David W
David W
Jul 7

Sweat-drenched and weary,
Tilling — and earthy labor —
Now a day’s work done

A Reflection On My Day
#life   #haiku   #nature   #reflections   #thoughts   #experience   #work   #soil   #weary   #labor  
Soil and ancient roots.
Jun 19, 2012

Mother Summer's peace,
Cottonwoods, swaying willows.
Soil and ancient roots.

Soil is very important
Palas Kumar Ray
Mar 5, 2010

Soil is very important
Just beneath your feet
Wherever you are
for the time being
You shall have to come back
To soil
where from you fly

Soil is very important.

become the soil.
Emma B
Emma B
Jul 16, 2013

Isn't it nice
how the sunflowers
become the soil.

Daniel Magner
Daniel Magner
Jul 31, 2013

The spots I'm seeing connect,
forming an image through my cold sweats.
I feel like a jest but nobody's laughing,
it's silent like the inside of a coffin
at the graveyard, only sounds are
the footsteps of the drunken night guard
playing cards with the dead.

Daniel Magner 2013
Jamie Powers
Jamie Powers
Aug 18, 2013

Without giving me any warning,
You engraved yourself into my flesh;
Like a flower wrapping its vines around my torso.
I would pluck at your petals and
Tear at your roots
But you would not leave me.

E R Romaine
Jan 9, 2012

The wind is influenced by
The direction she walks in.
The sky is willful to carry her breath.
The withered leaves
Are first to caress her.
But the earth waits first
To hold her in death.

Maya Caroline
Maya Caroline
Dec 3, 2012

What am I?

I should be nothing to you.
A breeze on your neck.
A pleasing glance
or stare.

I’d hope.

Though nothing more and nothing less.
I am a bag of dirt.

Wash and rid of me
from your warm hands.

While you still can.

I grasp the soil with tender hands and tender hopes.
Apr 28, 2013

As fragile as the first flower after the long winter,
and as I yearn to show its beauty to the world,
I am scared.

To lose it,
to have it break,
wither and fall,
and so.

I grasp the soil with tender hands and tender hopes.

Miranda Peterson
Feb 7, 2010

Frozen funeralNecessary burialYou pushed me backAgainst the wall. My eye was morethan on the doorIt became stringentFor manners sake, I didn’t make a faceAt that vinegar smell.Knowing better is no remedy for hurt prideBrand his pink skin for the first timeDuck out before the sourA new hot shower AwaitsAt home. Or somewhere with potted fernsBreathe ReprieveNever been with such a followerat my heels. Looking over my shoulderBlurting and grindingOn my nervesFeigning understandingNo more storm metaphorNot worth the anger earned By the dark pastI clutch my secret hopeLike a sold out ticketAwakened by remembered hungerImagining fresh garden loot. Still drippIngWet(January 2, 2010)

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