The intricacies of the soil filled my mind with wonder. The different colors, forms, and densities boggled my mind. What a metaphor for what we endure daily, the different tribulations of life that fill our minds all different colors shapes and forms.
I saw some soil the other day it was brown and teaming with life! It had little sprouts of grass that sprung up in tufts and militant ants that scurried through its boulder like sediments!
I am thinking about taking up gardening and working in the soil.
people say it’s good for the soul. You labor in the sunlight and
Coax plants into growing, seems healthy to me.
dig dig dig dig dig dig dig for victory. dig dig dig dig dig dig for hope. dig dig dig dig dig dig for glory. dig dig dig dig dig dig and eventually you reach Australia. That’s what they tell me anyway…
I soiled my pants in the third grade dirt plants old ladies shovel its stupid flowers earthworms earth country waiter photosynthesis sugar light outdoors naked
i’ve seen enough episodes of little house on the prairie to know that if the soil isn’t worth shit you may end up packin that horse and buggy up and headin cross country to where the soil is rich. their entire lives were dependent on that soil.
You were
soil love,
earthen
and all brown
the way you smile
made growth
to my love
you let me love you
and dig in my roots,
and never want to leave,
then you uprooted me
abruptly,
let me have no water,
my lungs heaving
and I was choking,
and you still wonder why
He opened the door, stepping in quiet. She had just gotten out of the shower. Her wrists were red from scratching. He brought her outside, to the garden and the stars, and let her run her hands through the soil.
dirt. gross. something that i plant my flowers in and my dog also craps on it. I do not like soil since it is brown and muddy and will get all over your clothes but i like how it is a home to many different species. this is a hard word to write about!
it’s that first glimpse of spring, that dark potency of the black soil pulsing, peering out in splotches, so like stains, along the infinite canvas of that beige dead grass, stains but pungent, damp, …alive.
I dug my hands deep into the earth hoping to find what I was looking for. Deeper: Nope. deeper: not quite yet. Wait. What’s that? I pulled my hands up and found it. Soil.
Trees grow in the soil. Their roots borrow down, down, down to the darkness, and yet, in spite of all that is dark, they find life. We know that trees also have the light above, but other creatures find life in the dark. in the soil.
Riley was shrieking from his hiding position behind the couch, his leg awkwardly protruding from the back cushion. Harry was amusing himself by throwing popcorn toward the top of his friend’s head, the kernels sticking in his curly hair. I figured that the movie was less entertaining than Riley right now.
And here I was thinking it was the soil or my lack of nurturing that was causing the zuchinni to go yellow and stop growing. Flower after flower would bloom and then the fruit would die. One little white bug curled up here and probably more hidden, cucumber catapillars or larva of white butterflies I don’t know who you are but you are not going to live long in this spot and are encouraged to move on.
i took my bike out into the vineyard, sat down and cried. waited, cried some more, and ran my hands through the soil. why was i upset? i got upset because that is what happens when someone lies…not even just a small lie. it has to be the biggest lie that can turn your world upside down. my fiance has a cancer that he might not overcome. why am i finding out now? how could this happen now? he is so young! why now? a billion questions run throughout my mind. i sit and cry myself dry and think about the future. i know i have to be strong for him but how will i? i wanted to get married to this wonderful man and have children together! how is this going to happen if he might die? how will i live on if he doesn’t?! wait, just wait….this isn’t about me this is about him. he has to make it. he has to! i feel a tear stream down my face….trickling away…..
The damp soil underneath her feet sunk further down as she made her way through the woods. The light from the fading sun wasn’t much help to her as she struggled through the underbrush.
The small girl ran outside, jumping and screaming with joy after every glance at the ground. Soil. Dirt. grass. She had never before seen them. and certainly was thrilled to. She buried her hands in the ground to discover the fresh amazement it had on her.
soil grow grow grass nourish me you are nourishing. why won’t the birds come down to the grass which grows upon the soil i have seen it in the mornings i have seen it once the dog comes back from the bottom of the garden the soil in the flower pots laced with grey silver grey it is undone undoing the rest of the day when will you water me like rain creeping falling maybe sliding why won’t you with bubbles on the soil fly and grow and bloom
I soiled myself. I was so embarassed. I wanted to die. Everyone was looking at me. Pointing and laughing. I had nowhere to hide. Nowhere to go. No one to comfort me. It was horrible. I wanted to crawl in a hole and die forever. No one knew it wasn’t me. But I was blamed for it anyway.
The soil beneath my fingers. Where did it come from? How many times has it lived and died throughout the history of this world? I see it. I feel it. It is now a part of who I am and where I’ve been. But not just me, others as well. The vastness of the scope of this soil. Oh the stories it could tell.
Soiled, tattered sheets upon the bed. She grimaced as revulsion passed through her. The room, dimly lit, smelled of decay and dust. She gripped the bureau next to her, covered by a lace throw. How could anyone allow the old lady to live in here for so long? She went to collect the things she had been sent to collect. The old lady’s rosary, passed down for generations and likely crafted in the 1800’s or so from several precious stones, held a dark gleam even in the dim light. She gripped the rosary as fear suddenly overtook her, hearing a creaking sound somewhere in the old house. She felt silly then, realizing her mistake. Ghosts don’t exist, she reminded herself. Her eye fell upon the old lady’s dressing gown, thrown across her old rocking chair, in the mirror. The white lace gown, yellowed from old age, seemed ominous just sitting out like that. She decided to go faster, hoping to get out of the dark house as soon as possible. Fear ran through her again, sharper this time, as she heard another, louder creak. Her eyes fell upon the next object of her destination, the old lady’s jewelry box. She opened it then, feeling the smooth velvet of the box on her fingertips, finding the precious rings and necklaces which the old lady had collected since girlhood. She ran her fingers over the gold and silver, inlaid with stones of jade and amber. Forgetting her rush for a moment, she picked up a necklace which caught her eye – a delicate, gold chain linking an intricate, gold cross. She held the cross up, spying some words etched on its surface. “Via et veritas et vita.” The way, the truth, and the life.
The soil was thick and dark, and a fresh aroma rose from it. I rolled the dirt between my fingers, it was perfect for planting. Spring was just around the corner and I had plans for a beautiful garden. Roses, tulips, daffodils and many more would bring color to this land.
The soil began to rupture as the pebbles on the surface began to move to the side. The whole ground violently bgean to shake as the dirt began to move to the sides
Dig your palms into the soil and feel the little granules rubbing against your skin. Wiggle your fingers and let the dirt sift through. Gardening can be soothing in this aspect. Little things, like the tiny satisfaction gained from sifting through soil, make life worth living.
Buried under the soil, rotting. I couldn’t get that image out of my head, as the phone lay limp in my palm, still warm from the conversation I’d just had. Death springs upon us, and there is no preparing for it. There are things in life which we cannot control, but death is a factor which we cannot even fathom until it hits us like a sack of bricks, falling from the sky. I imagined her as she was, beautiful and young and carefree. My hands went to my eyes and rubbed the sockets, as I clenched my jaw in frustration and grief. My head felt like a big stopper had been placed in my brain. Death had halted my thoughts, it would seem.
Soil is brown and dirty. If you add water it turns to mud which creates the best memories of any childhood! With this soil turned mud you can mudslide, make mud pies and have a mud fight. You can also plant in soil.
Round and round and round. Soil collects water, plants drink the water, which turns into carbon dioxide, which is sucked into the atmosphere, which combines with oxygen to make water and clouds, and is rained down on the soil. Forever and ever and ever. Until we are dead, and buried in the soil, and our nutrients feed the soil and the bugs, and our bones disintegrate into ash.
Her feet were covered in dirt, soiled from the garden she’d walked through on her way home. Julia raised her eyebrows as she regarded the woman, but didn’t say anything, just turned to look at Mack, ready to follow his lead.
I can’t think of anything else. You’ll be mine, but not that way. Would you come with me? Are you still there? I never ment to bury you, sorry.
The intricacies of the soil filled my mind with wonder. The different colors, forms, and densities boggled my mind. What a metaphor for what we endure daily, the different tribulations of life that fill our minds all different colors shapes and forms.
I saw some soil the other day it was brown and teaming with life! It had little sprouts of grass that sprung up in tufts and militant ants that scurried through its boulder like sediments!
I am thinking about taking up gardening and working in the soil.
people say it’s good for the soul. You labor in the sunlight and
Coax plants into growing, seems healthy to me.
dig dig dig dig dig dig dig for victory. dig dig dig dig dig dig for hope. dig dig dig dig dig dig for glory. dig dig dig dig dig dig and eventually you reach Australia. That’s what they tell me anyway…
I soiled my pants in the third grade dirt plants old ladies shovel its stupid flowers earthworms earth country waiter photosynthesis sugar light outdoors naked
i’ve seen enough episodes of little house on the prairie to know that if the soil isn’t worth shit you may end up packin that horse and buggy up and headin cross country to where the soil is rich. their entire lives were dependent on that soil.
I am a soiled dove.
And this pain outlives my flesh.
The future is nothing but anticipated memories.
And people spend so much time remembering past experiences that they
forget to make new memories.
Don’t you ever wonder how different things would be if you would
just stop dwelling on the past and stop focusing on past memories?
my toes dig lightly into the fresh soil. I ran a this way bare foot. And from what? my parents? my lover? my past? whatever the reason I am free.
the soil was wet
not from the harsh autumn rains
or the summer time sprinklers, or even
the spring garden hose
but from the tears of a
winter
child
You were
soil love,
earthen
and all brown
the way you smile
made growth
to my love
you let me love you
and dig in my roots,
and never want to leave,
then you uprooted me
abruptly,
let me have no water,
my lungs heaving
and I was choking,
and you still wonder why
I don’t need you
anymore.
He opened the door, stepping in quiet. She had just gotten out of the shower. Her wrists were red from scratching. He brought her outside, to the garden and the stars, and let her run her hands through the soil.
dirt. gross. something that i plant my flowers in and my dog also craps on it. I do not like soil since it is brown and muddy and will get all over your clothes but i like how it is a home to many different species. this is a hard word to write about!
it’s that first glimpse of spring, that dark potency of the black soil pulsing, peering out in splotches, so like stains, along the infinite canvas of that beige dead grass, stains but pungent, damp, …alive.
I dug my hands deep into the earth hoping to find what I was looking for. Deeper: Nope. deeper: not quite yet. Wait. What’s that? I pulled my hands up and found it. Soil.
Trees grow in the soil. Their roots borrow down, down, down to the darkness, and yet, in spite of all that is dark, they find life. We know that trees also have the light above, but other creatures find life in the dark. in the soil.
worms. gardens. life, the earth. The root of everything made by man, and the place where roots make their home. The anagram of oils. An essential
“Ahhhh! AHHHHH! AHHHHHH!”
“Christ, shut up, Riley! Don’t soil yourself!”
Riley was shrieking from his hiding position behind the couch, his leg awkwardly protruding from the back cushion. Harry was amusing himself by throwing popcorn toward the top of his friend’s head, the kernels sticking in his curly hair. I figured that the movie was less entertaining than Riley right now.
And here I was thinking it was the soil or my lack of nurturing that was causing the zuchinni to go yellow and stop growing. Flower after flower would bloom and then the fruit would die. One little white bug curled up here and probably more hidden, cucumber catapillars or larva of white butterflies I don’t know who you are but you are not going to live long in this spot and are encouraged to move on.
i took my bike out into the vineyard, sat down and cried. waited, cried some more, and ran my hands through the soil. why was i upset? i got upset because that is what happens when someone lies…not even just a small lie. it has to be the biggest lie that can turn your world upside down. my fiance has a cancer that he might not overcome. why am i finding out now? how could this happen now? he is so young! why now? a billion questions run throughout my mind. i sit and cry myself dry and think about the future. i know i have to be strong for him but how will i? i wanted to get married to this wonderful man and have children together! how is this going to happen if he might die? how will i live on if he doesn’t?! wait, just wait….this isn’t about me this is about him. he has to make it. he has to! i feel a tear stream down my face….trickling away…..
Nothing can soil
my new found light
surrounded by darkness
and covered by night
No, it won’t come back
and take it’s control
My happiness is
my whole
The damp soil underneath her feet sunk further down as she made her way through the woods. The light from the fading sun wasn’t much help to her as she struggled through the underbrush.
Soil. So boring, yet the root of everything.
Soil.
A farmer’s life.
Soil.
Earth’s mother.
Soil.
Balance.
Our ground.
The small girl ran outside, jumping and screaming with joy after every glance at the ground. Soil. Dirt. grass. She had never before seen them. and certainly was thrilled to. She buried her hands in the ground to discover the fresh amazement it had on her.
soil grow grow grass nourish me you are nourishing. why won’t the birds come down to the grass which grows upon the soil i have seen it in the mornings i have seen it once the dog comes back from the bottom of the garden the soil in the flower pots laced with grey silver grey it is undone undoing the rest of the day when will you water me like rain creeping falling maybe sliding why won’t you with bubbles on the soil fly and grow and bloom
Polluted soil. Necessary soil. Hands roughened from working with soil. Soil of the earth.
I soiled myself. I was so embarassed. I wanted to die. Everyone was looking at me. Pointing and laughing. I had nowhere to hide. Nowhere to go. No one to comfort me. It was horrible. I wanted to crawl in a hole and die forever. No one knew it wasn’t me. But I was blamed for it anyway.
The soil beneath my fingers. Where did it come from? How many times has it lived and died throughout the history of this world? I see it. I feel it. It is now a part of who I am and where I’ve been. But not just me, others as well. The vastness of the scope of this soil. Oh the stories it could tell.
Some insist it’s lifeless.
Earth. Play. Bare feet. Naked. True self. Back to the roots. Fresh. Plant. Green. Alive. Organic. Grow.
Soiled, tattered sheets upon the bed. She grimaced as revulsion passed through her. The room, dimly lit, smelled of decay and dust. She gripped the bureau next to her, covered by a lace throw. How could anyone allow the old lady to live in here for so long? She went to collect the things she had been sent to collect. The old lady’s rosary, passed down for generations and likely crafted in the 1800’s or so from several precious stones, held a dark gleam even in the dim light. She gripped the rosary as fear suddenly overtook her, hearing a creaking sound somewhere in the old house. She felt silly then, realizing her mistake. Ghosts don’t exist, she reminded herself. Her eye fell upon the old lady’s dressing gown, thrown across her old rocking chair, in the mirror. The white lace gown, yellowed from old age, seemed ominous just sitting out like that. She decided to go faster, hoping to get out of the dark house as soon as possible. Fear ran through her again, sharper this time, as she heard another, louder creak. Her eyes fell upon the next object of her destination, the old lady’s jewelry box. She opened it then, feeling the smooth velvet of the box on her fingertips, finding the precious rings and necklaces which the old lady had collected since girlhood. She ran her fingers over the gold and silver, inlaid with stones of jade and amber. Forgetting her rush for a moment, she picked up a necklace which caught her eye – a delicate, gold chain linking an intricate, gold cross. She held the cross up, spying some words etched on its surface. “Via et veritas et vita.” The way, the truth, and the life.
The soil was thick and dark, and a fresh aroma rose from it. I rolled the dirt between my fingers, it was perfect for planting. Spring was just around the corner and I had plans for a beautiful garden. Roses, tulips, daffodils and many more would bring color to this land.
The soil began to rupture as the pebbles on the surface began to move to the side. The whole ground violently bgean to shake as the dirt began to move to the sides
Dig your palms into the soil and feel the little granules rubbing against your skin. Wiggle your fingers and let the dirt sift through. Gardening can be soothing in this aspect. Little things, like the tiny satisfaction gained from sifting through soil, make life worth living.
Buried under the soil, rotting. I couldn’t get that image out of my head, as the phone lay limp in my palm, still warm from the conversation I’d just had. Death springs upon us, and there is no preparing for it. There are things in life which we cannot control, but death is a factor which we cannot even fathom until it hits us like a sack of bricks, falling from the sky. I imagined her as she was, beautiful and young and carefree. My hands went to my eyes and rubbed the sockets, as I clenched my jaw in frustration and grief. My head felt like a big stopper had been placed in my brain. Death had halted my thoughts, it would seem.
Soil is brown and dirty. If you add water it turns to mud which creates the best memories of any childhood! With this soil turned mud you can mudslide, make mud pies and have a mud fight. You can also plant in soil.
Round and round and round. Soil collects water, plants drink the water, which turns into carbon dioxide, which is sucked into the atmosphere, which combines with oxygen to make water and clouds, and is rained down on the soil. Forever and ever and ever. Until we are dead, and buried in the soil, and our nutrients feed the soil and the bugs, and our bones disintegrate into ash.
Till the soil ’til you can’t till no more, I said. The sun beat hot on my back. The field spread hazily around me, buds sprouting up from the earth.
Her feet were covered in dirt, soiled from the garden she’d walked through on her way home. Julia raised her eyebrows as she regarded the woman, but didn’t say anything, just turned to look at Mack, ready to follow his lead.
where the plants born, where the all life start, whe is all the secret of our planet, is th most important to our lfe. We live above it