Mother, Mother Earth
Gusts of wind grip you by the eyes,
tear out your heart, rest in her thighs.
Man or woman, “no matter,” she sighs.
She’s unlike the mother, the daughter, or lover.
With kindly old cheeks to make up our borders.
An old, quiet widow, of the grandest order.
From extinctions of night,
to meteors beyond sight,
In fire, her heart’s delight.
While stones and bones rise as her might.
In depth-less dark seas scream dead-sailors pleas,
but upon her surface? An unaltered breeze.
She sings and cries, whistles with wind,
while her tears evaporate into ocean.
She is the mother of mothers,
The Earth’s never a bore.
Mother, Mother Earth,
We sing to thee.
Forgive us our trespasses,
reign o’er we.
Mother, Mother Earth,
is there nothing you choose?
No sorrow, no sadness, no musical blues?
For you are our Mother, and we owe you your dues.
Out in plain sight, or imperceptible hues,
How about a few, nice new pairs of shoes?
But no response will we get,
forever mute is she, at least as of yet
Unless for some reason, we begin to forget,
To harm her’s a thing, we’ll forever regret.
To her wisdom we’re ever-dimwit
A candle that dies, only just lit.
To us she’ll be nigh-on eternal,
Our Mother, Mother Earth in her vernal.
A youth in the millions and billions perhaps,
but ever-susceptible to collapse.
Coddle and love her, and treat her so kind,
if only to give us sound peace of mind.
Our Mother, Mother Earth and her skirt,
of death and decay, and fertilized dirt.
Gives us our food and our love, and our heat,
mother and lover of every creature we meet.
We may fair seas as a species, the sky and the stars,
but sometimes we need to look a little less far.
Trains and planes and big semi-trucks,
we leave only her to wipe up the muck.
I’ve no wish to ridicule, criticize, or upset,
but give her a hand for all the love that you get.
In time you will see just what it is worth,
to us and our lovely Mother Earth.
S. M. Nolan's Sci-Fi Logbook 