Mother Earth
No sacrifice She makes
Is small
At the hands of many
Who do not honor
Her at all.

And yet each Spring
New life is born
Flowers bloom
And the animals play
Hope made new
From Winter's gloom.

But the hands of men
Need to understand
Her resilience
Will not last.
And that all humans
Have a responsibility
To preserve Her brilliance-
Steadfast.

Mother Earth
Her weight on our shoulders now
Yet She continues to give.
From Her roots & soils; harvest is plenty
Into our bellies
So that all may live.

May we set aside
Our pride and ego
And all our selfish industrial waste
Get back to nature; honoring Her lands
Great care we need to take
Of Mother Earth for all our days.

©KSS 2/18/2021

Nature followed her footprints,
Planting seeds in the sand
With every forward land,
Blooming trees to the moon.

Wind would whistle between
The curls of her bronzite hair,
Setting a crown of flowers upon her head,
Hues of violets and blues.

No matter how much strength
She placed in the land,
There was only so much she could do
To brace the incoming doom.

Her eyes as forests
Would get torn down one by one,
Leaving nothing but rabbit holes
In the tracks that were left.

Generations would soon come to see,
The everlasting beauty of her earth.
In what was worth protecting.
What was left for recovering
before her last breath.

I have a ******* superpower
To the worms I am a God.
They pop up everywhere I go
And wave their heads and nod.
I showed the others kids at school
What I could make worms do
But they laughed and bullied me
Said I'd lost a *****.
One night when Mom had gone to bed
I went out in the night
Put my torch under my chin
Talked to them in the light.
They whispered lots of scary things.
"Keep a close eye on the sun!"
But it's too late.
It's happening now
Soon the worms will come.

Draw a stick figure
future - diminished
and virus ransomed.

Paint the landscape
with the sweltering glare
of global warming.

Come share this
with me - let kisses heal and
soft whispers inflame.

Some locks need two keys
to open; some heavens can
be reached by mortals.

The trees are my lungs
The wilderness is my heart
The waves are my song
The beauty is my art

The storms are my anger
The rain is my pain
The mountains are my anchor
The rivers are my veins

The climate is my fight
The roots are my feet
The sun is my sight
The moon is my sleep

The wind is my power
The fire is my fear
Humans are my disaster
So, let me make myself clear

Stop using me as your credit card,
My resources are running out
You are the reason for my scars
I thunder – can’t you hear me shout?

My heart is the wilderness
But there isn’t much left of it
Like a failed romance, I feel weakness
You have made my heart split

I can’t breathe, I can’t cry
I roar with thunder and I spit fire
I am sick, I don’t want to die
Rewild my heart and I’ll be stronger

As we got older, it became clear
that we wouldn’t have the luxuries

of drink without worry,
of sleep without restlessness,

of raising children
without fear for their survival.

It became clear
that we would never garner

the respect of our elders
no matter how dearly we pined for it,

and that the world itself
would smolder

while those responsible
rested comfortably in their graves,

and those of us to whom
our forebears’ sins were bequeathed

would be left to choke on the smoke
and ashes

of a promise to posterity
allowed to burn instead.

when aborted day
is given chance to rise
sun being blood red
life giving way for dead
with seas boiling over
and the artic becoming
a lush verdant green
your senses don't betray
leaving would be keen