POETRY OF LIFE
A gentle tug, and the spent cucumber
relinquishes its hold on the fertile soil.
Broccoli at hand to fill the space anew
To mark the change of season.
The smell of fertile soil reminds me
of hopes I had in early spring
when planting my selected seeds
and the joy of harvest disappears
Each new cycle demands renewed faith
for abundant rain and a favorable climate.
For things beyond our control that
determine our continued survival.
Let the rain roar gently on thirsty crust
Let the earth’s mouths drink dry the sky
In brazen lust for the barren seeds to cut loose,
Sow the sweet fields, impregnate the future.
Existing, but unbegun, our future lies silently waiting beneath the surface
Beneath a watery blinding morning sun and a Western painted sunset
And rolling clouds and darkening skies,
Then Winter steps in as Autumn steps back
The shovel’s blade cuts through impressionable ground,
reawakening sleeping giants from centuries past
and producing miraculous yields capable of
continuously feeding malnourished children
‘Neath the ground and above it, teems life billions fold nourished;
defying heat, wind and all that gods and men cast down.
Even fire greedy and savage, though blackening and smothering,
will not yet forever extinguish that which sustains earth’s breath.
The poetry of life will never cease until the poet dies.
Twitter collaborative poem by:
@afcoory @brudberg @jdubqca @troublegummer @MyVogonPoetry @Permabloom @vivchook