2010 April PAD Challenge: Day 22

Time to solicit feedback from those who are having to try more than five times to post their poems, please send me an e-mail at robert.brewer@fwmedia.com with the subject line: More Than Five Times.

In your e-mail, please include:

  •  Very specific steps of what you do and what you see at each step.
  • What computer (PC or Mac) you’re using.
  • What browser (Explorer, Firefox, etc.) you’re using.
  • Any error messages you receive (be as specific as possible).
  • Time/date problem occurs.
  • What type of Internet connection you have (high speed, dial-up, etc.).


Maybe just talking about it will scare the blog into working. Or maybe not. If not, please feel free to post your poem over at my personal blog by clicking here. There are already 37 comments over there, and many poets have said it is easier to leave comments there.

I know it’s not preferable, but it might work as duct tape until our programmers can find a pattern in the feedback we receive.


Also, one very quick comment (I promise there is a prompt eventually), please avoid calling names or debating topics that aren’t directly poetry-related on this site. I know poetry stirs emotions, but this challenge is for a diverse community of poets who have different views on everything. Let’s try to be tolerant and understand others (at least on this blog) and be patient with anyone who we doesn’t see the world the same way. 


For today’s prompt, write an Earth poem. You can decide what an Earth poem is. Maybe it’s a poem about the planet; maybe it’s actually the lowercase earth (a gardening or burial poem?); maybe it’s just a poem that happens on (or to) Earth; maybe it’s even written in the voice of extraterrestrials (that might be fun). No matter how you decide to roll with it, have a very poetic Earth Day!

Here’s my attempt:

“O, Earth!”

I love the way water rises
into your atmosphere, the way
it gets trapped and falls down again.
Tammy and I walk through the rain
without worrying about our
wet clothes. We know there will be time
for getting dry. We see birds pluck
worms out of the grass; they wait with
open beaks for the earth dwellers
to emerge from their now flooded
tunnels. If Reese were with us, he
would say, “Nature eating nature.”


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163 thoughts on “2010 April PAD Challenge: Day 22

  1. G. Smith

    F.F.A. (Future Farmers of Antares)
    (A Dodoitsu)
    (c) 2010 – G. Smith
    Though here for generations
    we call this soil running through
    my fingers by the name of
    our ancestral home.

  2. LaSteph


    Grasp the dirt tightly in your hand
    A poor man’s, a rich man’s gold
    Which evolves into new birth
    To capture a new beginning
    Work it’s way from the ground level
    Through multiple layers of soil
    Receiving nutrients and much tender loving care
    From a giving sun but
    Budding forward, confident
    Returning to the underground.


  3. Angie Bell

    The Man from Earth
    A Limerick
    Because my brain is fried

    There was a young man from the earth
    Who grew to have quite a large girth
    All foods he would taste
    ‘Til he grew a great waist
    That shook when he was chock-full of mirth

  4. Susan Brennan

    Earth Poem

    They say I was born pure
    But I say, no. I was born from grease
    And sweat, was slipped
    From a wheel and chain.

    But you, my friend, root mirror
    Re-greened each spring, chartreuse
    Witch hair, willow spell,
    You are the earth’s first fruit

  5. Rose Anna Hines


    Standing under a gentle waterfall
    Run off from hot springs.

    Drops, Drops,
    Drops, gentle fingers
    wiping away the dirt from the day
    the aches, the pains
    the lazy words
    words flung in anger
    words sticky with quilt
    kind words wrapped with requests.

    Drops, drops,
    Drops washing away mistakes/failures
    until inside a lotus flower,
    I float in a pond
    surrounded by lavendar
    lit by fireflies.

    As I breathe in and out slowly
    bubbles float out of my moth
    filling the space with wholly-ness

  6. Juanita Snyder

    For those not in the know, "Earthshine" is a term used to explain Waxing/Waning Moon; that is Sunlight relecting off Earth’s surface onto the face of the Moon, then back down again to Earth.

    by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    That perfect time
    when evening calls,
    when shadows of all
    those under Earth’s care
    sigh a collective yawn
    then stretch in anticipated
    slumber, lengthening
    sleek bodies like
    feral cats across
    land and sky,
    limb and windowsill
    bathroom vanities.

    It is a time when
    just after sunset,
    the moon goes crescent
    behind a curtain of smoke,
    his outline teasingly faint
    but glowing.
    A time, said da Vinci
    when the Sun pours his
    heart out to Earth who
    otherwise has eyes for
    another, re-gifting
    Sun’s glow to win the
    favor of Moon who
    in a jealous lover’s fit
    sends it back, each volley
    a little dimmer than
    the one before.

    © 2010 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

  7. Clay Strickland

    Only Earth

    Only her surface
    is barely known to me,
    but every ounce of mass
    knows her strength of core.

    With free electrons
    she palpitates protection,
    a magnetos sphere of care
    for all delicate organisms.

    Holds another companion
    barren world adjoining orbit,
    face on looking and longing,
    spinning time and tide together.

    Only Earth is Alive,
    rising in continental fires,
    falling in water and air vapors,
    breathing in creation, men are you.

  8. Kyhaara

    Everything under the sun,
    Anything with a spark of life,
    Resides on planet Earth.
    There is no other place for us.
    Humans must treat her well.

  9. Barbara Nieves

    Nature Finds A Way

    Layer the asphalt over the Earth,
    blanket the ground in concrete,
    it gives way eventually to the
    effects of wind, rain, cold and heat.
    Crevices and cracks form in the poured rock,
    weaknesses so evident, the obstacle now eroding,
    it surrenders to nature’s persistence,
    sprouts break through the opening,
    the triumphant leaf and blooming,
    a wild plant’s victory over cement and
    the onslaught of pavement.

  10. Arrvada

    Blue Earth

    Home to me
    Home to my kind
    This place of green and brown
    With deep blue seas and green dark forest
    With life abounding in every form
    from smallest flea to largest beast
    Whale and Walrus, Elephant and Wolf
    Birds and snakes and lizards that scurry
    We humans live in a constant hurry
    we pass on by beneath a deep blue sky
    and never look up to look at each
    floating cloud, white, gray or pink
    The sky continues from blue into black
    every day as the sun pirouttes
    with the moon in an endless waltz
    of light and dark
    counting out days into years
    the earth our mother from which we sprang
    ages slowly while me whiter and die
    we leave faint scars and only bare memories
    but she remains forever in a constant symphony
    of life and death, of birth and decay
    perhaps she fade, but not today.

  11. Reesha

    When the Earth Drinks

    The feeling in my stomach
    the rain gives me when it’s
    been dry for so long,
    puts me in a mesmerized state.
    I feel like doing nothing but
    curling up and watching
    the rain patter on the window
    with joy and coziness.

  12. Julieann S Powell

    Ode to Earth

    The earth was void and shapeless
    And without form
    God separated the waters
    And dry land appeared, earth

    We walk upon it
    We dig in it
    We build a sandbox and play in it
    We build sand castles with it
    We build forts in it
    We build roads upon it
    And sometimes through it

    We level it for foundations
    We raise it up for drainage
    We enrich its soil
    We deplete its nutrients
    We plant trees in it
    We plant veggies in it
    And sometimes plant flowers in it

    God formed man from the dust of the ground
    And breathed the breath of life into him
    Ashes to ashes and dust to dust
    From whence we came, to which we go

  13. roseann sarra-geiger


    no one hears her cries
    as she shifts her aging form
    trying to ease pressure
    to relieve pain
    her skin, once brilliant
    now lies slack and brittle
    weary of assault and
    boasting years of combat
    but this doesn’t come close
    to the measure of rage inside
    where turmoil boils toward
    an inevitable end
    the elements eat away
    as pressure builds
    but no one hears her growling
    we make more babies
    and toss them to play upon
    her shifting surface
    we build bridges
    burrow and dance
    never listening
    no one will hear it
    when her bowel bursts
    and we are consumed
    vilely, as virgin fodder
    by her womb
    the unfortunate reunion of
    mother and child.

  14. Bernadette McComish

    After You Left Earth

    I saw your corpse
    mangled in a tree.

    As I passed, your once blue
    eyes were as gray as the day before
    you gave back the only gift
    worth more than possessions
    you could sell on St. Marks.

    I broke your branch like a pinky finger
    and you said, even here, pain is
    salvation. As thirteen drops
    of sap leaked onto my live
    hands, I knew your soul
    would be stuck underneath
    a ring where
    your body was not
    your own.

  15. Susan M. Bell

    I Dig, Therefore I Am

    I dig and dig and dig
    The smell of damp earth fills my nose
    I love the feel of it on my paws
    Voices call me, telling me to stop
    But I can’t hear them
    Stopping is not an option
    I must clear away more and more dirt
    Until I am satisfied with my work

    I dig and dig and dig

  16. Shadrack


    thin veil
    water, muck, oxygen
    over molten rock,
    the roiling spew
    of solar jest

    and here,
    we the mighty human race,
    toil to make
    each day, each breath
    more leisurely
    than the one before

    we carpet, we nest
    in RSPs, mutual funds, hedges
    that will shield us
    from the reality
    that we are little
    more than a veneer,
    a top coat with little gloss

    and until
    we break those bounds
    we shake the spirits
    in our bottle
    with more than a greedy grasp
    we will remain

    thin veil
    water, muck, oxygen
    over molten rock,
    the roiling spew
    of solar jest

    © Shadrack K. Shadrack 2010

  17. The Doctor


    Vivid green and blue,
    Spread across for Earth’s view.
    Mountains of pride, full of deadly heights,
    Prairies of gold painting the sky with yellow stripes.
    Sunset’s brilliant orange and red,
    Warning us it’s close to bed.
    The texture of florescent green grass,
    In the midst of photosynthesis.
    The choppy blue-gray waves fury,
    Take the ships down with a single worry.
    In my view,
    I can see green and blue.

  18. Jay Sizemore

    23 1/2 degrees

    The tilt of the axis
    on which the world spins
    is a crucial component
    of life’s existence,
    a large center piece
    of a greater puzzle
    consisting of proximity
    to the fusion reactor
    we have named the sun,
    the right balance of elements
    allowing for an atmosphere
    and oxygen and nitrogen
    sufficient enough for breathing
    complete with a thin layer
    of ozone to protect life
    from ultra-violet radiation,
    a varied landscape
    equipped to hold
    lots and lots of water,
    a perfect elemental liquid
    to host the birth
    of living organisms.

    But the angle of the tilt
    that the world balances on
    is pivotal in allowing
    the right environment,
    the way this tilt causes
    the heat from the sun to be
    unevenly dispersed to the globe
    in relation to the distance
    differentiation caused by
    the constant rotation and revolution,
    it allows for changes in climate
    over periods of time
    and changes in the amount
    of sunlight exposed to areas,
    resulting in our seasons
    and our days and nights.

    Without these changes,
    there would always be one
    harsh extreme or another
    on the planet’s surface,
    much like the constant cold
    at the poles, or the constant
    heat of the desert,
    in which cases, it is hard
    for life to flourish,
    and with no changes
    these extremes would only
    be exponentially worse,
    like the dark side of the moon
    or the scorched surface
    of Venus or Mercury.

    So much like a sperm cell
    copulates and fertilizes
    the ovulated egg,
    the imaginary rod
    driven through the center
    of our world, planted the seed
    necessary for mitosis,
    our orbit acting like
    a giant fallopian tube,
    and space being the womb,
    holding us in,
    letting us grow,
    until we are old enough
    to be given back to the sun,
    opening our eyes
    on the other side
    of the universe.

  19. de jackson

    Lauren Dixon…Cannon Beach is one of my very favorite places on earth, one of the few where my soul feels at home. Your beautiful poem actually made my heart ache a little…such beautiful descriptions of one of the most beautiful places on the planet. Nicely done.

  20. Sarah Joyce Bryant


    Multicolored balloons float randomly
    outside this self-containing glass, little
    specs of hope in an otherwise empty

    I wonder if I might hitch a ride, ascend
    above this earth, transcend the atmospheric
    pressure, to a place only seen by those
    who’ve shed their skin.

  21. Teresa Dawn

    Handle With Care

    It’s a wonderful sight
    The blue ocean so deep
    The prairies so golden
    And the mountains so steep

    It’s a place of great beauty
    That we all have to share
    So please let’s remember
    To handle with care

  22. Lauren Dixon


    The birds circled
    cawing, cajoling,
    acting like someone else
    took their seats at the theater.

    Finally alighting,
    only to get up again
    seeing real estate that was
    better, or higher, or ?

    Perhaps they forget
    where their nest was,
    Or, see a familiar face
    in the crowd and want
    to sit next to them.

    The wind blows beach sand so fast
    it looks like a stampede, or maybe
    thousands of lemmings
    running to oblivion.

    High tide circles her base in the evening,
    stealthily creeping in by foot lengths,
    trapping her in place once again,
    wrapped in the familiarity of millennia.

    The same starfish, the same crabs living
    in the same tide pools.
    The same people, the same lifeguards
    arriving to see them live.
    The only thing not the same: the waves.

    The waves speak a different language
    every time they visit.
    Fresh, not the least bit world weary,
    They tell their stories to all who will listen.

  23. Lauren Dixon

    Ocean Poems


    The ocean was body slamming
    the shore like they had a grudge.
    One destined to move incessantly,
    one frozen in place.
    Yet it was Grace standing still,
    And Grace like someone who
    gets on the dance floor first
    in front of all the others.
    You can’t help but stare.


    the eyes of the sea,
    white her teeth as they
    chew at the sand,
    The oceans exchange
    with the shore is full of
    -dashes-, ellipsis… (parentheses)
    and “quotation marks,” but
    most of all, exclamation points!
    No periods
    The dialogue is quiet and calm,
    or bold and intense.
    This conversation never ends.
    There is no silence.

  24. Omavi

    Composition Gaia

    Grass sings to naked feet
    Whilst mind wanders through motions
    Of winds moving cool drafts to warm
    Norms making birds laugh and lions roar
    Welcoming sun to bathe darkness of passing night
    With brightness of waking sun
    Mountain wiping sleep from opening eyes
    Marveling at beauty that valley and plain
    Rushing to join savanna becomes next to
    Dreary but magnificent desert with secrets abound
    Peeking over plateau want freshness contained
    In oceans mouth waves cascading passionately
    Caressing sandy beach or imposing rock taking
    Just enough to satisfy needs of creatures big
    And small playfully seeding gardens of life
    From which all sprouts
    Cloud providing cover giving rain to quench thirst
    Moon lighting stars leading
    Every soul molecule in serene cadences
    Sublime motions capturing crescendos of

    “Omavi está muerto.®” Thursday, April 22, 2010
    ©2010 Omavi Ndoto. All Rights Reserved.

  25. Brian Slusher


    The last time we spoke
    we met in the park.
    It had rained
    I complained
    Why not a coffee shop?

    But down by the river
    we sat on the bank.
    As you talked
    I threw rocks
    into troubled waters

    as you struggled to say
    what we had to face
    your hands clawed
    the new mud
    in an absent way.

    So when I reached out quick
    to maybe pull you back
    I grabbed just
    your soft fist.
    Uncurled, it held lumped black

    earth, a small world you let
    fall, collapse to mere dust:
    sacred ground
    I wish now
    I somehow could have held.

  26. De Jackson

    Just caught your comment, Barbara Ehrentreu. Thanks so much.
    A "fib" is a Fibonacci. If you search Robert’s left side clicks for "Poetic Forms," it’s on one of those multiple form info posts. Or you can google it. It’s a lot of fun, and Marie is great at them, as are several other poets here! ;)

  27. Barbara Ehrentreu

    On the day of this post I couldn’t post my poem at all. So I posted it on Robert’s blog. I was so disgusted that day I didn’t read anyone’s poems. Today I read them and loved so many.

    Marie Elena I loved your fib, but I don’t know what a fib is.:)

    Walt such a tribute to Eartha Kitt. I actually met her once when one of her relatives was in my daughter’s high school play. I was helping backstage and she passed by. I was introduced to her and shook her hand. I was able to tell her how wonderful I thought she was. She looked amazing even though she had to be in her 70’s.

    de Jackson such a lyrical poem. Yours are always unusual and sometimes very funny.

    Here is mine:


    My feet sink into the sand on the beach
    The soil’s fertile loam nourishes brilliant flowers
    along the fence.The air caresses my cheeks
    I walk along the water’s edge admiring
    Black billed ducks and the curve of swan’s
    necks gliding along the surface of the water

    Meanwhile on a rapidly diminishing ice floe
    polar bears struggle to find food
    Their cubs hunted to the point of extinction
    Baby seals are clubbed to death while their
    mothers unable to destroy the predators
    watch in horror

    An oil rig has an explosion creating an oil slick
    sure to destroy helpless sea creatures swimming
    by the alien structure. In rainforests loggers cut a swath
    through the majestic trees cutting the air supply
    of millions for years. Meanwhile people cry for the
    preservation of our animals and our land

    The earth is our home
    Would you allow someone to come into
    your house and kill your children?
    destroy your plants, spill oil on your carpet
    and in your bathwater?

    The earth exists, though there are questions as to why or how
    it isn’t pleasant everywhere. She has her problems, such as
    erupting volcanoes, hurricanes slamming down trees, noreasters
    shattering glass and uprooting trees,earthquakes burying thousands
    creating ruins in seconds.

    It’s earth
    We accept her faults like we would a loved one
    Always ready to love her.
    But are we ready to kick the butts of anyone
    who won’t preserve her goodness?
    We are the caretakers of earth and must stand
    guard with drawn swords when anyone tries to
    lay waste to her.

  28. Genevieve Fitzgerald

    earth – shadorma

    I’m drawn to
    Places like Land’s End
    Cliff edges over
    Roiling surf
    Perhaps only because there’s
    Firm ground under me

  29. Demsy Monticello

    Our Marvelous Marble

    Green and blue,
    And countless hues,
    The only home,
    For me and you.

    Hard to believe,
    So much to breathe,
    We can’t even see.
    Nor Adam and Eve.

    The countless stars,
    In heavens so far,
    Here on a marble,
    Is where we are.

    So much to drink,
    It’s hard to think,
    More even to eat,
    Iron and zinc.

    Creatures that stir,
    Some now just were,
    Awesome and wild,
    Feathers and fur.

    Long live the bee,
    Cherish the tree,
    And stewards are we.

  30. paul grimsley


    we lay lines down
    our magnetic direction
    our instinctual pull
    the hazel twig
    the underwater dream
    there are rivers we lost
    and other things now unmapped
    the village by the sea gone
    ghost towns under reservoirs

    a good soil, loamy fertile: home
    red and acid, where i learned and grew
    chalky and dry, where i capitalised myself
    and here: sandy, inhospitable to plants

    i think of you gardening
    i think of her dowsing
    i think of them digging

    what grows within it
    what is built upon it
    what is buried beneath it

    it’s why i sympathise with dracula
    carrying around a small box of dirt
    in which something essential is buried

  31. stephanie hammer


    last night we spoke of deserts
    how the middleast has become
    the wild west a place situated
    as savage and that we — will tame
    with guns and oil. we being the
    disinherited, now become cowboys
    and settlers with guns. we spoke
    of roses and how they seem to bloom
    well on the edge of deserts when they
    are near to the sea. we spoke to a lady
    about southern california and water and
    culture, and we spoke of money, and of houses
    and of land. then we parked
    and you said look at those cacti
    spindly and strange. and a bird
    perched on the frame of the car
    cocking its head at this strangely
    ground where surprising ideas
    of peace startle us with
    their plenitude.

  32. Connie L. Peters


    E very day the sun rises
    A nd sets, as Earth
    R evolves and God’s hands spin it. I
    T hank God for Earth and I pray
    H is desires will be done in it.

  33. Marcia Gaye

    I redid some of my post today but it’s really not much different – you get the idea anyway so I’ll not repost it. still a work in progress (as always …)

    Marie E- awesome – the earth mourning her creator.

  34. Kim Yvonne King

    Earth Day

    “That thou art dust, and unto dust thou shalt
    return”, he said, the shovel cracking soil
    around the rabbit’s stiffened body. “We’ll
    just put him here and you can place the cross.”
    In weathered suits, the crackling cornstalks mourned
    the loss of Mister Bun. My sister squeezed
    her chubby hands around his neck to spit
    her prayer, “Sorry, Bun, I did not mean
    to hurt you.” Angry still, I looked away.
    Then Dad caressed my head unconsciously
    as dads so often do. He mussed the bangs
    he’d trimmed that day. His barber shears had nicked
    my cheek, but staring straight into his eyes
    was worth the ouch. We watched the dirt and sighed
    a bit when Sissy screamed for lunch. I thought
    I saw a tear roll down as Dad concealed
    the carcass. Was it like his Navy days
    of which he never spoke? I wonder how
    he left the war and how he could return
    to tilling straight and planting rows of corn.

    Couldn’t post yesterday at all. Thanks for fixing the robot!

  35. Marcia Gaye

    Day 23

    Earth Has (had) Her Day
    Ode to Earth Day (it is my birthday)

    Earth, I could not be more honored
    To share my special day with you
    (I had it first)
    To celebrate your worthiness
    Applaud the traits you’ve been imbued
    (I’ve been imbrued)

    You have imagination beyond belief
    Your beauty beyond compare
    (I pale in your glare)
    You dispel the sun into warmth and power
    Process ocean into rain
    (Tears are still salty)

    Never tiring of the cycles
    That make our lives possible
    (Nothing you can’t do)
    You even find wise use
    For lightning, wind and thunder
    (Why steal mine?)

    Earth, you are so beautiful in your green and blue
    I’m flattered if my name is spoken in the same breath as you
    (gag me)
    I used to be so lonely when this day was just for me
    Now our day is dedicated to catering to your every need
    (I hope you’re pleased)

    We’re simpatico, symbiotic
    Relying on your orbit (sucked in)
    (I get dizzy and vomit)
    We’re almost like twins, you and I –
    We’ve been taken for granted
    (all our lives)

    Used and presumed
    Bored and ignored
    Strip-mined, deforested
    Clear-cut, cold-cocked, blown up
    Trashed and thrown away.
    (we’re goin’ down!)

    Oh, Earth! We need to rally –
    We’ve been through so much
    We need our special day
    To be patted and stroked
    And promised
    Things will get better
    It’ll be okay.

  36. Iain D. Kemp

    A Mother’s Wrath

    The earth cracks and groans
    splits, grinds and vomits

    The mountain erupts and spews
    The skies turn grey and burn

    The seas rise up and swallow
    lands and homes and men

    The politicians wring their hands
    and ring their phones to no avail

    Mother Earth is angry and we must
    fear her wrath and change our ways

    If we don’t stop killing our Mother
    then surely she will destroy us


  37. Danielle Lopez

    We build upon it
    towers so tall
    they block the sulight out

    A foundation, just the beginning
    our blank canvas
    we often underestimate it

    We take all it’s resources
    without thinking twice
    it’s here to serve

    Or so we tell ourselves.

  38. Patricia Wellingham-Jones

    March of the Rooftops

    We ride north from Sacramento
    to our countryside studded with cows
    and almond orchards and walnut groves
    and olives and rice.
    On our right, on our left,
    the march of the rooftops.
    They surround every patch of green,
    lurk behind slumpstone walls,
    send shudders across my skin
    in waves of ripples.
    Like anthills built of wood
    they spread across the earth.

  39. LBC

    Take Notice

    Spinning among the stars
    one revolution at a time
    tilting toward the sun
    this planet of ours,
    on a path of destruction.
    People of the Earth
    Take Notice.
    Each sunset marks a tiny loss
    of something,
    seemingly unimportant,
    yet irreplaceable,
    drop of water
    clump of dirt
    molecule of oxygen
    fragment of life
    People of Earth
    Take Notice.

  40. Marie Elena


    From the sixth hour until the ninth
    Darkness settled on the land.
    About the ninth, my Lord cried out,
    As God withdrew His very hand.

    He shortly after cried again,
    Whereupon his spirit left.
    And at that very moment, earth
    Revealed herself a soul bereft.

    She quaked and trembled violently,
    Unsettled tombs, and split great stones.
    The temple curtain rent in two,
    Amidst her fierce and anguished groans.

    Centurions and Roman guards
    Who’d watched as Jesus walked earth’s sod,
    Alarmed at her response, proclaimed
    “He surely was the Son of God.”

    Based on Matthew 27. 27:54 states, “When the centurion and those with him who were guarding Jesus saw the earthquake and all that had happened, they were terrified, and exclaimed, ‘Surely he was the Son of God!’”

  41. shannpalmer

    After Tara

    all I thought I wanted
    when you left
    was to lay in the loam,
    wallow in the loss of you
    by the beech tree
    where we’d leaned
    a hundred times
    I’ve taken apart
    every sentence
    to find where I fucked up
    said whatever it was
    that made you want to
    go, it’s a piece of land
    staked out with red flags
    a measure of us
    on paper in some file
    we are linked
    but not in the house
    we planned
    the big kitchen, plank floors,
    the porch with french doors,
    the air shudders
    as it all falls down
    the earth that remains
    holding me up.

  42. S.E. Ingraham

    What On Earth?

    Good gravy, I can’t help thinking
    We’re celebrating another day
    We’ve somehow manufactured—
    Of course it’s all for a good cause
    I mean, who could be against
    Lauding the planet, putting a plug
    In for Gaia, she that sustains
    All of us, even as the ingrates we
    so often prove ourselves to be
    Good old mother earth just keeps
    Turning, letting us rotate with her
    Only occasionally rumbling from
    Deep down in her core and throwing
    Us curves as she shifts her weight
    Reminding us with seismic coughs
    Or volcanic sneezes, that it is she
    Who is in charge, so yes, maybe we
    Should be celebrating her and not
    Just once a year but every day

  43. Sandra Barber

    (True Story)
    © Sandra Barber April 22, 2010

    For twenty years she landscaped
    at his expense.
    Flowers and shrubs,
    grass and mulch,
    paths and borders.
    A lovely sight
    from every window.

    After the divorce
    he hired a man
    with a machine,
    at his own expense,
    to push it all over the bank,
    so he could see earth
    from every window.

  44. Tim Snodgrass

    PKP – To the earth brings back wonderful memories of my grandfather. A gardener by trade.
    Mary Kling – I really enjoyed that format. Small separate poems, each beautiful peace like a separate line in a bigger poem
    Amy – What a wonderful and colorful story about your parents. I loved it.
    Andrea Boltwood – Loved the imagery.
    Eben Atwater – Your portrait of the ocean is beautiful and wild.
    Janet Rice Carnahan – Wonderful lesson beautifully taught.
    Hannah Gosselin – Such joy in rainwater. I want to play.
    Joseph Harker – Excelent
    De Jackson – Loved the imagery in rotation.
    Chev – Beautiful poem. I can relate.

  45. Anders Bylund

    Earth Tones
    Her voice a husky brown and muted greens
    She sings of mud and love and blood
    Of paradises lost and found
    Of everything shallow, all that’s profound
    Taste her with your ears and listen with your eyes
    Lest we lose her before knowing what we had.

  46. Jean T Quinn

    The Wonder and Terror Song

    Ooh! Ah! The Earth does ring!
    Every single being can join and sing.

    Sprinkle! Pour! The Earth has rain.
    Water in the atmosphere it can’t contain.

    Rumble! Crash! The Earth does quake!
    The techtonic plates sure shimmy and shake!

    Ebb! Flow! The Earth does dance!
    The moon pulls its tides. Is it just romance?

    Spew! Blow! The Earth erupts!
    How many ways can volcanoes disrupt?

    Rotate! Twirl! The Earth has spun!
    Here we go around the Sun, the day’s begun!

    Ahh! Ooh! The Earth goes on
    Breathing as we all must until we are done!

  47. Buddah Moskowitz

    Hands Digging Into This Earth

    Cool Saturday mornings
    in spring
    I weed the planter
    in blissful silence.

    It’s simple,

    I break the
    cold hard ground
    and sift the dirt
    through my fingers
    plucking the weeds
    as though they were
    errant gray hairs.

    The same ground
    worked and farmed by
    my Mexican ancestors
    and the Mestizos before them
    and the Indios before them
    and the Aztecs…

    I am connected
    to that eternal continuum
    of hands digging
    into this Earth.

    It is almost
    a mindless activity,
    this private haven
    that I own

    and I smile
    at my self-deception
    and audacity:

    to think
    I own this land
    that was here
    long before
    all my ancestors

    and will outlast us all.

    My name’s just
    on the deed

    for now.

  48. Gretchen Gersh Whitman

    PAD 2010- 4/22/10
    Prompt: Earth

    On Her Impending 90th Birthday

    This is my mother.

    Easter morn she steals eight yellow baby chicks from
    the farm in a shoebox. I am just six, my brother three.
    We pet their soft down & chase them in the yard.

    The following day my mother returns them. I envision
    severed bloody chicken heads & cry, “Why?”
    “The farmer needs eggs,” my mother states bluntly. In her childhood,
    her father sweats & sprays filthy cows at a dairy.

    Next spring my mother secretly lugs two black & white rabbits in a crate.
    Under my father’s protest, we raise them behind the house in
    a putrid wired hut overgrown with grass. One rainy day,
    soaking wet, I race to my mother & yell, “Seventeen baby rabbits!”

    For extra money my mother raises German Shepherds in
    a pen behind our new house. These are the lost years.
    She cannot keep up. The dogs sit in feces.

    After years of washing & scrubbing, my mother now sits in
    fetid underpants at a nursing home. Out her window overlooking
    the Hudson, she stubbornly feeds birds.

    Her official command post is the expansive glass bird cage
    near the elevator. From a stuffed chair she surveys
    noisy flying canaries & finches.

    When I visit, I flutter about her side of the small room, gather
    strewn clothes & books. Seedlings from her grapefruit pits peek out
    paper cups on the windowsill.

    I regale her with adventures of our woods.
    A tall wish bone shaped tree stands naked. Two eagles adopt it,
    perch carefully on each branch. Onyx crows bombard them.

    Spring is not gentle, nor kind. It is a vicious effort.
    My mother touches my hand. Her eyes light up.
    Despite the fury & hard days, she will be sorely missed.

  49. Amy Barlow Liberatore

    Sheila and co., I know this is off poetry topic, but many have asked. Wanted you all to know MRI went OK, waiting on results. Will keep you posted on Facebook, so anyone who wants to friend me, please look me up and I’ll keep you up to date there. Thx for prayers and support!


    A cat’s fur is stroked
    She purrs; her pupils dilated
    A sign of pleasure, pure delight

    A mother labors
    Her cervix dilates
    A new life emerges
    And we cry out in gratitude

    Beneficent forces encircle the earth
    Love Creation Peace
    Harmony dilates
    a new song pours over us
    and, freed from the grasp of the world
    we welcome a softer embrace
    and rejoice

  50. Brenda Warren

    Earth Dreams

    Worry for the earth
    circles my dreams.
    A revolving desecration
    empties her
    of oil,
    How much vacant space
    does it take for the shell
    to collapse on itself
    in one last hurrah?

    With pure heart,
    tend the earth.
    Plant trees to bind
    and tunnel her soil.
    Marvel when her rivers sing
    and listen to her voice with heart.

    My heart needs this
    small blue dot
    so it can race me awake
    late at night
    from dreams of
    cavernous collapsings
    that suck me
    deep into the belly
    of my mother


  51. Ken Wanamaker


    We tasted it
    and it was sweet
    dug rutabagas, built sand castles
    splashed in the mud. And
    it always in the end
    tasted sweet. I lost my virginity
    on the forest floor and it tasted
    sweet, broke ground
    on my first home and it tasted sweet.

    Through the rain of bombs,
    fires, sludge, and trash
    it is still sweet as a nun
    praying silently in a garden,
    asking nothing in return.

  52. Kim Yvonne King

    Earth Day

    “That thou art dust, and unto dust thou shalt
    return”, he said, the shovel cracking soil
    around the rabbit’s stiffened body. “We’ll
    just put him here and you can place the cross.”
    In weathered suits, the crackling cornstalks mourned
    the loss of Mister Bun. My sister squeezed
    her chubby hands around his neck to spit
    her prayer, “ Sorry, Bun, I did not mean
    to hurt you.” Angry still, I looked away.
    Then Dad caressed my head unconsciously
    as dads so often do. He mussed the bangs
    he’d trimmed that day. His barber shears had nicked
    my cheek, but staring straight into his eyes
    was worth the ouch. We watched the dirt and sighed
    a bit when sissy screamed for lunch. I thought
    I saw a tear roll down as Dad concealed
    the carcass. Was it like his Navy days
    of which he never spoke? I wonder how
    he left the war and how he could return
    to tilling straight and planting rows of corn.

  53. sheila harris

    Bruce..First Earth Day is so excellent..my husband loves it ,too..very much our memories..:)
    ann Walden nothing short of wonderful..
    walt ! Carole brought back those memories of the 70’s…
    Nancy J..glad i could not post so that I had a chance to read ..your mini is profound!

    Amy! there you are…! hope you had a good day..MRI? all good ?
    your poem is a wondrful representation of your usual stellar work..
    sensitive subject tempered with that exquisite sense of humor..the ending!!
    i love it..the earth would ,too..no gaudy casket and vault and embalmed of poison body..
    i hope i get to drop off a glacier when i go….I better hurry ..those things are melting fast!
    and thank you,too for your generous comment..:)

  54. Shannon Cameron

    Strolling through a park brings me quiet joy
    Whether I am alone or with company
    I am always sure to take my camera
    To savor the memories of still life
    At its finest
    The trees know just how to pose
    And whisper thank you
    As I make my way by
    And on the occasion they may even
    Wave goodbye

    As I leave, I wonder why I can’t stay
    But I know nature is never too far away

  55. Amy Barlow Liberatore


    Once upon a time
    before Powers That Be
    there were no borders

    One by one, cities formed
    then countries, as we
    couldn’t keep things in order

    There had to be borders
    to establish control
    over commerce, and people and land

    The borders needed tending
    So lands would stay whole
    and lines were drawn on maps, and in sand

    If we could see past
    all these man-made devices
    we’d have more love and less war

    If we work together
    and our love suffices
    God will smile on us all the more

    It isn’t about who owns what
    We don’t need division
    but commonality in gender and race

    If we destroy this precious gift
    with constant derision
    maybe we don’t deserve what was given by grace

  56. Patricia A. Hawkenson

    The Night Hid the Fog

    They all stood on this hill,
    stomachs hungry
    for more than the rinds
    of day old bread.

    Yet their voices are lost,
    wispy like dying fires
    after the dead coals
    are stomped and ground.

    We have not feed them,
    filled their need,
    while our own greed
    has stolen their future.

    Children can not play,
    innocent in their day
    when the sun only makes
    cross shadows on the hill.

  57. Amy Barlow Liberatore

    RJ, first you crack me up, then a touching poem, then more mischief. Love the alternating attitudes!
    PKP and Sheila, both excellent, I’m with you on this. Earl, your poem truly does reflect the destructive power of corporate America, reminds me of Ned Beatty in "Network."


    Don’t bury me, said Mom
    Let me go on my own terms
    No casket – I’m claustrophobic and scared of worms

    Don’t cremate me, said Dad
    I don’t want my body burned
    or spend eternity in an urn
    (especially on our daughter’s shelf)
    I want to be in nature, myself

    We Barlows, he continued
    are Mayflower stock
    Episcopal funerals and burial plots

    We Laughlins, said my mother
    are piss-poor Irish
    so I’m thinking pyre-ish
    And you don’t even go to church – are you reverting
    Deathbed converting?
    The atheist in the foxhole?
    Don’t worry about your body, tend to your soul

    They burst out laughing, easing tension, wise
    Then they worked out a compromise:

    Cremation, not caskets
    Concealment in an urn but above ground
    Four months apart, we set them side by side
    In a raised bankette where other folks could reside

    The sun shines upon them, the rain falls gently there
    Dad got nature and Mom got fresh air

    But when I visit, there’s no chair
    so my derriere
    sits on top of Mrs. Van Dam
    Sorry about that, Ma’am

  58. Diane Truswell

    Garry Earth Days

    A new holiday will be held
    on the last Saturday of each
    and every month. The sun
    will shine no matter what.

    Cars, busses, trains, planes
    will be forbidden on the holiday.
    Bicycles, roller-blades, ice-skates
    wheelchairs or other silent means

    of transportation will be permitted.
    Walking, running will be encouraged.
    On lakes and other waters, only
    rowboats, canoes, sailboats shall

    be permitted water may be heard.
    No alcohol or Prozac shall be
    permitted on this day. If thrill
    seeking is desired, an activity such

    as white-water rafting may be chosen.
    Everyone shall be required to take
    deep breaths while smiling from sun-up
    to sun-down, and to look around to

    concentrate on objects of nature.
    Avid observers of this holiday may
    continue into the night to enjoy the
    moon, stars, planets and Milky Way.

    The name of this National Holiday is
    attributed to my dad, Russell Glen Garry
    who would often say to his four children
    “Go outside and get the stink blown off.”

  59. Nancy J


    The more we see of the Universe
    through our telescopes with mirrors,
    and radio waves, and infrared technology,
    the more we see of the Universe
    the more I wonder
    if this is Eden.

  60. sheila harris

    Earl you said it..for the past 35 years or so we’ve been in a free fall because of government of by and for big corporations..
    Mary King..
    each poem gorgeous and stands alone yet together a part of a whole expressing so much love ..beautiful

  61. Walt Wojtanik


    When she left him,
    he thought he’d land on his feet.
    Resiliency was a strong suit,
    defenses were all in place,
    and in the space of her
    vapor trail his true status
    became more apparent. His
    eyes saw her face in every woman
    who dared smile in his direction.
    His ears heard nothing but the sound
    of her voice in the whisper of wind.
    Without her, his legs were broken,
    not allowing him to wander any further
    than the extent of his longing.
    Oh, but his heart. It would take time
    for the pieces to mesh together again.
    When she left, he had been ruined
    beyond anyone’s usefulness.
    His dismantling was complete.

  62. Mary Kling

    Instead of one long poem, I wrote several very short "Earth" poems. I tried probaby 25 times to put them in the blog with my own computer, but ended up giving up and giving them to someone else, who has more luck with posting, to post. Here they are:


    After a hard winter,
    There is nothing like
    the feel of the warm earth
    between my fingers
    at flower planting time.


    Frst tulip that emerges
    is always the most
    beautiful of the season.


    Why is it that the nasty
    crow has the loudest call
    and the peaceful robin
    little voice at all?


    Late April, and not all trees have
    budded. I look around , wonder
    worry that some ever will. Perhaps
    they didn’t survive. I wait, watch,
    hope. Winters are harsh, life fragile.


    Spring grass is always greenest, not
    baked by the mid-summer sun. Newly
    emerging it reminds me of life’s renewal.


    Earth’s spring season, every day better
    than the day before, every day greener,
    with more colorful flowers, eggs laid,
    babies born, hope renewed each year.


    Oh how I love the earth and its bounty,
    which gifts us unselishly without asking
    anything in return except that we take care
    of it, renew its gifts when possible, enjoy
    and be thankful to God who created all.

  63. Yoly

    Unsent Letter to Earth

    I am profoundly sorry, that we, a phase of nature
    pretend we are sum total. You were here before
    we were. Foolhardy are those who ignore
    your power points. You are sweet and giving yet
    humankind takes, mistreats and walks away.

    People are willing to mortgage and then refinance
    your woodlands and wildlife with effluence,
    bulldozers and indifference as if we’re entitled
    to make those transactions.
    How to make it up to you?

    When the wind howls I sometimes think
    it is cranky and venting because it too
    has a place to rest, but global warming won’t let it.

    There are warriors fighting for your survival.
    Our lives depend on it.

  64. Earl Parsons

    What on Earth

    What on earth is going on
    So many complications
    Why oh why so difficult
    What’s happening to our nation

    Why on earth are we so dumb
    We’ve let our nation down
    Our leadership has gone berserk
    And we gave them their crowns

    Who on earth are these idiots
    What exactly is their plan
    Nothing they do makes any sense
    They’re anti-American

    When on earth will we wake up
    These people have got to go
    Before they ruin America
    It’s time to tell them, NO!

    How on earth will we fix things
    Before this nation falls
    Let’s get back on the right path
    And God will save us all

  65. Bruce Niedt

    First Earth Day

    Forty years ago today
    I was planting saplings on the quad
    of my college campus.

    I spent the day with a young woman
    who would become my girlfriend.
    After we set the root balls in the ground,

    we went downtown
    took in the skyline and bus fumes
    and held hands on the street.

    We had the world in our pocket
    as we spun on our axes
    all clear-eyed and tingling.

    But we and the Earth got older
    and our orbits pulled apart.
    Now it groans and cracks with us,

    and has begun to run a fever.
    Those trees, if they’re still alive,
    must be fifty feet by now,

    but I still remember when
    they were as thin and innocent
    as we were that April day.

  66. sheila harris


    we take you give
    from deep rich ,chocolate loam
    or tumbling crisp freshets
    you invigorate and cleanse
    and nourish

    we cannibalize
    from the bounty of grains ,fruits and herbs
    your natural treasures ,
    ancient troves of precious stones and metals
    we take two fisted

    you forgive
    we scrape raw to your stony skeletal bones
    the rock framework
    and dig your body deeply and extract
    slumbering energies
    from your ancient graveyard

    we anticipate
    from the profits
    already sold
    you never give enough
    and our greed
    devises ways to make you groan ,
    split wide and pour forth even more
    from the labor

    we are killing ourselves
    we are killing you
    our Mother

  67. PKP aka Pearl Ketover Prilik

    To the earth

    Oh sweet earth
    my chubby child’s
    fingers cool
    yielding the
    sweet surprise
    of fat pink worms
    sweeter than chocolate
    first perfume filling
    my head rising from
    spread wiggling barefoot
    sweet earth
    rising below
    hips, sides and
    bare legged first
    and second and third kisses
    cool under pulse pounding
    earth beneath my father’s hands
    elbow deep as he scoops
    great armfuls
    inhaling great satisfied
    sweet for his garden of
    endless delight
    earth falling in surprising
    clotted clumps
    one after the other striking
    the shining wood on
    a sunny summer day
    the box in which my father
    his breath as sweet as apricots
    lying still on white silk
    as earth slowly fills the hole
    and smoothly moves
    to a new place on
    drawing sweetness from

  68. Walt Wojtanik


    A diminutive race,
    inhabitants of the lands
    of this intermediate region,
    "Halflings" and "Periannath"
    they were called; Bilbo, Frodo,
    Samwise and Peregrin were their
    names. Tied to the race of men,
    at the end of the third age;
    the Middle-Earth was home.

  69. Walt Wojtanik


    Your music was musical,
    and you wove a fine tapestry,
    given to Goffin more than
    a partnership; one would Neil
    to lament your praises, Oh!
    Loved yesterday and today;
    tomorrow will be assured.
    Left cryin’ in the rain
    since it poured until September.
    Writer and rocker in her
    Hallowed fame. A King and queen.
    Keeping feet moving by
    moving the earth under them.

  70. ann


    The leaves were turning
    when we jumped into the black
    pond and swam all the way
    across with the wide blue
    sky open above and the cold
    deep water beneath our bodies.
    I didn’t know if we’d make it
    all the way from shore
    to shore, but we did and
    then we looked for bean rows
    and a small cabin in the woods
    already gold and chilly with autumn
    and the day was very short
    but we felt it, yes we did,
    his stalwart spirit, living on.

  71. Andrea Boltwood


    How many
    points upon
    this earth
    may we stand?
    What limits

    I stand looking up
    past jet planes
    to stars. My
    and foreground
    are not deep
    like the sky.

    Rain and heat
    are not choices;
    sweat not
    like tears,
    but captive

    Out of sync
    with the earth’s
    pirouette, I am
    tiptoe on a

  72. Kimiko Martinez

    Do you remember, mama,
    the days when I was young
    and you spent hours playing
    with me as I crawled on hands
    and knees through your grass
    skirts, jumping on the hills of
    your hips and snuggling into
    your meadowy mane

    I still remember, mama,
    the scent of fresh citrus
    that clung to your skin, clean
    and crisp like an ocean breeze,
    filling my nostrils as I nuzzled
    into the nape of your neck,
    protected and warmed by
    the heat of your love

  73. Eben Atwater

    Hale’s Passage

    I cross the beach with
    boat and paddle
    tucked under an arm;
    years before theirs were
    skin and bone.
    Mine is fiberglass.

    Dusk settles and storm rises;
    south wind meets north current;
    white water between beach and island,
    windblown froth from
    stacked wave tops.

    I slip into the fray.
    Ferrying out, a mistimed move
    spills me; rolling upright I
    shake like a dog.

    Hurling downstream
    an aqueous world,
    no telling where ocean ends
    and air begins.

    Only when I turn back to
    the beach do I see that
    I have not moved at all.

  74. RJ Clarken

    Tracking Earth

    In my house, there’s no dearth
    of earth.
    It’s tracked right in
    by some not-quite-contrite kin
    and further spread ‘round
    by a cute furry hound.
    I’d consider the broom
    (or mega-shop vacuum)…

    …but why should I go to all the trouble
    when I know that tomorrow there will be double.

  75. Theresa Cavicchio

    View from Outer Space

    fragile orb
    soft azure swirled with white
    looking for all the world
    like a high summer sky

    suspended by the slimmest of threads
    held in the loving hand
    of its Creator

    our home.

  76. Richard-Merlin Atwater

    Walt: Unearthing the Past—a classic—I love genealogy, YOU are right "on target" Good job in a unique twist

    Angela Readman: The Astronaut’s Mistress—my favorite take of the day "Earth Day", your perspective is heavenly in an earthly way! Loved it!
    Forty Years: EARTH DAY–April 22, 2010
    (C) Richard-Merlin Atwater April 22, 2010

    Thank you, Senator Gaylord Nelson for giving us an EARTH DAY– 40 years ago!
    Thank YOU, Lord, for giving us an "Earth" on which to play and grow!
    ‘Tis true, "the environment" is all of OUR concerns, coolectivrely on Earth,
    Earth Day: A Question of Survival, has become a new revival, a newness of birth–

    For wilderness and wildlife, and other great concerns about our planet Earth,
    Pollution, power plants, and pesticides, and oil spills, toxic waste throughout the girth,
    Of our great planet, where eco-activism has given us the Great Green Teach-in,
    To "keep it clean" and "keep it green" with Earth Day Network to eradicate the sin–

    Of man-made pollution and eco-disaster that leaves vast and dire consequence,
    But now, John Muir (founder of Sierra Club) and Rachael Carson’s "Silent Spring" shares eternal presence
    In the hearts and minds of all who know that on this same day of Arbor Day for trees–Earth Day pays to
    "Keep it Green, and Clean"; Happy Birthday, Earth Day–USA today! to YOU. (April 22 each year)

  77. Hannah Gosselin

    Amy, thanks for the mention and I enjoyed your "Nature Tries" haiku!

    Colete, the simplicity and beauty in your faith poem is touching! :)

    Janet, I love the idea behind your "roses" so imaginative!

  78. Anders Bylund

    Marie Elena: Yes I do have music to some of these lyrics, and at least rhythms for the rest. One day when I’m not so darn busy I’ll get around to recording a couple of the best tries and publish ‘em somewhere. Stay tuned ;)

  79. Janet Rice Carnahan

    Going to past two just in case this takes awhile!


    Picture a rose by any other name,
    Being a magical place,
    To send secret messages,
    Into another’s space.

    What if every rose,
    That decorated earth,
    Could signal to another time,
    A new rhythm; a rebirth.

    As we bend over the red ones,
    We could whisper in their ear,
    Sending love overseas,
    To someone who can hear,

    Bright yellow roses,
    Could facilitate hope,
    Reaching through with bright color,
    Like a needed rescue rope!

    Pink petals could speak
    Of genuine authentic care,
    To cities across the globe.
    To anyone over there!

    Roses blooming white,
    Emphasize the spirit,
    Creating great uplift,
    To all who can hear it!

    Purple roses in their magnificence
    Could tell us all of unity,
    Showing how if we open wide . . .

    We could become,
    One beautiful growing community!


    From the mountain of masculine structured thought,
    Comes the feminine flow of fiery feelings,
    To take what has been taught,
    And create a new array of healings.

    Nothing can stay,
    Locked and blocked forever,
    Innovation and creation needs their say,
    A space and a place to grow and savor!

    From the solid, comes the fluid,
    What is strength must soften.
    The Yin and the Yang principle did,
    And seeks balance and truth often!

    Earth is forever shifting and changing,
    Calling to us to do the same and not fuss.
    It cannot all go one way like a machine,
    For if it did, harmony would always elude us!

    The seasons on earth,
    Are subtle yet strong reminders,
    That growth, sustaining energy and destruction is birth,
    Is a reflection of love . . .

    Showing us human and nature’s evolution without blinders!

  80. FangO


    Is that bumper sticker ironic on purpose? Intentions
    matter. One blazing afternoon in eastern California,
    i’d reached the end. It was at a time when i did not
    go easily on myself or much of anything else,
    long before the cooling draught of Alice or the slow
    patience of age. Polluted, poisonous, and evaporating
    like a blacktop puddle rippled with gasoline, i’d
    nearly run my rig off a round-the-clock straightaway
    into a ditch. Pulled off a dusty mile later where
    a narrow road vanished at the vanishing point. I left
    the cab and screamed myself hoarse, which in my state
    didn’t take long. Apoplectic, i began to run at a tear
    up the road toward the alluvial toes of a hazy range.
    Exhausted within yards, i kept running. My shoes
    fell off somewhere. My lungs were alkaline powder,
    but as long as a bubble of foam remained in the fluid
    of me, i continued up the road until at some point i fell
    over and asleep onto the dark hard-pack. I woke
    in moonlight to see as a world of beautiful, tenuous life.
    A lone black beetle. Extraterrestrial scrub plants, cities
    of shadow, shake and subterranean light. Sure i was
    dead, even as i rose, i made slow progress back to the truck,
    to the truth of my unbroken cord, the trouble i was in,
    and the hallway out from my ant trap. There exists
    something that’s been part of me from that spell,
    and though saying that words can’t catch isn’t
    a novel cop-out, i’ll still plead the fifth. But it’s not secret;
    it’s the opposite, like the earth so plain under us,
    we often forget that it is what defines all here and now.

  81. Amy Barlow Liberatore


    And if some panicked, powerful fool
    pushes The Button
    All the other panicked, powerful fools
    will do the same
    (probably in the name of God)

    Our souls will take flight
    The only survivors, the cockroach and termite
    The roach will miss us most
    our trash in the gutter
    the crumbs from our toast


    NATURE TRIES haiku

    War-torn land below
    Scars of inhumanity
    Above, birds in flight

  82. Sheila Deeth

    I saw the clouds shed tears last night
    While sunshine painted red across the sky.
    Rainwater bled the light away
    To black and white and gray.

    I saw the ribbonned roadway crawl
    On fields of yesterday till colors all
    Were covered over, locked away
    In black and white and gray.

    I saw the faintest shoot appear
    Of green amid the misery and fear
    Of yesteryear. I tried to pray
    For black and white and gray.

    If hope is but a mustard-seed
    Then I shall see re-greening in this tree
    Belabored hearts that turn away
    From black and white and gray.

  83. Amy Barlow Liberatore

    WOW. Y’all are rockin’ this Earth Day prompt! De, "Where sorrow meets sea…" Joseph, your eloquence never fails to inspire me. I want to try harder after reading you, it’s that good. Hannah, lovely mud, squishy toes. Joe! Like a bachelor pad – exactly the right phrase. Tim, Blade Runner reference so ironic, considering the movie’s setting, yet so right. Angela – WHOA! Look what earthy stuff you pulled out of this prompt. Walt- espec. Eartha Kitt. Loved it, loved it. Will sing you my own Santa song someday.


    Some say
    on the Sixth Day
    God miscalculated the power of this new creation
    Four our of five polar bears agree

  84. Colette D

    ~ From Earth to Earth: ~
    ~ (not dust to dust ) ~

    Dear Earth,

    I don’t need a sermon —
    your infinite beauties
    create my faith.

    I don’t need proof —
    your intricate miracles
    corroborate my faith.

    I don’t need graces —
    your breathtaking power
    imposes its praises.

    I don’t need blessings –
    your beautiful flowers
    are posies of praises!


    { This means the earth is a proof of God’s existence to me, nothing else. }

  85. Anders Bylund

    (Love song? Hymn to Mother Earth? rReligious exultation? You decide!)

    You Are Everything
    Who are you?
    You’re softer than spider silk
    Wiser than ancient Sophia
    Faster than vigilante justice
    And brighter than the end of an eclipse

    You’re all around me, night and day
    You’re all I need — a drink in drought
    I mash my palms into your clay
    Breathe you in and breathe you out
    You are everything

    You make me
    Stronger than Tiananmen Tank Man
    Richer than truffles in wine
    Take me deeper than redwood roots
    And higher than the start of something new

    You’re all around me, night and day
    You’re all I need — a drink in drought
    I mash my palms into your clay
    Breathe you in and breathe you out
    You are everything

    Who are you? You are everything
    Who am I? I’m all yours
    Who are you? You are everything
    Who am I? I’m all yours

    You’re all around me, night and day
    You’re all I need — a drink in drought
    I mash my palms into your clay
    Breathe you in and breathe you out
    You are everything

    (code 4 tries ago: 2x TNT. Wow!)

  86. Sam Nielson


    Watching rain storm
    Across the dark water,
    I stand on the stoop
    Not quite out of the
    Wind and wet.

    My shirt front plasters cold.
    But the fabric behind
    Flaps fiercely against me.
    Body heat hovers a moment
    Then flies off.

    Wind rushes everywhere.
    It flees something from
    There to there. It never
    Hesitates, until it just goes
    Somewhere else to talk.

    Now the rain, bereft of
    Friend wind, simply
    Falls in heavy drops
    Into my hair and runs
    Down and around my ear.

    Out to the limit of sight
    That bully sun punches
    Both fists through a fading cloud
    Some days you just don’t
    Want to be warm.

  87. Tim Snodgrass

    Recollections of My Mother World

    Oh the sights that I have seen
    Adrift upon this void
    Worlds of every shape and size
    Brilliant light from far flung stars
    Creatures of every description
    Sweeping Nebulas light years long
    The blind fury of a black hole
    Worlds consumed
    And others born
    Traveling at the speed of light
    Beyond the reach of time
    All of this I’ve seen and more
    But Earth I’ll see no more

    Her rich green hills
    Curved softly
    Like a lovers naked breast
    Beckenoing my head
    To rest in sweet belonging
    On the rich green grass
    Like soft skin
    Imparting bliss

    The rich blue ocean
    Soft liquid embrace
    A peaceful womb
    Beckoning me to let go
    Floating in a sea of peace
    Finding rebirth
    In its scintilating touch

    And all with whom those pleasures
    I once shared
    Immortal now
    And formless on the winds of time
    Have passed on long ago
    Years numbered in thousands
    Of which I’ve only known but few

    Alone amidst the stars
    Last of my kind
    I look out there
    To where I know
    That you must be
    And wonder
    Do you feel as I do

    * Inspired by Joe Haldeman’s "The Forever War", Robert Heinlein’s "The Green Hills of Earth", and the movie "Blade Runner".

  88. Hannah Gosselin

    Walt, touched by your comment and your array of excellent writing today! Your haiku especially planted a vivid mind picture for me!

    Chev, truly humbled, thank you!

    De, "Rotation" in its entirety…loved it and your comment to Chev…I was wondering the same thing today. Good point. :)

    Patricia, what a fun idea for the shirts. I enjoyed your poem today (as always), such visions are evoked!

    Barbara, you’re so unique! I’m always refreshed by reading this style all your own! :)

    Daniel, lots of meat in yours today! Good food for thought.

    Really excellent writing today poetic pals!!

  89. Lauren Dixon

    Haystack Rock

    The birds circled
    cawing, cajoling,
    acting like someone else
    took their seats at the theater.

    Finally alighting,
    only to get up again
    seeing real estate that was
    better, or higher, or ?

    Perhaps they forget
    where their nest was,
    Or see a familiar face
    in the crowd and want
    to sit next to them.

    The wind blows beach sand so fast
    it looks like a stampede, or maybe
    thousands of lemmings
    running to oblivion.

    High tide circles her base in the evening,
    stealthily creeping in by foot lengths,
    trapping her in place once again,
    wrapped in the familiarity of millennia.

    The same starfish, the same crabs living
    in the same tide pools.
    The same people, the same lifeguards
    arriving to see them live.
    The only thing not the same: the waves.

    The waves speak a different language
    every time they visit.
    Fresh, not the least bit world weary,
    They tell their stories to all who will listen.

  90. Colette D

    ~ Model Earth ~

    Could I be more celestial like you —
    your circuiting habits,
    your cyclical dances,
    nightly romances,
    and daily acts of God —
    I could be more radiant.

    Could I be less nuclear than you —
    your fuming faults,
    your flaring disruptions,
    seething eruptions,
    and fiery acts of God —
    I could be less radiant.

  91. RJ Clarken

    Blue-Purple Irises

    One day,
    quite a while ago
    I discovered
    a bunch of
    blue-purple irises
    growing by the side of my house.

    They are my favorite flower
    and favorite color.

    One day,
    they were mowed down
    or pulled out
    or something –
    just as if they were
    ordinary weeds.

    A few years later,
    during a chance stroll
    to the side of my house
    I saw a brilliant profusion
    of blues and purples
    on tender green stalks
    and wondered
    how they knew…

    although in the end,
    it didn’t matter
    because they had returned.

  92. RJ Clarken

    It’s a Dirt!

    When they were young,
    the little boy and girl
    would point
    with tiny fingers
    to a spot
    or a stain
    or some odd darkish mark
    and say
    with grins and giggles,
    “Look! Look! It’s a dirt!”

  93. Patricia A. Hawkenson

    Trying to Find Myself

    My large kitchen spoon
    bent too easily
    as I tried to dig
    to China.

    The top soil
    was thin,
    so thin,
    barely covering
    the rock below.

    My mom
    wasn’t impressed
    by my efforts then.

    Nor now.
    But I just keep
    on digging.

  94. Willy


    There was no dearth
    of laughter and mirth
    when a man of great girth,
    the King of Firth,
    landed here, on Earth,
    and shared all he was worth.

    But, when King Firth burst
    in on High Lord Erst,
    he was revil’d and curs’d.
    The king, lips unpursed,
    spoke, “Let me say first,
    you, my lord, are the worst!”

  95. Daniel Ari

    Wow, De.
    Wow, Linda.

    and wow to all of us who are actually writing a poem every day. I’m not yet over the significance of this artistic community act.

  96. Pam Winters


    “You gotta eat a peck of dirt before you die.”
    This was my grandmother’s adage,
    told me by my mother. I remember Grandma only dimly:
    after a visit to Natural Bridge when I was three,
    where I fell and cut my knee, she bandaged it
    as I wailed.

    No. That, too, is a memory that was told to me.
    All I can see of her, truly see, is a shape under sheets,
    too scary for an eight-year-old to approach,
    as she lay dying of cancer in Aunt Cleo’s bedroom.
    I knew her best by the things she owned: the waterfall furniture
    in the room where she last breathed, the brown jugs
    that held lemonade at the family reunion.
    Her golden slippers, small enough for me to wear
    after she died.

    I know stories: how Granddaddy loved her at first site
    in her mother’s boarding house, how his hands
    just spanned her waist. I know love leads inexorably
    to death: within a year after they set the stone,
    Granddaddy visited each of his 10 children and then
    joined her once more.

    I knew her by words. “Mama called it schmierkase,”
    Mom said, scooping cottage cheese. I knew her picture,
    hair pulled back, thin metal glasses softening her,
    looking so much like her daughters, so little like me.

    Daughters withering like daffodils, worldly goods
    gone to estate sales, memories fading: how deep
    would I have to dig in those mountain valleys
    to find who she was, as everyone who knew her
    is swallowed by the earth?

  97. Walt Wojtanik


    They’re watching.
    Guarding, guiding
    silently gliding
    in and out of our
    realm of thought.
    Celestial sentinels,
    shielding us in the cuff
    of their outstretched
    wings. Comfort and peace
    their offering; heavenly love
    in surrogate for the Most High.
    Eternal understanding in the
    guise of cherubic eyes.
    At the ready, at your shoulder;
    having your back.
    Always a prayer away.

  98. M Wood

    More Than Just Cement

    The solid little figurine
    Wears red cap and blue shirt
    His hands fixed to his tummy
    His feet stuck in the dirt.

    He stands there in the front yard
    Where the periwinkle creeps
    And doesn’t move a muscle
    Til the house behind him sleeps.

    Then he gathered all his buddies
    Made of stone, cement and wood
    In the light held by the jockey
    He spoke loudly as he could.

    “My friends,” he said in earnest,
    “We’ve found no women yet.”
    When Fritz was seen with something blue,
    He cried “Let go that Smurfette!”

    Oh yes there were the gardeners
    Bent over pulling weeds
    But half a girl in dotted shorts
    Would never meet their needs.

    And then there were the virgins
    Profound in painted tubs
    They never paid him any mind
    And spoke only to cherubs.

    “Oh yes I was in love once,”
    He said after a pause.
    “But only for a few weeks time,
    With that trollop, Mrs. Claus.”

    He sighed in dreamy memory
    Of the glow she had throughout
    The jockey nudged him knowingly,
    “One hundred watt, no doubt.”

    “If we traveled off this block,
    We’d find them too, some day.
    But wonder off I just won’t do.
    See, I do have feet of clay.”

    And then the dawn broke overhead
    On the wistful little gnome.
    He eased back to the silence of
    His lonely earthen home.

    Be kind to all our lawn friends
    And yard decorative art
    Those shards of broken pottery
    May be pieces of a heart.

  99. De Jackson

    Joseph Harker, loved your AXIS. Might not have noticed the double use of "dependable" without your note, but if you do change one, perhaps consider the first, instead of second? My ear likes the juxtaposition of "renegade" and "reliable" in that line. Just a thought.

  100. CJillFriend

    Travelling Eyes, War Lies.
    Dedicated to Screaming Pink Ribbons of Insanity

    Take out Today’s Map
    The Eastern View
    A much larger looking land
    looking over at us.
    We peer back at them
    from our classrooms
    with only a map
    of US.

    Take the time to look
    at today’s map
    and imagine the
    jigsaw you enjoy
    at home…

    Stretch the Left
    around to the Right
    and see that starry
    Venezuela and Brazil,
    Liberia and Congo
    were created out
    of the ocean’s lament
    of fractured land,

    when the Amazon broke
    from the Congo.

    From Congo,
    Drift slowly up the heat of the Nile
    to Israel,
    One Bridge.

    Travel time with open eyes
    through Jordan, Lebanon,
    Saudi Arabia, Kuwait,
    Iraq, Syria,

    Cross India and over the Himilayas
    into China,
    neighbors with
    Russia and Korea.

    Siberia is lonely
    because Alaska
    broke away
    with Canada,

    who pines
    for Greenland and Europe.
    The proof is in the pieces.

    Enter into the U.S.
    and find the Mississippi.
    Follow Lincoln’s profile
    along Illinois
    down to New Orleans.
    Stand on the shore,
    but don’t look out to sea.
    Turn and face North.

    Move along the westward coast
    until you get into
    the cradle of Mexico.
    And walk across
    Guatemala, El Salvador,
    Honduras, Nicaragua,
    Costa Rica and Panama,
    Bridge Two,
    Into Columbia,
    neighbor to Venezuela.

    This map.

    Fold your map.
    Take it home.
    Crumple it.
    Throw it away.
    Use it to plot strategy.
    Always, the oceans’s tides
    and shore lines
    draft our map.

  101. Salvatore Buttaci


    They’re back again to let us know
    the Earth’s not round as we supposed.
    It’s not a huge ball in the Milky Way,
    more a cookie shedding planetary crumbs.
    We want so much to say they’re dumb,
    that astronomy is science, not child’s play,
    tell them the premise they have posed
    lacks any credibility, then ask them to show

    exactly how they came to see the Earth
    an oreo or a ritz or a huge ginger snap.
    In our scientific corner we hold fast
    on the side of Magellan. We know he’s right.
    With near-exact telescopes we see a bright
    ball of green, blue, and brown, up there, cast
    suspended. To believe otherwise is claptrap;
    Still, they insist their theory holds true worth.

    “It’s a giant cookie,” they say in one voice.
    “What crashes to the Earth are not meteors at all.
    They’re cookie crumbs that fall so easily apart
    when they enter the Earth’s atmosphere.
    Do we,” they ask, “make ourselves quite clear?”
    What can we say to bring a change of heart?
    We say “round”; they persist, “Earth’s not a ball.
    If it were, we’d all roll off. Have you no sense at all?”


  102. Linda Goin

    Chev – you put in words how I feel in my garden and in life (except I was a little girl, if we’re getting literal).
    Annie, "My breath / bleeds anxiety."
    Jenifer – I like your order of the earth at the end of your poem.
    Linda V., I’ve never had an experience with an oxpecker ’til now! Thanks!
    Taylor – delightful! I’ll have to figure a way to recycle cat litter bags. Liking the raincoat idea immensely.
    Rachel — a woman after my heart with compost and a Black Lace Sambucus! I have both in the yard here.
    Joseph, I’m making comments today merely to talk to you about this brilliant poem, this word-bunctious talk about "astro-illogical" claims and tectonic relationships. Enchanted, thrilled to see this poem. Thank you, and I did not notice the double dependable, perhaps because that made your work that much more reliable.
    Joe – nice, short reprisal. Like it.
    De – for some reason, your "rotation" reminded me of my daughter and provided me with a different perspective. Thanks.
    Angela – nice twists, but this is perfect, IMO: "Less men have been here than in to space"
    Walt, thank you and thank you again for your DNA. Scientific history appeals.

  103. Daniel Ari

    "Day On Earth"

    “That’s about the size, where you put your eyes, that’s about the size of it.”
    – from Sesame Street

    Old size setter, pebble of our lives,
    looking up to the naked skies,
    down to the sympathetic crawlers:
    see how we’ve grown with your blessings.

    Take our eyes, for example, our tendrils
    of sight that have examined your fabric,
    penetrated the night and found that size
    continues moving in either direction,

    like time or love or the streets of town,
    the leaves that fall… what was I saying?
    We’ve seen how graphic magnifications
    of the human eyeball start to look like deep-

    field outer space; and here’s a theory:
    that if we saw further, with other senses,
    perhaps, we would discover that all
    forms a planet-like interior, toroid

    turning inward, earth as equally infinitely
    small and large and equally everything,
    like our process of discovery, like how
    we think what we feel and vice versa,

    how we venture toward stewardship,
    how we experience flowers, how we pick
    a gift, how we open a door, how we manage
    what we eat…what was I saying?


  104. Ellenelizabeth Cernek-Kashk

    Earthen Connection

    I take the pitch fork out from hibernation
    It has been there, in the dark corner since last spring
    Hands garbed in green and white poke-a-dotted gloves
    I take the sturdy handle in my right hand
    And stab it into the compose of the winter
    Turning each fork-fill like pancakes on a griddle
    It is an act of cleansing the soil
    Worms, bugs slitter and crawl by
    From my rude and unannounced calling
    Now with the new clean soul, I bend to my knees
    In homage, to remove any stones I have shuttled to the top
    Rhythmically I make straight rows
    With my hands reaching deep into the soil
    Tenderly, I arrange all the vegetables in order
    Placing their new born roots into the holes
    Covering them with care and love of the newly cultivated soil
    I wipe my brow and smudge dirt across it
    My knees have been blackened with my hours of work
    I am exhausted
    I turn on the hose
    Cool the top of my head
    And sun burnt back
    Turn slowly and spray my new veggie garden
    The pleasure of self grown veggies, or a fresh rose,
    Iris, daffodil, chamomile, mint or sage beyond my door
    Allows me, my private earthen connection.

  105. De Jackson

    Thanks so much, Chev. He’s one of my favorites, too. I loved your "little boy in the trees" today. What happens to us, I wonder? When does the world stop being ‘mud-luscious and puddle-wonderful’?

  106. Barbara_Y

    how does your garden grow?
    i have a bag–mislabeled, mind you, as topsoil–for a head
    heavy, and it’s got me down, dizzy, dumb and deadened.
    the emporium has locked its doors
    and no one’s selling more
    self-respect for any coin
    the sky’s gray; won’t rain
    i’m in the mood to whine
    (scratched into the dirt
    with codfish oil and tea
    a good organic fertilizer)

  107. angela readman

    I was surprised where this prompt took me- alot of fun :)

    The Astronaut’s Mistress

    I will never be the moon to you,
    even as I stand here naked,
    all my phases presented
    in the light of this moment,
    my skin here right now,

    your hands are gravity
    that tugs me, I’m eclipsed,
    every decision I’ve made
    not to do this blocked
    when our eyes met
    and overlapped.

    This body is not astral,
    but here, terrestrial,
    part water, part lava, my core
    quivering under the surface of your touch.
    No more to you than a discarded apple,
    the craters of my waist, of hips.

    Less men have been here than in to space,
    if you see we may make our own weightlessness.
    Even as we touch you are lonely,
    the astraunaut first always,
    the drape open and one eye looking up,

    down at me. The suit in storage,
    still all of this seen through the helmet,
    the glass visor. You looked down
    on the earth, its oceans and crust
    small as scattered jigsaw puzzle pieces,
    scattered maps, you could not picture
    one woman who loved you on it,
    or remember one ounce of trivia

    I opened mayonnaise and thought of you
    having read end the empty jars would reach space.
    You look at me now with an astraunaut’s gaze,
    all you will never see again peers through the window,
    that moon a mirror with no reflection of your face
    Every gas and cloud that caused storms
    no more than smeared thumbprints on glass.

  108. J. Hugh MacDonald

    The Fractured Earth

    To have had the solid earth
    beneath our feet, as,
    our island in the galaxy
    spins and drifts
    through time
    like the electrons
    in a nuclear clock,
    and then find out in school
    that even here
    we drift afloat
    on searing solar liquids
    which roil and lift
    beneath our chosen plates
    is as unnerving
    as it gets, I thought.
    To lift up in the air
    into the jet stream,
    adrift with ash and glass
    from Iceland’s fault
    that could grind and clog
    the jets that hold us there,
    and know the volatile earth
    is well-bound in solid crust,
    and that our coming down to earth
    could be hard enough for us,
    gives new meaning to that thought.

  109. Chev Shire

    Marie Elena, thank you. I probably don’t say that near enough. You are just one of the kindest, sweetest people.

    Thanks also to Beth and to Hannah. Hannah is one of those folks who I seek out when time is limited.

    And De, first you quote one of my favorites (e.e. cummings) and then write one of your best. I love the idea of spinning opposite the Earth.

  110. De Jackson

    Dear Silver State Recycling Center,

    I’ve got bottles and cans
    and cardboard galore,
    I’ve got empty containers
    from ceiling to floor.

    I’ve got penchant for paper
    so I’ll save every scrap.
    I’ll plan a clean planet
    and I’ll pile up my crap.

    I’ve got best of intentions
    and ‘green’ heart and soul
    but there’s one last dimension
    that’s beyond my control…

    For several years (and a few tears)
    I’ve been ready to begin,
    Now, I beg of you, please,
    (in the name of Mother Earth):
    Just bring me my recycling bins!

  111. Walt Wojtanik

    Ptaricia, I know that was your "baby" last year, but I said it as a joke. But if the shirts are your cup of tea, knock yourself out. Here in Buffalo, bowlings shirts are considered formal attire. And I don’t get to too many shindigs much.

  112. Lytton Bell


    Was global warming caused by organized religion?
    Certainly Jesus had a small carbon footprint, if any at all…
    But let’s go back to Christianity’s definition of man
    Man was unlike the animals
    that creep upon the earth

    Man was created in the image of God
    And thinking that, perhaps made him act
    more like a god than an animal
    more entitled, more destructive
    I walk beside the creek and lie down

    in the long grass
    hold perfectly still while the bugs
    crawl over me
    squirrels come within inches, sniffing
    curious about who and what I am

    I am an animal
    No god
    I would not destroy their habitat
    for any profit margin
    or by any heavenly dictate

    Noah gathered up the animals
    to keep them safe
    But maybe it is better to steward the earth herself
    Original mother
    whose Nazarene lands cradled even Christ

  113. De Jackson

    (who laugh and cry)who dream, create and kill
    while the whole moves; and every part stands still:
    ~e.e. cummings


    perhaps it is
    her penchant for either
    spinning opposite the Earth
    or standing completely
    maybe her axis
    (more tilted than most)
    is simply no longer at center
    or perhaps her
    is cooling.
    all she knows is
    the mournful moon pulls
    at her more than ever
    at least two-thirds of her
    has spilled into that ocean place
    where sorrow meets sea.

  114. Walt Wojtanik

    Marie, Thanks for the usual. Alway appreciated. For the fib, my thinking is "When in doubt, leave them out." Let your breaks punctuate.

    Chev, Beth – Ditto on the Appreciation.

    Joseph – I read you. I get you. I love Harkerwrite. Reliable understood.

    Linda(s) – Stereo never sounded better than both of your takes.

    Hannah – Perfect.

    More later…

  115. Hannah Gosselin

    Good point Marie and stated so well! I have a hard time with punctuation period, let alone with fibs. It looks good to me. I’m so glad you enjoyed my poems last night…they were a little mre on the comical side for a change! Blessings right bachk atcha!

    Beth, I like visions of butterflys! Really pretty poem!

    Chev, very well stated, I love how you reconnect with that boy in the trees!

    Smiles to everybody!!

  116. Maggie E

    More Than Five Times

    I’ve counted as best as I possibly could,
         I’ve honestly seriously tried,
    but only this one hand’s fingers count good —
         my other hand’s preoccupied.
    so excuse me my fuzzy arithmetic, lover,
         when I take myself out for a drive.
    My best estimate’s only what I’m up over:
         oh, quite a bit more than the five.


  117. Joe

    God’s Home

    Trash on the roadside
    Trash in our mind
    Trashing the neighbours
    whom we’ve fallen behind

    Trash in the orbit
    falling back to Earth
    Odds are it won’t hit us,
    for what that’s worth

    Trash in the ocean,
    all over the floor
    Not enough of us
    seem to care anymore

    Let’s show our Maker
    Earth isn’t a fad
    and stop treating God’s home
    like a bachelor pad

  118. Michelle Hed

    Traveling to Earth

    Traveling to Earth on a spaceship
    While eating pickled beans and hot dip,
    Gave the mortals a scare
    To see a gaseous flare
    As their ship disappeared in a blip!


    Earth between the toes,
    dandelions under your nose.

    Sun upon your back,
    you and me in a two room shack.

    Blue skies and white clouds,
    there are absolutely no crowds.

    Bird song on the breeze,
    you on the grass between my knees.

    Covered like the earth,
    with love, good-will and quiet mirth.

  119. Marie Elena

    Robert: No trouble posting those last couple for me. I have noticed a message at the top of my screen that says "To help protect your security, Internet Explorer has blocked this website from displaying content with security certificate errors. Click here for options…" Perhaps that can be a problem?

    HANNAH: Your little piece says sooooo much. Beautiful!

  120. Hannah Gosselin


    I watch as they kick off their shoes
    and strip down socks to fresh pink flesh.
    I helped them roll up their pants cuffs
    and lug buckets brimming with water over
    to the hole they dug. I observe as they
    splash and stomp and succeed in creating
    their very own mud puddle. Tiny toes swish,
    squish in the moist soil as they plead for
    more water please and I don’t mind because
    it’s rain water and I trust it will rain again.

  121. Marie Elena

    Earth Fib

    see need
    to protect
    family and home,
    would that not include my nation,
    my fellow earthlings,
    my planet?
    If not,

    Oh, Walt. Your pieces so far are diverse, well-written, outside-the-box … and "all things" warmed my heart richly. Wow.

    Joseph, I’ll pretend. ;) Passionate work as always. Your style could never be imitated … at least not by the likes of me.

    And Chev, yours is so touching. Your writing is always concise and says much. If I’ve never told you before, I’m telling you now … you are one of the names I search for if my time is limited.

  122. Terri French

    My Manicure

    No polish,
    Not buffed or shaped,
    No cuticles trimmed–
    Give me rich dirt beneath my nails,
    scratches and callouses;
    Give me the proud hands of a woman
    who has been intimate
    with the earth.

  123. Joseph Harker


    Our chemistry was interrupted by the stars,
    astro-illogical claim that we wouldn’t fit together:
    Libra and Taurus like renegade acid
    and dependable base.
    Yet I will continue to be a student of topography
    mapping out the contours of each muscle,
    mountain range shoulders and floodplain belly
    roped with rivers and streams of sweat.
    This friendship is tectonic,
    perfectly balanced in its perpetual spinning
    and still you will be solid, dependable earth,
    bull-horned precipice I can jump from,
    riding thermals into the atmosphere: your body
    sprouting mushrooms and ergot
    for updrafts beneath the wings of indecision.
    Let me cling to your rotation, hear you speak
    and change at the speed of geologic time.
    All the wisdom we have ever known
    is locked beneath us, and I can hear it flowering
    through your voice; one night we built a bonfire,
    damply captivated by enchantments
    pouring from your opalescent hands.

  124. Rachel Green

    The Sweet Aroma of Decomposed Vegetables

    moist between my fingers, the earth smells
    of warm summers and last week’s barbeque
    as I half fill a new ceramic pot, black as blood
    and black as a preacher’s liver.
    I made this earth, I and the worms,
    made it from tea bags and egg shells;
    potato peelings and withered apples.
    This is fresh compost, nitrogen rich and
    full of the labours of an English winter;
    a compliment to the specimen plant
    Sambucus Nigra ‘Black Lace’
    nestled in the warm embrace of earth.

  125. Laurie Kolp

    The Earth

    The earth explores-
    mighty wind and rain
    blows in from the sea;
    the earth abhors-
    hot molten lava
    violently breaks free;
    the earth roars-
    life shattering chaos
    vibrates impulsively;
    the earth scores-
    Mother Nature’s wrath
    has no apology.

  126. Maggie E

    Personal Demolition

    I reach you when I fade into her black
    creations, vertigo through swirling dearth
    of substance, dirt collapsing on its birth
    into what word you took from her, attack

    down to the core, with all the force you pack
    into the slightest touch, its weight, its worth,
    the life she buried, love your breaths unearth.
    Along a fault line in my rock, a crack!

    Yet never breaking through, you choose to hurt
    as though still buried in your unmarked grave
    with spaces of you there, a hollow cave
    where rotting dreams push roots through clotted dirt.

        Her ashes, your contaminates, my dust?
        I’ll make our world of nothing, if I must!


  127. Walt Wojtanik


    At a crossroads of life,
    beautiful children,
    a loving wife and a gift
    given with intent to
    be put to wise use,
    and the abuse of all that
    is in taking too much time
    to realize what had been
    intended for me on this earth.
    When standing before "THE GATES",
    will my ledger be in the black?
    Will my achievements outweigh
    my wastefulness and my avarice?
    Do my deeds and intents justify
    the life I had lived? Questions.
    Self-doubt born of a lack of faith
    in the Divine Guidance we all
    receive, knowing or not.
    In the end, we own what we have done.
    And I for one plan on trying to
    regain the promise given; return to
    the "Home" of my origin.
    All things between heaven and earth;
    a convergence of mind, heart, body and soul,
    all controlled with a Loving Hand.

  128. Taylor Graham


    What to do with that empty
    50-lb sack of dogfood?
    Don’t throw it out to clog the landfill;
    recycle. Imagine the possibilities:

    Slit open lengthwise,
    it becomes a tarp for woodpile or haystack;
    wallpaper for the guest room;
    bedding for sheep.

    Cover sensitive outdoor plants
    when the weatherman warns of frost.

    Fill the old bag with aluminum cans
    or CRV plastic to haul to the recycling center.

    Caught out in a storm?
    Cut head- and arm-holes; voila, a raincoat.

    Or, an eco-chic prom dress. (But
    give a thought to brand-name:
    not Cheap Bag O’ – maybe Fit & Trim.)

    Of course, you could just keep on using it
    for dogfood; buy your kibble in bulk
    at the market. Save a penny, save a tree.

    Imagine: nothing’s really useless.
    Think of all our possibilities
    on Earth.

  129. Karen H. Phillips

    Can’t post! Last code ended with PU. = D Yeah, it stinks, all right.

    4-22-2010 Prompt: Write an "earth" poem.

    How does that help?

    Starbucks offers free coffee
    honoring Earth Day
    you bring in your reusable mug.
    I live miles from the nearest Starbucks
    for the one downtown
    where it’s impossible park.

  130. Walt Wojtanik


    On an archaeological dig,
    through the historical site
    which is my life.
    More precisely,
    an archive-logical dig.
    A search for ancestry;
    a validation of descendancy;
    a self-searching soul.
    Progenitors I had never known,
    from places I have never
    seen, nor heard about.
    All clues in this
    investigation, no revelation
    left unturned. A return to
    my origin, a re-birthing;
    an unearthing. Placing me
    at the scene of this life,
    lived according to the dictates
    of my DNA, and nurtured
    by whichever diamonds
    in the rough I uncover.

  131. Linda Goin

    The Garden Blind

    You are a seasonal being,
    sensitive to winter,
    when dark shapes against drifts
    map your path.
    In spring you lie on the earth,
    marking in arm’s length
    what others measure in feet.
    You plant fragrance,
    a map for navigation.
    You plant large outposts
    like arms that hold you in bounds.
    You plant gutsy
    ground covers that take traffic
    and bounce back, resilient.
    Nothing is damaged in the process,
    and summer proves your efforts.
    You absorb this riot,
    these fruits, like children.
    Your friends, cultivated,
    relay colors, inform you
    that everything,
    the Lilac vulgaris,
    the Magnolia virginiana,
    the Phlox subulata,
    is doing well, despite
    the Retinitis pigmatosa.
    In fall, when leaves burn,
    your eyes water like someone
    who can see the last course
    in an annual feast.

  132. Linda Voit

    Earth’s oxpeckers

    On this 260-billion cubic-mile
    cape buffalo
    we pick parasitic fleas and ticks
    when we’re hungry
    pull hairs to soften our nests
    hiss in danger
    sun ourselves
    and breed.

    We also feed
    at her open wounds
    drink her blood
    keep our own host’s
    oozing gashes open
    and vulnerable to infection.

  133. Jenifer McNamara


    Earth, earth
    how long has it been
    three, four, million
    years, since a yell
    turned a bang into
    a large round ball,
    of a planet, filled
    with animals, plants,
    people to remember.

  134. Beth Rodgers

    Walt – Yours are great so far. Especially your take on "Earth" and making it "Eartha." Nicely done.

    Chev – I loved your line about how getting dirty was the natural order of things and not just reserved for Saturdays.

    Annie – I really enjoyed the depth, metaphor, and personification in your poem. Breath bleeding is an image people don’t really consider (at least as far as I’m concerned), and your roots searching for water is quite powerful.

    Great work so far. Sorry I couldn’t comment on some of the great ones yesterday, but the code was just not letting me enter anything, even my own poem.

  135. Beth Rodgers


    The connotation of spring
    Brings a sense of
    Camaraderie and
    The blustery winds of
    Are behind us
    The smell of freshly mowed
    Hearing the birds flutter
    And twitter about
    Constantly reminding us
    To spend more
    With their “cheep cheep” chanting.
    Envisioning the perfect garden
    With tulips opening up
    Their petals
    Welcoming the sun
    Beckoning its warmth.
    Always find comfort in the
    Simple phrase
    That spring has sprung.
    It lightens the mood
    Brings smiles
    Touches on our
    Natural instinct
    To let Earth’s wonders
    Take their natural course
    As visions of butterflies
    Dance in our heads.

  136. annie mcwilliams


    My roots search for water
    every morning.
    Something is given,
    a trunk full of old ideas,
    a suitcase of memories,
    yesterday’s excuse.
    My breath
    bleeds anxiety.
    I learn again
    what I already knew:
    the secret’s sealed somewhere.

  137. Chev Shire

    I plunge my hands into the earth
    and instantly feel younger,
    floating back to the time
    when getting dirty was
    the natural order of things,
    not a Saturday task,
    sometimes scorned.
    and I know
    something has been lost,
    part of me,
    the little boy in the trees.
    and I wonder
    who he grew up to be
    since there is no chance
    it would be me.

  138. Walt Wojtanik


    You were the voice,
    sultry and seductive,
    in an age of icons, you
    were once the front-runner.
    You WERE Catwoman
    and the best part of
    her was your purr.
    Santa Baby was your mantra
    before Britney was wetting
    her diapers. No one holds
    a candle to you. But your light
    still shines. Eartha Kitt,
    whatever you had, I’d loved itt!

  139. Walt Wojtanik


    Standing firmly
    feet rooted and drawing
    life from whence we came.
    Feeling and growing into
    an extension of all
    the earth provides.
    Neither denied, nor refused.
    Taken as life giving,
    reaching for the strength
    to change in unison.
    The earth, home and sanctuary.