right?”
“No, it’s nearly 400 years old. And it’s been here since Grandma was a little girl like us,” I replied but kept my eyes on the tree. It was so tall, almost growing into the sky. I couldn’t even see the top. It was so huge, even ten people could not hug it using their arms. Grandma told me once that the tree was planted 400 years ago and started this life with my Grandma’s family. It has witnessed the prosperous times and the declines. In the 1920s, one rainy day, a flash came down from the sky, and boom! The middle of the tree was split in two. Everyone thought it would die, but it kept standing for almost a century after, just like my grandma has.
Suddenly, I heard a sound. I glanced back and saw Grandma standing up. She didn’t say anything but just went straight toward our kitchen. She opened the yellow wooden door, and I saw her shadow. With the rainbow’s light reflecting on the exterior of the house, I heard the sound of a pot being opened, the smell of something good drifting into the sky and spreading into my nose. Oh, it was the smell of the jasmine flower, but, it was a little different. What’s that? A new kind of food? Did grandma make it? I turned back to Chun and Liya with the question marks in my head.
“Lucy, Chun, Liya, come here. Let’s have some jasmine flower cakes!” the sound of Grandma’s voice went into my ear. I saw Grandma was standing there outside. She was so pretty, within the white silk qipao—simple but elegant. She held the jade green plate in her hand, and on it were the white jasmine flower cakes. She didn’t move. She just stood there smiling at me—so warm, so sweet, like an angel from the sky.
The sunshine of April shone on her. With the warm light, the jasmine flower cakes looked like treasures. Grandma kept smiling and moved toward us. In her white clothes and green shoes, she was like a flower. She sat near the tree and put down the plate for us. “Let’s try it! It’s a snack I always had when I was young. I used the jasmine flower from this tree to make it,” she said.
She handed me a cake. I put it in the middle of my hand, looked at it like enjoying a piece of art. The cake was as big as a cupcake, all white, with six red spots shaped like a flower. I put it near my nose. The smell of jasmine mixed with flour. I bit into the cake and felt the soft texture in my mouth. The jasmine flower juice, red bean paste, and jasmine flowers made it taste not overly sweet, but just right. Chun and Liya all took a cake from the plate and ate. We gobbled up the flour crumbs left in the plate. The rainbow was still hanging in the sky, the seven colors of it shining on the tree and on the flowers. The colors reflected in the white flowers and made rainbow petals.
Grandma sat there, smiling at our chalk drawn castle, and I imagined that she thought about her own childhood. We turned our heads to each other and smiled. With the fresh smell of the jasmine, the happiness was all around me. For me, happiness was the time I spent in childhood with my grandma, playing with my friends, eating the homemade food Grandma made, and sitting together under the old jasmine tree.
Last summer, I visited grandma. The tree was still there, but my friends had all moved to the other cities. Outside the house, the bushes were gone. All around, tall office buildings stood shading her yard. But Grandma was still there, and the jasmine tree was still there. Grandma stood at the door of the house and smiled at me. Then she turned back into the kitchen to grab taro rice cakes. I sat down with her on the rock. She held my hand, and I leaned on her shoulder, listening to the happy songs from childhood.
Oh, Deer, Smokies!
Your sight leaves me breathless
In shock, I start to dream
dream of what life could be
How it would be to wake up every morning
Ears ringing to the glorious sound of the life that lives all around me
And the remarkable smell of the pine and maple
In the distance, I hear a loud pounding of water onto rocks
As I move closer I see the gigantic and thrilling waterfall
Nearby, the trickling of water leads me to a small stream
FIlled with algae, crystal clear water, and oh so many pebbles
I follow until the neverending path of water seems to have reached an end
This is the place I love, the place I need to need to be, and the place where I can truly be happy
a few months ago in a national park
but this time
i'm really outside
in office buildings
instead of the warm, thick air
waves past me
a cup of water
that makes it too cold
of my phone
don’t take over
and i can smell
only steps away
all i can see
is the dark slope
of a mountain
into a sky
those foreign things
Rest in the grass
I fall swiftly.
My back enveloped in the grass. Mottled shadow, following the waving leaves. I wish to melt into the forest floor. Fungi, disintegrate my skin, envelope me in your alien beauty. Let me dacay. Birds, take my eyes, use them to see this place as I do. Take my teeth, bury them like seeds, so I may grow here with you. Let my blood sink into the ground, feed the blankets of moss, turn them red as rubies. Bugs, burrow through my bones, turn them in to pure white sand, that may be swept into the sky by a cool breeze. Continue this. Continue my decomposition. Spread me out, let me exist in every part of this wildwood. Let the trees grow up through my heart, taller than I have ever lived, taller than I've ever looked. Reach the clouds and then the heavens. The moon and the stars.
timeline of the earth on which we stand
Calm and happy
Thousands of lives form in front of your eyes
You can hear the chirps of a robin
The buzzing of a bee
The croak of a frog
The life she gives
She provides like no other
She cares like no other
Started with anger
Ended with bliss
Now the children have come forth
The ones she gives such tender love and care
The ones she provides for
They don't love
They destroy and deprive
They kill the good
They coddle the bad
She is terrified She shouldn't have to bear this pain This hatred This fear