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GEOLOGY by Giroux, Sara
Geology by Brown, Nicole Sharon
Geology by Wilson, Jim

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The Best Geology Poems

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My Inspirations

In a moment of understandable frustration with me,
My wife demanded to know what I really believed in.
I thought for a minute, tear glands filling,
"The essential goodness of my parents."

My mother was a child of the great city of Philadelphia,
In hard times in a hard family, soon to fracture,
She withdrew from the days when her father would leave his little girls
In the car all afternoon in back alleys near the taverns,
From which he would emerge, full of volume and vomit.
She grew through school, emerging herself to be a wonderful mom,
To kindle her children's interest in the physical world,
Geology, astronomy, physics, and the patterned realms
Of painting, music, and poetry.

She showed me that she loved me.
She showed me that parents were people.
She showed me that parents were fallible, 
That not everything could be controlled,
And that that was okay too.

My father was a child of the land,
Of farming in the age of innocence,
Long ago down in the southern part of the state of Indiana.
He knew of seeds, of frost, of the earth and time,
Of rock and root, of wind and drought and rain.
He never complained about rain - we kids didn't like the muddy yard
That was supposed to be a football field - he'd say,
"Tell you what - I'll take the rain.  I've seen the other."

The most honest man I know, the most honest person that could ever be,
He watched the night sky with me when I said, "Moon and tar."
He took me to a hardware store on a stormy summer Saturday,
Dark clouds coming close, in a car with the thicker sheet metal of the old days.
Just as we parked, the first raindrops, that irregular rhythm, compelling,
"Hey Doug!  Would you listen to that rain?!  Let's just sit here for a while."
We sat with the rain on the roof as it began in earnest,
That rain of a thousand thousand hits,
A million baby birds doing their firecracker tap dance above us,
That rain that has lasted me the rest of my life.


December 31, 2016.

For Brenda Chiri-Carroll's contest - 'Who has inspired you most in your life.'


Copyright © Doug Vinson | Year Posted 2016


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Dust and Ash

Dust & Ash Meteors falling from the sky like stars sparkling in the night. The volcano’s dust forms below Iceland’s clouds. Life stops. Pilots stand. Air traffic is discontent, as the volatile atmosphere erupts. Through the blocking of the sun, volcanic ash plumes. The earth will be cool for a year or two. A washout will come. Iceland’s dust and ash – gone. __________________________/ *About This Poem: Volcanic ash plume from Cleveland Volcano, located on Chuginadak Island in the Aleutian Island Chain off Alaska. NASA image taken by Jeff Williams, Flight Engineer, from the International Space Station. Please view @ http://geology.com/articles/volcanic-ash.shtml. __________________________/ Sponsor: nette onclaud Contest Name: A NIGHT SKY User Name: Verlena S. Walker Nom De Plume: Oblivion Dark Sunshine Date of Entry: March 20, 2014 Date Written: March 20, 2014 ________________________________| The Saddest Landscape (POEM)Contest Sponsor: SKAT A User Name: Verlena S. Walker Nom De Plume: Oblivion Dark Sunshine Date of Entry: March 22, 2014 Date Written: March 20, 2014


Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2014


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The Canopy and Economy

Sun and traffic - day economy.
Six a.m. drive to plywood mill. Too tired
to be angry. Each day a step
toward death. What is being accomplished? The
small satisfactions
within each day. Book consciously read.
And frustrations. Package dropped, honey jar broke.

One of 175 soil types. With the fifty
tree species
comprising the canopy under which Eric and Lisa clean their baby's face.

Sun in winter, old apples.

Inside the school
a brilliant but rebellious history teacher
is suspended by the school board.
200 students
wearing armbands and painted teardrops
protest. Another 400
are silent.

Within each structure
human dramas and routines.
Nancy will not love
any man who cannot do as many push-ups as she.

Trees grow,
porcupine scat in snow.

No job,
no niche,
no existence.
How you earn money is who you are. You are
what you do to get food to eat
and shelter from the winter, summer heat.

Each morning I seek God
by holding still
waiting for the smoke to be black or white
coins heads or tails
wind dark or bright.

Flock of evening grosbeaks
nipping maple buds:
the sign I need.

                    *                          *                          *

Less need =
more wealth.
2/23/89. So much equipment just to sleep.
More than a bare floor.
Plumbing vs.
wash at stream, find a log in woods.
Implements of human existence
unlike the deer or bear who
nip buds, forage berries.
I cannot eat the gum out of balsam fir
or bark from a popple.

I am not Wendell Berry
with a wife, a farm, philosophy.
I like the accuracy
of counting pear thrips in maple buds.
8/bud = complete defoliation.
This insect has four wings fringed with hairs
and is minute, 2.5 millimeters.
Two species within the genus:
one with tubular abdominal segment,
the other with conical abdominal segment.
Sugar maple their preferred food.

All I need
are names.
Names and habitats.
Elements, products, decay fungi, egg masses.
Marriage, copulation, regeneration, education.
Machinery, accounting, hand tools, laboratory.
I need your names
and histories.
Sexual histories, books read, imaginings, unrequited loves, significant
      landscapes, broken bones, periods of boredom, favorite shows.

                    *                          *                          *

Immediately means
without mediation, intermediate moments
time in the middle.

Time in the middle
time in the middle.
I'm bummed I never saw a dinosaur, an ice age, a cave man, even missed
      the last world war.
Thanks to paleontology, geology, archaeology, history
mind equipped to take
time out of the middle.
It's in our DNA!

Why should she love me, her tenant?
Because I pay the rent on time.

                    *                          *                          *

Excellent. The white sun rose
and lit the frost.
Early February, late March, or in between.
Birds begin
discussing family. Sap starts to flow.
Where the borer spirals in, it comes out wet.
Birch or maple.

I watched from the window. Beautiful
but no desire to go out and touch
swelling buds of elderberry.
Is this shrub crazy? It knows what it knows
with elderberry knowledge.

Come Spring, so much to identify and name.
Insects, diseases and new flowers.
Lepidoptera, root rot, the pinks.
I think I might get married too
and watch the moons pass through the mists.

                    *                          *                          *

March rain.

Some snow remains
roads dangerous
but truck deliveries must be made.
                                                The light
pushing back the dark.
Bark
getting softer, slippery
at the cambium. Sap
simmering. Summer
and spring are here and there
although only winter birds are in the air.
Some buds
break swell
want
to turn inside out
but wait
knowing better.

I too will not break or run
early
hold hope bound by ropes of discipline, experience
time the magic moments to come
take the last sleet and pain
slap in the face
glad for predictable seasons.
                                        We anticipate however
drought, maple defoliation, increased gypsy moth infestations
which some attribute to our existence.
That may be true.
Or it may be that the universe
has reversed its decision on us
and there's nothing we can do.
But we will do
what we can
and some things we shouldn't
because that is human.

Continuing
into the space inside me
unconnected to the light switch, plumbing
fairly independent of materials beyond
food and sound.
Where I pray
like an oak
that the light will enter me
unbroken, forever
and I will live the meanings in the wind.
                                                       Basic
necessities, wood
wine
and friends. And
the names
of everything
by which we know our way.







Copyright © Robert Ronnow | Year Posted 2015


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Hidden Gem

For a long time my brother in law,Jim, and I ,  were not close.  Politically,   I was mostly liberal and he, a strong conservative.  Some say politics doesn't matter, but in our case it seemed to color our personalities.

Then, a  few years ago after we had shed our political skins as times changed, and suddenly became open to each other.  Sure, shared interests but more as we grew  older, not quite affection but a quiet understanding. . .

spring run
his shadow
always behind

After I was placed in adult care, he visited me several times a week, usually with a  
capuccino in hand which he knew I loved.  I learned respect and admiration for the real Jim.  He had a  hidden depth that was not easily expressed or perhaps easily understood.

hidden stream
so clear
stone bridge

I remember from geology class:  Scratch any stone to see its true identity.

dark river stone
doused in light
sun colors

I felt that in the end he was turning to gold though I wonder if  he knew. . .






 





Copyright © Thomas Martin | Year Posted 2016


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Disciplines of Science

Disciplines of Science

The inquiry of Geology
Differs from Biology.
Biology is about birth,
While Geology is about earth.


I wrote the above poem that was inspired by the following poem written by Edmund Clerihew Bentley who devised this form of poetry. 

The Art of Biography
Is different from Geography.
Geography is about Maps,
But Biography is about Chaps.


Copyright © Edward Johannes | Year Posted 2015


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Set in Stone

Petrology, geology, call it what you may Minerals of many are around us every day Igneous, sedimentary, metamorphic are the main Their seams grace our planet, they are her veins The next time you walk your streets, take a look around For many rocks and stones, are everywhere to be found Where would we be without them, many structures would never be here If it wasn't for many millions of years, and this beautiful earthly sphere


Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2011


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Crater Lake

Caldera formed when Mount Mazima erupted thousands of years ago. Lake water's warmed by remains of a volcano; Oregon’s state park lures tourists to take a swim. Mount Mazima may erupt again beneath the surface of Crater Lake.
* “The water is heated by hot rock beneath the fractured caldera floor. Scientists are not certain whether any magma still remains underground but it is likely that Mount Mazama will erupt again someday.” – The Oregon Explorer http://oe.oregonexplorer.info/craterlake/geology.html


Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2014


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Geology

The study of earth.
Topics are plate tectonics,
Rock types and rivers.


Copyright © Nicole Sharon Brown | Year Posted 2009


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Flying the California Coast

Flying the California Coast

My California coastline
A song of endlessly repeating peaks
Singing verses of silence
Whispering unknown refrains

Mossy sand and stone
Thinly veiled and misted
Striated curves 
Etched in stony hardness 
The brain's soft folds
Hide truths unknown
Organic, orgasmic, orchestral
A geology of the heavens

Roads who wander through villages 
Plopped within nature's stomach
Mushroom-like fungi pushing through 
Like octopuses 
They tangle and detangle 
Criss-cross and mingle

Crystalline shards of water
Break upon the plate’s edges
Fields of blue finger the horizon
Interwoven with green and aqua lily pads 
Singing the universe's eternal chorus

Endlessly the same yet always different
As if the granite domes that fracture the skies
Might scatter into grains of sand
Proving again the alchemy of God's creation 


Copyright © Kathleen Kroll | Year Posted 2016


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GEOLOGY

                         Excavation begins,
                             chisel strikes
                            hardened rock
                                 surface
                        So uncompromising
                     that not a mark is made.
                             Another more
                            powerful strike
                            breaks through,
                             a small cranny.
                                   Slowly,
                                  precisely,
                                  painfully,
                           the work pays off.
                            Layer upon layer
                               lies beneath,
                           how disconcerting,
                          so much more work
                                to be done
                                  to reach
                                  the core.
                                   Steadily
                         each layer fragments,
                                  revealing
                                 yet another,
                               hardened more
                             by time's passage.
                             The digging down
                            seems endless yet,
                           with sweat and tears
                               and little sleep,
                              the work is done. 
                                  The journey
                                 to the center
                             reveals the magma,
                                  the essence,
                               the truest form,
                                  beneath all
                             the hardened rock.


Copyright © Sara Giroux | Year Posted 2012


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Geology

Seasons come and go
The years pass away
Where the river flows
Deserts once held sway


Copyright © Jim Wilson | Year Posted 2009


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My Very Own Seeds

My time keeps ticking/ Fresh outta mind prison/ I still have a hard time trying to listen/
 I keep on walking yet I keep on tripping/ The pain in my brain heart thickens/ 
Redemption for change Im still missing/ 

Im still on the reservation/ Dont any of my own people see the alcoholic devestation?/
 More self destruction than self creation/ Addicted alcholism among our own we keep making/ Young hearts and souls everyday we be breaking/ Most of us young souls around here are rarely forgiven because we are to busy been forsaken/
 
This is my own mind made prison astrology/ Im hard like a rock involved in geology/
 Dont any of my people understand this poverished prison geolgraphy/ 
Our destruction can be seen in NAT GEO, dont you people see it in the photography/
 Time is no joke nor is it alive yet somehow it can still bleed/ 
Im still out of prison yet in my mind it still doesn't feel like I have been set free/
 I know my out out but I dont have the keys/ In or out it still remains hard just to be me/
 Everything now days in life cost a fee/ Its not my culture its the American Greed/
 I guess now days I gotta leave a trail, I gotta PLANT MY VERY OWN SEEDS......


Copyright © Travis Lone Hill | Year Posted 2012


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GRANITE THINKS BACK

GRANITE THINKS BACK

Yeah those were the magma days - for what it’s worth:
Surging up from the inner reaches of the earth
To the crust – ‘cos when you’re hot, you’re hot, 
Just a-bubblin’,  turnin’,  and a-tossin’  in a hot spot.
We joked about bursting out in great hot gushes like real men
But didn’t know that we’d be stopped well before then.
Giant condom of overburden rocks slowed and stopped us:
We cooled off, lost our fire, like old men on a late bus.
Then had to wait  till the blanket was rent and lost
Due to the forces of weathering   -  rain and frost.
At last we were allowed to poke our snout
Into the delightful soft landscape, standing out. . . . . 

. . . . . As granite hills.
……………………………………….

NOTE

This topic is known as Psycho-sexual geology,  or sclerotic  erotica.


Copyright © Sidney Beck | Year Posted 2012


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Why Another Oil Spill

We know of this disastrous event As we now know of the spills extent All these years they had time to invent A remedy for repairable descent We allow them drilling consent To represent our resourceful contents Our geology is picked up by their scents Millions of years are turned into cents In Scotland we have oilfields called the Brent Where the same companies represent There is always the element of torment For nature there is never a lament All they are interested in is their percent One day they may be held to account and repent http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/life-8.php


Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2010


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Nature-an inspiration

I don’t know where I shall start from,
From tiny seedlings to huge trees,
or
From varied seasons to storms, 
or
From rivers to rains,
or
From Flora and fauna to all living beings,
Indeed,
Nature has embraced within it several forms,

The network of nature is so gigantic,
That need to explore makes us frantic,

The array of our nature is colossal,
Liable for our enduring survival,

From the early mornings to deep nights,
The charm of nature makes everything bedight,

The existence would have been impossible,
If Almighty, wouldn’t have been so probable,

Happiness & contentment could spring only if lives could sustain,
Else the only solution would have been likely is to abstain,

If sun for just one day kept yawning,
Our mornings will never be so charming,

The impact of rain is so embellish,
That nothing else is worth us wanting to relish,

The species, the rivers, the matter, the geology,
The beaches, the rocks, the weather, the energy,
Is all a result of environmental synergy,

Nature is massively excessive,
Making our lives progressive,

We should be thankful to the supreme deity,
For his magnitude, his showered grace & immensity,

The relation between us and nature is eternal,
It is not only peripheral but acutely internal,

The repercussions of disturbing it can be disastrous,
But sensibly dealing with it can spring results- that too magnanimous,



Copyright © NANCY CHAWLA | Year Posted 2012


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Tom's TV Guise (TB's TBs)

TV Guise entries from tom.
"Who's the Horse?"- Tony Danza is reincarnated as a mare with an identity crisis.

"Who Wants to be in the Air?"- Regis Dirtbin puts mentally challenged 
contestants in unteethered hot air balloons, with no hope of ever returning-much 
to his glee.

"The Soup-Ran-O's"- Tony, behind a Campbell's Soup truck, can not avoid the 
several cases of soup that fell off the back.

"E.R."-George Clooney suffers from an "extended-rise" ********.

"The Wonder Gears"-An incompetent auto mechanic can't figure out what parts to 
use on a transmission.

"Law and Order"-The precinct cops order sandwiches from the deli.

"MASH"- Tale of two ill-fated potatoes.

"Stainfelled"-Jerry drops his jacket in and oil puddle.

"Miami Sink"- A Cuban plummer in Florida cleans drains.

"Oh, Really? Factor"- No one believes Biil O'Reilly's bull.

"48 Hour Mystery"- It's a mystery why anyone would watch this, especially for 2 
days straight!

"Hill Street Jews"-A group of Hasidic Jews on Hillside Ave. beat up a Puerto 
Rican.

5 A.M.-"Sunrise Sumester"-Education (Geology)- Professor Harry Crud drinks 
coffee, complains of his hang-over and declares; "I don't give a d_mn what they 
are- as long as I can walk on them!"

"Family Ties"- The Mason family displays their neckwear.

"Bunsmoke"- James Art-less witnesses his bakery burn down.

"Puked"- Anson vomits on a friend for fun.

Ya' didn't think ya'd get away from me that easy,did you?


Copyright © tom bell | Year Posted 2007


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THE LAST NEGOTIATIONS

THE LAST NEGOTIATIONS



The child that I was – Never believed in death-

Loving life so much that I cud not conceive of it.

Time – states of minds- growth-maturation

New realizations, that interfered with my own

Understanding of, life death and purpose.

Collecting bits of earth- I loved her

Wanted to hold on to whatever came from her.

Butterflies, fire flies-lady bugs and praying mantis.



Geology was my solace.

The sun kept my “pet rocks”

Warm for me –

Unlike the trees, Moon, and Stars,

I could hold on to them.

Rocks, stones, and driftwood and the like- All

Had the formation and the beauty

That drew me in as if it had a personality.



I loved them, and knew they each had a story-

Unlike living pets, I also knew my rocks would never die.

I had grown up to find that the deal I made with God.

{To never let me die}, was neither, doable, nor had the Bargain

Been sealed on the other end.



I have seen people suffer and grow old.

Therefore, I have made a new deal, asking God.

” Please do not let me grow old” 

with incontinence and feebleness;

Afraid while moving towards my 

impermanence my mind may tell me to;

Seasoning my food with cleansing powered instead of salt.

Once I never wanted to grow old- 

Once, I longed to stay upon on the earth forever:

With the promise of the unknown heaven as a reward, 

I still opted to stay.

Today I have Different eyes, think different ways.



I have made a new deal with my creator,

Which is: “Now I lay me down to sleep.

I pray the Lord my breath to take. I pray

my kept soul be set free, 

and my loved ones to keep,

Come gently and swiftly 

I speak the uttered lines.

To fit my worth- Not so eager to 

remain on earth anymore.

No longer is the earth my turf.

Not the version prayed for as a child.

Let me Die peacefully in my sleep.

Bury my Ashes in the Black sand,

Cover me with beautiful Stones.

Until I take root and grow something 

healing from my rich soot.

Greater now is my faithfulness.

For I no longer fear death.,

But fear what has become of this earth.

I want no turmoil to spoil my peaceful transition.





Copyright © Vicki Acquah | Year Posted 2017


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EMPTY APARTMENT

EMPTY  APARTMENT   

Paid  the  realtor’s fee
Collected key and learned how to jiggle it - 
Some lock problem - corrosion in  salt air.
In the silence of my own thought
Previous life in these rooms speaks of 
Views of the  clouds and sea.
Nothing much else to see, just think about 
Their own childhood memories.

Drawers  with  screws  nails  and nylon  line -
That’s out -  my own junk in. 
Shelves with a few  books  
“Cooking  Fish with an Electric Wok”   
and  “Teach Yourself  Serbo-Croat”,
and one ice-skate.
That lot goes in a bag for the junk store.
Make room for  my own geology maps and 
Collected   Thomas  Hardy   novels.

Cigarette  ash,  empty chip bag,  crumpled chocolate  wrapper.
These people must have had  serious  teeth and lung problems.
Kitchen cupboards with packets of soup and instant coffee -
And yet  they used a wok ?! ( Like  Jeckyl and Hyde. )
Chuck out their rusty can-opener
Put in my own rusty can-opener.

Table will be better under the window.
That round rug they could never decide where to put  - 
I’ll  put it in the back cupboard  -  hideous colour.
Curtains have to go too  - wouldn’t  be seen 
Dead with curtains like that.
Some people have the weirdest  taste.	


Copyright © Sidney Beck | Year Posted 2010


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When I Stop Learning

World War two
The properties of gemstones
The Mayans
The Bible
Native Americans
Spirituality
Extra Sensory Perception
Hypnotism
Clairaudience
Palmistry
Assertiveness training
Psychometry
Sociology
Sedona
Near Death Experiences
Psychological Case Studies
Brain Research
Clairasentience
Geology
Aztecs
Egyptians
Horatio Alger stories
Clairavoyance
When I stop being interested in new things
When I stop learning
My dying begins



Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2018