"humus" poems
Mary plants stems of roses
Happy is her sensuous senses.
Rosy roses reddish ,yellow
Dribbling dews on petals glow.
Sandy was her piece of land ,still
Mixing humus made she fertile.
Grow up mango, cashew trees now
Hellish heat around falls low.
All the birdies, human beings with
Rolling breeze’s blessing grew forth.
Nurture Nature for our future
Save our culture agriculture.
Greenery is her granary giving
Honey, money, feeling pleasing.
Waves on beaches softly recede
Crawling ripples crippling proceed.
Do you know? lives here sustain
Only through eternal restrain.
Gain for all lies where interactions
Divine hold our honest actions
=============================
Feb 8, 2012
Feb 8, 2012 at 10:33 PM UTC
Nostradamus and sleeping prophet's One lost image of the singular Eye
Re(ad(d): No worry
To, Love Our Sun :).
Signs like Gemini is to air
Sagittarius is to fire a pair
in this crossing with Pisces
to water is Virgo for earth
too We are the mutable ones!!
Sunny is however we coin the calling spiraling too
EYE of the One generation transmutable souls of soil ARE
to earth; 'hues EYED like a butterfly, here to sample many flowers
connected within a Great Spirit invoked as in wilds if peopled or things'!!!
We do feel it within or without the actual considerations of the ultimate doings;
'letting go and taking the risk of trusting and depending on another'!!! One by one!!! :)
EYE of humus hued in spirit and love fused to the stone's twirling and of the ruse's tolling
So many of paths we traverse here as on earth the singular EYE knows out on the HORIZON
The great Eye is too glued on Sunny Sun's ever evolving viewing's as hued spirits cross EYE'S
Our blinded one eye's longing to Lyra's lyre, great musician Orpheus winging, whose W
music tamed wild beasts, caused rivers to stop flowing and enchanted even gates S
to the Lord of the Dead Hades, the softly lit fire singing inside linking heaven A
to earth viewed from outsider's hues waxing and waning of sleep wakened I N
so ode to the moon in the darkness of night gives but who takes her softer F USED
delight when One day halves by sun setting all ebbs in flowing as tides B I
to Great oceans moved like hearts breathe air to presence's emoting STAR'S
from magic to tragic we long of ecliptic traces cryptically erasing W
the blindness of memory and sight' majestic beast's floundering I
a forever crisscrossed from the One Eye here now to Knight's N
dear lost forbidden inner retreats from the East to God's lost 'S
children cast out to the land from blood pooling in spoils O
as easily uncovered as readily as new western lands had ~/ E \~ N
claim maddened ravaged savagely eagerly discovered ~(:YES :)~ G
fear still rocks this boat with hope still sailing onward (:FORGIVEN:). 'S
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 7:52 PM UTC
Scraping off
The smiling Santa Claus faces
Dim hope fading
With each metallic fleck
Flicked onto the kitchen floor
Yet, she will buy more
Always more
And always the same numbers
On the gas station tickets
She buys with a bag of chips
And gas-station humus
With gas-station pop,
In a gas-station cup -
Too large to hold in one hand -
That she fills to the brim
With hope
She never lets herself
Get to empty
She fills her soul with
Perpetual certainty
That one day, she’s gotta win
She’s just gotta
So she plays the game
Plays the odds
Fills her cup
Fills up her tank
Drives to two, three, four
Thankless jobs
And never lets her soul
Get to empty
She’s just gotta win
Fate has gotta give in
To her sheer ambition,
She knows it in her bones
Maybe not this time,
or next time
…or the time after
But soon
…definitely soon
Apr 26, 2019
Apr 26, 2019 at 8:05 PM UTC
The writings on white sheets,
of paper, meander into corners of peoples troubles,
hopefully they taunt correct hemorrhages that will impulse something.
I hope that when I write some person is confused.
Or else I've created no symbolism.
Ive created nothing of worth
or
of
more than it is.
This sallow fickle body I traipse in.
It's got bones filled with osteocytic stones to shape it.
They are calcium degraded, then traded for rigid text.
This body is hard and hollow.
Like bird bones.
Like the bonds between atoms.
This sick cadaver is nothing less.
Our cells become separate selfish entities,
incapable of helping themselves.
Indigent children with no child hostels.
With no help for the homeless youth of our own corporeal phantoms.
When the Aids takes us all,
The cancer takes its toll.
When the whooping cough kills our hopes.
When we die to our dreams of home.
We die all on our own.
The skin becomes parchment.
Some day these bones can be the frame to a poem of worth.
Hung in a rich mans house.
On his wall awkward awards adorned.
Creating what I never could by a poet who was as perfect as the others.
Now the calcium lies in me,
as I lie between sheets of this meat,
of human humus before it disintegrates,
to make plants much more beautiful;
but that calcium, that carbon will make a page.
That bone will make a frame,
and my frame will stand tall like the last building left in the earth.
As there are no more humans alive to see it.
The last iris of the universe will be. A sun.
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 11:31 PM UTC
depends on me for sustenance,
companionship, and reassurance.
she's like every other partner I've ever had
She comes everywhere with me
she walks around the lake with me
and loves to visit the strange mountains.
she leaves when i ignore the truth.
Today I spent hours
watching thick peels of clouds
raking shadows on one another
without crying,
then I told my doctor exactly how I feel.
My body scars so easily
but has never been broken
it's pointless to despair
no matter how old you are.
My nerves are alive, behind my teeth, in my tear ducts
i'm a shivering rabbit ready to bolt
seeing everywhere with my wide ears
for a sign of Danger, dressed in disguise.
her angry love emerges from the humus
whispering like a father:
"Lie down before you hurt yourself."
"Why did you try to lift so much?"
it replays all the stupid, lazy, selfish
**** I've done in the past 6 months
"Why are you still ******* around with that?"
Hold the door open for your friends
then give them some misdirection as they pass.
you must be the first genius in the world to think of it:
avoiding vulnerability by any means necessary.
all attempts to justify my behavior fall short of conviction.
i align my ethics with my actions when it's most convenient.
(and, as I'm reminded, only amidst the most detailed instruction.)
Danger knows I almost believe it.
But we both know I'm a hypocrite
i may never have stopped stealing from animals
without all the recipes other people have written.
the militant voice would've insisted, "It's Impossible!
humans didn't evolve to limit their nutritional pool!
and you're already shuffling half-assed through work and school!
Just think of something else to make you frown,
cut your losses and leave this large-small town.
They are nature's slaves caught unawares."
So who notices? And even then, who cares?
Oct 30, 2018
Oct 30, 2018 at 5:54 PM UTC
press to distress
express disdain
dismay
say if may
dis is in vain
but there's rain in my veins
and through the pain
is where we gain
the whys and the eyes
for I's and the lies
I guess I got caught in the rot
but hey why not
leave like a leaf
live and relieve
weave and retrieve
humus is us and whatnot
Jul 19, 2021
Jul 19, 2021 at 5:59 PM UTC
Dizzy, the rush
of thoughts incapacitate
synapses firing, neurons
throttled, a crescendo
of dendrites branching
Experience roots
inwardly, tearing the humus
of pregnant dreams, scratching to see
the blood beneath the scab.
The greater the itch, the greater
the disturbance of sleep,
bound by a tangle of vines,
deafened by the cobbling-together
of thrushspeak, the cry of clouds
contorting into unthinkable
and suggestive shapes
Bleary-eyed, the lost wages
of sleep gambled away
on a ticking clock.
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 12:11 PM UTC
Oh universe
How you sustain all lives
Is so marvellous
Mother Nature
You constant watcher
You are not a quitter
The seas know their space
The sun sets in the west
And never loses that course
The trees cleanse the air
Herbs with sweet smelling fragrance
And wild honey tastes so sweet
Oh universe
How do you manage this
With so many of us?
The hogs eliminate snakes
The pests feed on wastes
Vultures take care of dead carcasses
We all look to you when we need food
You provide it
We eat it
Every one of your dependants
Know their expectations
In selfregulation
The eater and the eaten
Life never ceases
It only changes form
Rotting plants become humus
And sustain growing plants
Edible animals become part of man
man's DNA lives on in their descendants...
And then man grew a few beards
With his advancements
Interfering with all others
Breaking laws
Creating disaters
In the eco
thick smokes of toxic
chemicals that destroy flora and fauna
Massive deforestation
and then he turns to you
expecting you to produce
When he ploughs your soils
Looking up to the clouds
You used to give a ****
But now you feed them back their poison
And their lives shorten
Retribution for being stubborn
And interfering with you
Mother nature
You heard them talking of space exploration
Look for life in another planet as solution
You just laughed
They think that they can destroy you
And leave for another planet
You are the only One
Blessed among the stars
To sustain lives
They will come running to you
Like the prodigal son
And maybe the rebellious
Shall have learnt a few lessons
Oh Universe
Its so fabulous
that you sustain all lives
Dec 20, 2015
Dec 20, 2015 at 3:21 PM UTC
Those flowers spill out
Over the sides like your soul spills out of your clothes
Onto the floor in front of me
Where I watch in amazement because you're everything I've ever Wanted to be.
The smoke of your husbands pipe leads the way
Through the door past the kitchen
Into the room where you lay
With chickens and pottery
You tumble out of your chair
And I
Tumble into your arms as if
It was my birthday instead of yours.
I would drive a thousand miles to eat your humus and hear your words.
You have everything I've ever wanted to have.
Teach me.
I will bring you as many tall vases as you want.
Teach me.
I will bring will make you as many flower arrangements as you need.
Mar 19, 2018
Mar 19, 2018 at 3:05 AM UTC
We are the forest of the dead.
We are crimson willow trees.
We are weeping in the woods,
Hanging bodies like chandeliers
Leaves,
Crumble,
Deep in.
Humus,
Body becomes soil.
Bleeding the forest.
Cold
Wet
Moss undergrowth
Drag down the bones
The beetles form inside,
Leave larval forms behind,
Above our heads they swing,
The wind blows bleeding trees.
The machinery of death.
Brings the forest life,
From suicide.
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 12:25 PM UTC
The mighty men of valour
Hate to possess the
Answer to thy beauty,
For as long as
Nature obey laws,
There shall not be
Any beauty like
Unto my darling,
Ah, questioning the past
Has opened a new leaf
Of this unquestionable version,
For as long as
Thou shine thy true
Blackness upon my sinful nature,
These happy days of mine
Will be lost without thy gut,
The persistent shrilling
Of the magic cricket
At midnight and the rustling of
The palm leaves in the sea breeze,
Makes me feel
Ashamed and proud,
For as long as
Great men are
Ready to bite the
Lioness for thy sake,
Thy power of beauty
Shall be the soul
Of thy flamboyant womanhood,
Never hid them, oh
My only true lover,
For as long as
Thou art fairer in character
Than the master’s daughter,
She that has no
Respect for the humus,
The nations shall behold these firm
Twain towers upon
Thy juicy sedate chest,
Children of Africa,
Look up straight
Upon the holy mountains,
For as long as
This blazing sun
Remains the likeness
Of her sharp big eyes,
The eternal honey dripping
From her faithful lips
Will be traded for life
Ah, my only falling rain,
The mother of many nations,
For as long as
Thy beauty remains prosperous,
The starling shall not cease
To express my sincere
Whims to imprison thee
In my heavy heart,
I love thee Obaahemaa,
Thou art Cleopatra indeed.
© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: [email protected]
Apr 7, 2013
Apr 7, 2013 at 12:32 PM UTC
they say everyone has a personal hell on earth
will you laugh if I tell you mine is a bathroom
because the peeling white wall and concrete floor
close in and whisper “more more more more”
as I shove a plastic spoon down my throat
salad, carrots and humus, cheerios
unplanned nibbles and a full stomach
send me down the stairs into the quiet empty room
where the window is blurred
just like my eyes
as they fill while I empty
“these are the depths”
I tell myself
this is the place where I find new lows
and just when I think I finally reached rock bottom
the toilet responds with a shovel
“keep digging”
an empty stomach and dead eyes
smiling but only my mouth muscles twitch
an odd sensation, an odd response to the compliment
“you’ve lost weight!”
I am more naked in this prison
than I ever am undressed with nameless boys and forgotten faces
as *** replaces carbs
and more “friends” like my photos on facebook
because I never have to sleep alone
but one minute in my Siberia feels like lifetimes of solitude
that no gently touch
or quick ****
can ever compensate for
where is the key that lets me out?
I’ve searched my esophagus but it only leaves me with ****** noses
it must be somewhere else inside of me
unrelated to the number on the back of my jeans
for I feel it in me
something is telling me to stop
it’s like a lump of innate love
that shakes its head every time I bend over
the demons (my demons) are drowning my mom’s voice
“I pray it gets better” she cries over the phone
but your rosary beads are choking me
because there is no God in this incandescent purgatory
but sometimes
I see myself reflected in the shallow water
which reminds me that I am more
than what I contribute to the sewer system
I leave the bathroom still searching for the light
at the far, far end of the tunnel
Feb 3, 2013
Feb 3, 2013 at 6:50 PM UTC
There was the day that the stroke --just a stroke--
freed her from that dreaming,
lightning freeing the pine
from its impossible salt air climb,
cleaving it to the gravity.
Do we dream of puncturing the salt air, or
do we dream of
the strike, the stroke
the fragrant humus that waits within
to passively, piously
become salt,
electric?
Nov 5, 2010
Nov 5, 2010 at 11:08 PM UTC
Something wrong somewhere?
River is supposed to carry water not silt!
It supposed to bless us with water and humus!
But not with sandcasting!
Something wrong somewhere?
Forest is supposed to encompass us with diversity of fortune not with weeds!
It supposed to bless with wilderness of life and opportunity to learn relationship
But not with generation of threat and depreciation!
Something wrong somewhere?
Road supposed to provides us way to transfer,
Transfer of goods and services of our toil
Transfer of knowledge, idea and skills for betterment!
Not to transfer all the venom of destruction!
Destruction of nature, culture and people!
Something wrong somewhere?
Ruler suppose take position for welfare of all
Not for material gain, congregation of power and arriving at fame!
Something wrong somewhere?
People supposed to stand by the people in joy and in misfortune!
Suppose to stand for brotherhood and posterity
But not to abuse and overthrow!
Something wrong somewhere in the commencement
We unable to learn
‘How to learn and make decision!’
Because every decision spoils our dream, robbed our mammon of life!
Something wrong somewhere
Need to start it again from the beginning!
May 16, 2018
May 16, 2018 at 1:32 PM UTC
In a angry windy day,
an ordinary tree grizzled away:
- *Unlucky me,
grounded to this soil
of such poverty, all it gave me
is this unattractive
dim green!*
- *You fed on me,
tree,*
- rumbled the grounded
humus -
*but it was up to you
to lively up your green
if a green foliage
should be yours.*
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 4:12 PM UTC
Nature adorns her vacuums:
Eden, in lieu of Gardener or Keep, overdrives the breach;
garland wreaths, julep leaves, Clover carpets
the well-dint of the fleeing heel,
just as Vitality, from Lushness, deserts to humbling Humus.
I bargain that We will
be survived by teeming hosts of white Chrysanthemum.
Our grim miracle resembling, so, fish and loaves;
of Manna eked of Woe.
Staid amatory shall cater the craving of a brood;
from our tears rich elixir brewed,
our tender flanks yielding stew.
Scarcity is Her own aphrodisiac,
abused in company of more than two.
But sure as Man, worms lapse at their hour
and they, their own kind, must consume
giving back Space, where is room.
So, must we, our own Passion’s devour,
that made manifest they replenish their expanse,
as when a hand replenishes a glove--
it first breathes upon the absence of Absence.
Let us, then, dine. Let us then, Love…
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 6:27 PM UTC
Nel paese di mia madre v'è un campo quadrato, cinto di gelsi.
Di là da quel campo altri campi quadrati, cinti di gelsi.
Roggie scorrenti vi sono, fra alti argini, dritte, e non si sa dove vanno a finire.
La terra s'allarga a misura del cielo, e non si sa dove vada a finire.
Nel paese di mia madre v'han ponti di nebbia, che il vento solleva da placidi fiumi:
varca il sogno quei ponti di nebbia, mentre le rive si stellan di lumi.
Pioppi e betulle di tremula fronda accompagnan de l'acque il fluire:
quando nè rami s'impigliano gli astri, in quella pace vorrei morire.
Nel paese di mia madre un basso tugurio sonnecchia sul limite della risaia,
e ronzano mosche lucenti, ghiotte, intorno a un ammasso di concio.
Possanza di morte, possanza di vita, nell'odore del concio: ne gode
la terra dall'humus profondo, sotto la vampa d'agosto che immobile sta.
Nel paese di mia madre, quando il tramonto s'insaguina obliquio sui prati,
vien da presso, vien da lontano una canzone di lunga via:
la disser gli alari alle cune, gli aratri alle marre, le biche all'aie fiorite di lucciole,
vecchia canzone di gente lombarda: "La Violetta la vaaa la vaaaa... "
1.1k
pumice
peat
mulch
humus
leaf mold
clod
loam: a rich, friable soil containing a relatively equal mixture of sand and silt and a somewhat smaller proportion of clay.
marl: Geology. a friable earthy deposit consisting of clay and calcium carbonate, used especially as a fertilizer for soils deficient in lime.
argil: clay, especially potter's clay.
bole:
noun
1.
any of a variety of soft, unctuous clays of various colors, used as pigments.
2.
a medium red-brown color made from such clay.
clutch
kaolin
loess: a loamy deposit formed by wind, usually yellowish and calcareous, common in the Mississippi Valley and in Europe and Asia.
slip
till: a stiff clay, a glacial drift of clay, sand, gravel, and boulders
Nov 25, 2015
Nov 25, 2015 at 1:01 PM UTC
the steady undertone of darkness
that i see in me in you
mama ocean's star fish
i knew that i was lucky to see this but i better high tail it out of there fast before mama gets angry - you be steppin on her babies
her babes - all she cares to tend is the babes and she will not stop until they are taken care of
you have no idea
you have no idea , how much it hurts when you **** a child
any thing with a heart beat is sacred
sacred ground that has been birthed from the very earth we pillage from ,
we are killing ourselves
forget killing each other, we are killing our own children -
we are killing the future before it has even begun - making time ,
i , am a woman of nature -
you are a man of nature -
we are the nature that holds steady and rocks hard
we are the star children of mama earth and we are not happy when you squish the creativity
we won't punish you but mama will
just and fair
Earth MAMA
thank you for your abundance and your care and your energy that pervade the all clearing seeing humus of life
(environmental interested minds - hola!!!)
Aug 19, 2013
Aug 19, 2013 at 1:11 AM UTC
Aidos was the goddess
guide to non-self enlightenment
ultimate submission
striking the pride of demons down
obedient I have become to Aidos wisdom.
I repress the misty view of desires
unworthy flattering
no longer my worth or view
as now I sit legs crossed
on the ground,
submit to
humility.
Feb 23, 2015
Feb 23, 2015 at 7:47 PM UTC
"Nilus nil " a écrit Hérodote
Sans le Nil l'Egypte n 'est rien.
Mais même si je ne suis pas pharaon
Porté par un éléphant de guerre
Escorté de chattes et d'ichneumons
Feulant tels des sphinx dans la fange
Je bois aux eaux noires d'Isis
Je bois aux sept bras de son delta
Je bois son ***** chaude
Je bois son or baptismal
Je me tatoue de ses crues tumultueuses
Je suis ivre de ses dix-huit coudées et dix-huit doigts
Je ne suis rien sans ses eaux noires, ses méandres
Qui grossissent au solstice d'été
Et alors pendant cent jours
Je m'abreuve de ses eaux tortueuses
Et je m'épanche de toutes ses embouchures
Je bois aux sept pis du ventre de la vache
Longs de plusieurs milliers d'orgyes égyptiennes.
Je tète jusqu'à plus soif
Je tète sa bouche pélusienne
Je tète sa bouche tanitique
Je tète sa bouche mandésienne
Je tète sa bouche phanitique
Je tète sa bouche sébennytique
Je tète sa bouche bolbitine
Je tète sa bouche canopique
Je suis Thoutmôsis réincarné
Et je sculpte mes savons d'humus.
Onctueux comme crème
Sensuels comme parfum
Je taille dans la boue le buste de Néfertiti
Je sculpte la fille de Typhaïa la Jouisseuse
La chienne en rut du harem
Je sculpte la catin du Nil
La fille lascive du Aulète,
La fille nue des Lagides
Je sculpte Isis et ses ailes déployées,
Je sculpte Aphrodite Anadycmène
Je sculpte Cléopatre la Septième
Je sculpte, je taille, je moule, je peins
Et ce faisant je frotte le dos de Palmolive
De ma muse qui m'abreuve
En fredonnant un cantique antique
De l'eau de son bain de mousse nilotique.
Aug 21, 2019
Aug 21, 2019 at 1:48 AM UTC
My self born of soil
Pulled
Falling backward
To the earth
My fat grows
My ****** is wet
My mind is empty
I am one with black humus and dust
Kingdom of my
This strange eyes
What they are doing?
Always growing, looking up
Thoughts like blossoms
Angels of the grass
What they are searching for?
Hope?
Happy soil
Seeing Him
Lost the chance
(Again and again)
Everything was open
Burning
Sky
Sun transformed
Thoughts
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 8:09 AM UTC
The boss at christmas is named John
He runs a church festival on the church lawn
His staff doesn't know the difference
What? They couln't refference?
Between a platter and a plate
And I don't know what the hell I ate?
One Shishkabob and rice
Ain't that nice
Humus was so gross
From your heads to your toes
Taboule is suppose to be some kind of salad
Won't someone make this into a ballad?
Overpricing
and that's the icing!
Belly dancing
And people prancing
A band and A DJ
and that's okay!
What else more can I say?
After all these years he's still cheap
Leave a message after the beep!
Aug 29, 2014
Aug 29, 2014 at 5:46 AM UTC
They’re trying to shove tinsel under my skin cause they said I don’t shine.
They clasped open my eyes with peppermint-flavored coffee and strung my hair with cranberries.
They forced glitter down my throat, because they thought my insides were ugly. Then they wrapped ‘em in a box and tied it with a red bow.
I’m sorry you don’t approve of a heart filled with humus and flowers.
I’m not asking you to pack up your Christmas spirit, I’m asking you to listen.
Christmas doesn’t mean anything to me.
Winter means something to me. The perfect destruction of a windstorm and a cold that pierces your skin.
Put praises of frozen earth on my lips. I want to create my chapel in the rain and worship the stillness of December.
Dec 24, 2012
Dec 24, 2012 at 3:55 AM UTC