Weekly Response #10: Earth Poem

Earth Day took place this month. This week, find a nature poem. Copy and paste the text of the poem, along with the title and author as done below. Then, underneath, create your own nature poem, borrowing, if necessary, from some of the imagery, poetic devices, or ideas from the poem you chose. The poem does not need to be on the same subject, but it can be.

The Sandhills  by Linda Hogan

The language of cranes
we once were told
is the wind. The wind
is their method,
their current, the translated story
of life they write across the sky.
Millions of years
they have blown here
on ancestral longing,
their wings of wide arrival,
necks long, legs stretched out
above strands of earth
where they arrive
with the shine of water,
stories, interminable
language of exchanges
descended from the sky
and then they stand,
earth made only of crane
from bank to bank of the river
as far as you can see
the ancient story made new.
The Dunes by Craig Ketchum
Like silk so soft underfoot
Stretching interminable to the horizon
They shift but never disappear.
What secrets are buried beneath these grains
What volume of  volumes of stories lie

4 thoughts on “Weekly Response #10: Earth Poem

  1. Voices Of A Tree
    By: A Krishan
    As the suns rays begin to fade,
    and people enter the houses that have been made,
    by the sacrifice of the fellow trees… now silent,
    to serve those humans whose thoughts resemble those of a tyrant;

    Humans approached me for food,
    I gave them as much as I could,
    Men approached me for shelter,
    I extended my branches in the burning surroundings…….lest they falter.
    But here come people with their tools,
    To raze trees and build roads, malls and pools;
    Are you going to cut me now?
    Oh they do not seem to hear as they bring their axe near.
    Will you grow trees when I’m dead?
    But they do not seem to hear and bring their axe near.

    Oh is there no one here to convince these men…..
    That trees are boon not bane?
    But they have already brought their axe near,
    because they will not hear.

    Listen O! thee, listen to the voice of the dying tree……………

    The Gift of Trees
    By: Katie Farion
    This is me:
    I have bark and leaves,
    You see, I am a tree.
    I stand outside through all the weather
    Be it sun or snow
    I’ll withstand it all – it helps me grow!

    Please, let me grow
    Don’t let me go
    Extinct, or you will regret it.

    I help you take each breath of life,
    Getting rid of what gives you strife.
    You use me well in all your homes
    To cover you and to keep you warm – who knows
    What else you’ll use me for?

    Feel free to use me, but keep in mind
    How many of me you still can find.
    Let me grow
    And just know
    I am a gift from God above.

  2. Universal Motion

    Around the hub, the galaxies turn
    Pinwheels scrubbed, in magnetic urn
    Gravity attracts, while motion glides
    Equal force acts, to sustain the rides

    The Milky Way, is towed along
    Its center conveyed, by nature’s song
    The flux lines strum, as they pass by
    A radio hum, an electrical sigh

    And so it be, with our own sun
    By magnetic sea, its field is spun
    The axial spin, then thus does tow
    It’s satellites in an induction row

    The best conductors turn fairly fast
    While the resistors last with the past
    Lines of force roll round the outside
    Because the course is too dense inside

    When the field of the planet is low
    It tends to yield all turning flow
    If more than one set of poles it has
    It will turn yet, but less as lines pass
    By Udalh

    Lovely flowers grow,
    Long green stems from the grounds they grow
    Lovely petals white.

  3. Save The Earth

    People everywhere
    breathe the same air,
    share the same seas,
    live together on the land.
    People everywhere
    who learn, plan,
    work, care,
    save the earth.

    Betty Miles

    Big beautiful world
    mysterious place to be
    we should protect it

  4. A Late Walk
    By Robert Frost

    When I go up through the mowing field,
    The headless aftermath,
    Smooth-laid like thatch with the heavy dew,
    Half closes the garden path.

    And when I come to the garden ground,
    The whir of sober birds
    Up from the tangle of withered weeds
    Is sadder than any words

    A tree beside the wall stands bare,
    But a leaf that lingered brown,
    Disturbed, I doubt not, by my thought,
    Comes softly rattling down.

    I end not far from my going forth
    By picking the faded blue
    Of the last remaining aster flower
    To carry again to you.

    A Farmer’s Field
    By Jessica Lowen

    The wind rushes through the warm yellow grass,
    Cattle graze in the field,
    The sun is shining overhead
    The smell of lavender,
    Wafts through the garden,
    Past the brook where the horses lay,
    It lingers around me,
    As I rest, and slowly doze off into the abyss

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