Roots (an acrostic poem)

Reaching down, she scooped up a handful of the deep dark soil
Old smells of peat and fertilizer mingled with aromas of earth and moisture
Overhead, the sun poured light down, saturating the field
The seeds there were snuggling underneath their cozy brown blanket
So many people wondered why she chose to be a farmer, but this was where she had her…

Bury (an acrostic poem)

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Beneath the soil, we planted our elders

Under the shade of the spruce and maple, it

Rooted our community in history

Yet few ever unearthed this resource, preferring to let the dead sleep.

Farmer (an acrostic poem)

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Focusing on giving to the earth

Allowing one to receive many fold more in return

Relying on the rhythms of the weather

Memorizing the song of rain and sun, growth and decay

Everything a relationship with the soil and the sky

Results in a labor of love

Land (an acrostic poem)

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Lifting a scoop of earth.

And smelling the damp dark soil.

Nothing Is quite like it in the world.  It recharges the soul.

Doing the same with this white stuff? Yeah, not that.

Storm (an acrostic poem)

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Stabbing light slashed down from stone-gray clouds

The weather perfectly fit Patty’s mood as fat raindrops ravaged the arid soil

Outside nature threw one of her best temper tantrums

Reminding Patty of her last relationship when she finally broke it off

Men could be such whiners

Fade (an acrostic poem)

 

Foundations of water dry up

And the once fertile soil begins to blow away

Destroying years of what was built up

Everything slowly decaying

 

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Roots (an acrostic poem)

 

Reaching down to find your center

Obtaining nutrients from the fertile soil around you

Organizing and grounding in your immediate world

Though you sway in the winds of change

Serenity is yours because your anchors run deep

 

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Costly (an acrostic poem)

Casualty numbers kept trickling in

Obscuring the greatness of the victory

Still, Vincent had to admit he’d lost over a quarter of his troops

They sold their lives dearly though

Littering the fertile fields with their enemy’s dead

Years later the soil still held the scent of their sacrificial blood

 

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Soil (an acrostic poem)

Some earth is rich and brown, ready for life to spring forth

Obviously this wasn’t that.  The war had across this dirt

It was ashen gray and crumbled in Jim’s hands

Looking at the ruined horizon, Jim knew he had to make it work, or else…

 

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Shout (an acrostic poem)

Standing firm in what he knew he needed to do, oblivious of physical demands

He loudly proclaimed his message of doom to all those that would hear

Obviously ignoring to the snickers and rude comments of the passers-by

Unable to understand why his message did not find fertile soil

The stain on his trousers spoke louder.

 

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