Buried beneath the soil of the present-day situation was a glorious past. The embittered ground releases its toxins upon the golden memories, breaking down its shimmer until nothing is left.
she sat on the beanch and looked at her soiled feet. the mud and grass inbetween her toes reminded her what she was running for. reminded her that she need to get away and the throbbing only made if ever so clear that it is the right thing to do. to run for her life, because if she doesnt, there might not be that beautiful sunset to watch again.
There’s this thick dirt under my fingernails from gardening, but I’d mind more if it didn’t smell like the rich sun overhead. I understand that my hands are dirty, but for now they are just carriers of the stuff life grows in. Under my fingernails and in the whorls of my fingerprints, I would grow sunflowers. Flowerfingers they’d call me, or I’d call myself. I’m not sure I’d have friends to nickname me if I had live stuff on my hands.
This was yesterday’s word. I’m disappointed. I wanted a new one. That’s no good. Maybe I did it after twelve… I can’t remember. Darn repeats. I was looking forward to this today. There is always tomorrow. Oh yeah, soil. There, I mentioned it.
Strange cornucopia of dirt and bugs and minerals. A nurturing substance that allows the grass and other plants to flourish. It is the foundation for much life.
its dirty and brown. can make things grow, right out of the ground. it makes the life from around the world and is fascinating dirty stuff. its fun to get dirty and muddy in soil :)
I’ve never especially liked gardens. I can’t find myself really admiring them. They can be very pretty, but I can never grow anything. Then again, I’ve never tried. Maybe I should.
Soil is sweet like tasty blueberry muffins. Shovel away at the soil and you will find pots of honey and gold. The dirt lay there and I eye it up like a ham sandwich. Tickle its crumbly belly.
Soil is the base of life. Without soil there’d be no trees, no life of any plants around. Soil makes you dirty but you can always wash it off. Soil reminds me of elementary school when I used the word “dirt” but they wanted me to use the word soil.
Soil. The ground. The end and beginning for all life, for the soil gives birth and the soil reaps the benefits of death. It grows food, and streams water. It has great canyons carved in it, and mountains emerging from it.
The bedsheets are soiled with the sweat of another hot summer day, where we lie stuck to the bed. It’s humid, and the weather is miserable, yet at the same time.. everything is perfect.
Soil is brown. When you are in kindergarden you plant things for your mom in soil. Like flowers and stuff like that. It’s weird. There’s a lot of soil in my backyard. It’s usually wet because my parents water the plants a lot.
garden needs water and compost. our compost is rich with worms which is a good sign. the dirt gets tracked throughout the house and frustrates all attempst at keeping floors clean… love having access to garden space.
Soil is what plants grown in…soil in the building block of civilization giving nutrients to plants which in turn give their nutrients to animals and then directly or indirectly to humans.
Soils are of various types depending upon the area, climate and region of the world. The kind of soil determines the crop of that region and is responsible for the defining characteristic of that region by the food people eat and the clothes people wear
The dirty moss laid clodden and brown in the soil, the plant would soon bring life forth from a seed that once too found its home to be only in the dirt, it is amazing how something gritty and raw brings something so beautiful to light given time and a little patience.
Soil is like oiling robots. Little tin roofs and dancing on their tops. Little Confederate Soldier grew up to be a hero. Misguided ghosts carry their fortune (shame inflicted, self inflicted; relentless) What do I have to loose?
soil soil. we stepped into it . our toes black from the rich dark soil. we had our fingers in it turning and lifting. the smell is deep and earthy and reminds us of everything that isn’t in the city.
I was running and fell and soiled my new dress. I looked up and the I seen the man hiding behind the tall fir tree. I got up and started runing againn. I felt his hot breath at the back of my neck as I ran. I was terrified and almost out of breath. My hands were sweaty and I stink from sweat. He closed in on me but I kept runing. As I reach the bridge I heard someone laughing. At the moment I recognize that voice.
Soil. Dust to dust. we all return to it. so while we can, we should make good use of it. Stake claim to it. plant a seed into it. Nurture it. Live with it.
rich soil = planted flowers. beauty indeed. the smell of fresh earth, especially after rain is amazing. I don’t particularly like the dirt when it’s all i can see though. I do love everything that it gives life to.
soil reminds me a lot of the ground. my favorite kind of soil is the red kind, which is very moist and has a lot of worms in it. one time ryan soiled his pants at the movie theater, and then told everyone about it on our first day of work. it made us all so uncomfortable thinking about him with his dirty poopy pants at AMC. soil can smell nice when it has iron in it
the soil is black and smells good. you are itching to plant something in it, just to watch it grow. the idea of growing something out of a tiny seed is interesting. funny, but i don’t think that i would like to be a farmer, just a gardener.
The deep soil of Ireland, east and midlands really, the west is rocky, is reminicient of childhood when all sibstances were exotic. In England once as a child I saw that they had rich red clay.
The very essence of life, along with water and the sun’s energy, soil provides, one way or another, most foods, much of the raw material for our clothes and other textile based materials.
Do you remember when our love grew instead of dying?
Or when your love grew?
I was like soil and water and sun and you grew out of your dark, little seed and when you started to sprout and I could see what I’d done, I loved you and you loved me and we were happy.
But then I feel into the soil; into the darkness.
And you didn’t love me anymore.
You didn’t even dig me up.
I got no sun, no water.
Just dirt.
We lay seeds in soil and pour water into it to give the seeds life. Allowing the seed in the soil to soak in the sun.
Its growing. We’re growing.
You’re the the water, the sun and I’m not growing anymore.
ever since my eyes skimmed those red words, i’ve been worrisome about being that rocky soil & that thorny soil. let me take root, bear me in fruit…
Buried beneath the soil of the present-day situation was a glorious past. The embittered ground releases its toxins upon the golden memories, breaking down its shimmer until nothing is left.
bring the soil down to earth
this isn’t real at all
but I’d love to touch your soil
and see what its all about
is your soil clean?
without sins and remorse?
they say it is, but I don’t think it is
she sat on the beanch and looked at her soiled feet. the mud and grass inbetween her toes reminded her what she was running for. reminded her that she need to get away and the throbbing only made if ever so clear that it is the right thing to do. to run for her life, because if she doesnt, there might not be that beautiful sunset to watch again.
There’s this thick dirt under my fingernails from gardening, but I’d mind more if it didn’t smell like the rich sun overhead. I understand that my hands are dirty, but for now they are just carriers of the stuff life grows in. Under my fingernails and in the whorls of my fingerprints, I would grow sunflowers. Flowerfingers they’d call me, or I’d call myself. I’m not sure I’d have friends to nickname me if I had live stuff on my hands.
This was yesterday’s word. I’m disappointed. I wanted a new one. That’s no good. Maybe I did it after twelve… I can’t remember. Darn repeats. I was looking forward to this today. There is always tomorrow. Oh yeah, soil. There, I mentioned it.
down the soil i feel my feet boil
as i step up on the slug it turns into a coil
only i remain loyal as i sit & bury myself in the soil
it helps things grow, its below your feet, what makes it so much lesser than me? it’s probably more helpful than ill ever be.
Strange cornucopia of dirt and bugs and minerals. A nurturing substance that allows the grass and other plants to flourish. It is the foundation for much life.
its dirty and brown. can make things grow, right out of the ground. it makes the life from around the world and is fascinating dirty stuff. its fun to get dirty and muddy in soil :)
The grains.
Sometimes, I would think about how a single flower blossomed from such a tiny seed. How the petals would burst forward, slowly, tenderly.
It was breathtaking; like a miracle from the earth itself.
In truth, how can life be born from soil?
Simple; it comes from love.
I’ve never especially liked gardens. I can’t find myself really admiring them. They can be very pretty, but I can never grow anything. Then again, I’ve never tried. Maybe I should.
Soil is sweet like tasty blueberry muffins. Shovel away at the soil and you will find pots of honey and gold. The dirt lay there and I eye it up like a ham sandwich. Tickle its crumbly belly.
The ultimate true gift of God. The ability to create life from the ashes of others. Yet is used to disguise the land
ground salty water mineral sailing oil
Soil is the base of life. Without soil there’d be no trees, no life of any plants around. Soil makes you dirty but you can always wash it off. Soil reminds me of elementary school when I used the word “dirt” but they wanted me to use the word soil.
Soil. The ground. The end and beginning for all life, for the soil gives birth and the soil reaps the benefits of death. It grows food, and streams water. It has great canyons carved in it, and mountains emerging from it.
The bedsheets are soiled with the sweat of another hot summer day, where we lie stuck to the bed. It’s humid, and the weather is miserable, yet at the same time.. everything is perfect.
natures blood, it gives life and houses the many. soil is what keeps so many together for we use it need it and hold it dear
soil, the ground beneath
my feet, it trembles
as the giants above shake,
move, and walk.
My home, short lived,
is made of soil,
earth, life,
yet it too shakes,
and falls to the humans above.
Soil is brown. When you are in kindergarden you plant things for your mom in soil. Like flowers and stuff like that. It’s weird. There’s a lot of soil in my backyard. It’s usually wet because my parents water the plants a lot.
garden needs water and compost. our compost is rich with worms which is a good sign. the dirt gets tracked throughout the house and frustrates all attempst at keeping floors clean… love having access to garden space.
Soil is what plants grown in…soil in the building block of civilization giving nutrients to plants which in turn give their nutrients to animals and then directly or indirectly to humans.
Soils are of various types depending upon the area, climate and region of the world. The kind of soil determines the crop of that region and is responsible for the defining characteristic of that region by the food people eat and the clothes people wear
The dirty moss laid clodden and brown in the soil, the plant would soon bring life forth from a seed that once too found its home to be only in the dirt, it is amazing how something gritty and raw brings something so beautiful to light given time and a little patience.
Soil is like oiling robots. Little tin roofs and dancing on their tops. Little Confederate Soldier grew up to be a hero. Misguided ghosts carry their fortune (shame inflicted, self inflicted; relentless) What do I have to loose?
the only thing which keeps us attached to the country in which we have grown up, studied and reached the point where i am rite now…
soil soil. we stepped into it . our toes black from the rich dark soil. we had our fingers in it turning and lifting. the smell is deep and earthy and reminds us of everything that isn’t in the city.
bring me soil, watch me grow
there is no limit
to your love
I was running and fell and soiled my new dress. I looked up and the I seen the man hiding behind the tall fir tree. I got up and started runing againn. I felt his hot breath at the back of my neck as I ran. I was terrified and almost out of breath. My hands were sweaty and I stink from sweat. He closed in on me but I kept runing. As I reach the bridge I heard someone laughing. At the moment I recognize that voice.
Soil. Dust to dust. we all return to it. so while we can, we should make good use of it. Stake claim to it. plant a seed into it. Nurture it. Live with it.
rich soil = planted flowers. beauty indeed. the smell of fresh earth, especially after rain is amazing. I don’t particularly like the dirt when it’s all i can see though. I do love everything that it gives life to.
soil reminds me a lot of the ground. my favorite kind of soil is the red kind, which is very moist and has a lot of worms in it. one time ryan soiled his pants at the movie theater, and then told everyone about it on our first day of work. it made us all so uncomfortable thinking about him with his dirty poopy pants at AMC. soil can smell nice when it has iron in it
the soil is black and smells good. you are itching to plant something in it, just to watch it grow. the idea of growing something out of a tiny seed is interesting. funny, but i don’t think that i would like to be a farmer, just a gardener.
The deep soil of Ireland, east and midlands really, the west is rocky, is reminicient of childhood when all sibstances were exotic. In England once as a child I saw that they had rich red clay.
soiled himself laughing so hard. was she always this funny he thought. Why didn’t I notice her before.
The very essence of life, along with water and the sun’s energy, soil provides, one way or another, most foods, much of the raw material for our clothes and other textile based materials.
whatever you say
leave the roots on
and some of the soil
so that I can see
where it comes from.
there’s nothing wrong with a little dirt
a little mud.
there’s nothing wrong with
the truth.
Do you remember when our love grew instead of dying?
Or when your love grew?
I was like soil and water and sun and you grew out of your dark, little seed and when you started to sprout and I could see what I’d done, I loved you and you loved me and we were happy.
But then I feel into the soil; into the darkness.
And you didn’t love me anymore.
You didn’t even dig me up.
I got no sun, no water.
Just dirt.
Rich dark soil. That’s what I need for my garden.
Loam and nutrients for these plants. Chocolate brown, dark
We lay seeds in soil and pour water into it to give the seeds life. Allowing the seed in the soil to soak in the sun.
Its growing. We’re growing.
You’re the the water, the sun and I’m not growing anymore.