Soil Poems - Poems about Soil

Mother Earth

fertile ground was found
     the soil a rich deep dark brown
          the seeds were welcome

I Speak from the Soil of Congo

I speak—not from a podium or palace,
But from the soil, soaked in blood and silence.
From beneath the green womb of the Congo,
Where my bones lie broken—but not my spirit.

You—who call yourselves the civilised,
The democratic, the free—
What freedom do you preach
While your machines chew through the bones of my children?

I see your flags in the forests

FALLEN SONS AND DAUGHTERS OF THE SOIL

Weep Africa, weep on.
The battle with death is one we dare not to fight,
For the call from the great beyond is outside the scope of our existence.
Just as our known hero Ngugi Wa Thiong'o has fallen,
Like countless unknown heroes forgotten to time,
We shall all follow this path of no return one by one.

Fight Africa, fight

Roots Without Soil

I.

I fold my mother's silver spoon—crescent bright,
worn soft as secrets whispered through the night.
Her thumb's warm press, a tender, sacred trace,
curves like a prayer held close in time and place.
Now bitter dust swirls in plastic's cold embrace,
instant coffee falls—no homeland to retrace.

II.

The clerk repeats my name—a broken hymn,
I spell each letter till the sounds grow

We the soil are witnesses to their turmoil

Trapped within the soil
Told stories filled with turmoil 
Carrying the weight of black history 
But it honours their memory 
By always remembering 
By never forgetting 

Soaked by the tears of the enslaved 
Waiting, hoping, praying to be saved
The ground an unknowing witness 
To them being worked to death
But in awe of their perseverance 

Throughout the

Amended Soil

The voices were not kind again,

 looking for weakness

 planting seeds of demise.

 darkness is warmest.
 
Soil we prepared.

 dreams we amended.

 Waiting for trees of life.

upended.

Whispers in the Soil

Moonlight weeps on rusted stone,
Where once I danced, I crawl alone.
Roots with hands now draw me near,
Feeding on my deepest fear.

My shadow speaks in shattered rhyme.
A ghost who bleeds through endless time.

The day, the soil lab took care of him, and I sighed

The day, the soil lab took care of him, and I sighed
Categorical exclusion, You were there, but almost Nye!
My outspoken, my hidden, my own darker trace
My grace, rancid disgrace, my song and my own mess
Did I ever tell you? I loved you with all my heart, I loved you all!
I had no desire, there, my

Calculating the Weight of a Tormented Leaf

I am naked.
_bare_
my hands
(_)Whose trace are these wounds?
I am naked.
[naked]
prominent blue grooves,
- Green,
- Blue,
- Red!
Red whispers(./:)
on your skin
crawls
_my skin_
Is pale(.)
your skin(,/.)
Stretches
_sketch_
[sleepy]
- are you dead
- are you?
- you dead?
my skin(!/?)
I draw a line.
_grooves_
[groove]
are you (…/?)
Red pours.
Pours (./?)
_Pouring_
Hanging.
Burning.
_flow_
The flow of the artery in the groove of my skin.
[Soil]
I was sleeping.
What color was the soil?
do you know?
are you…
red

Soil

When we are deprived
of the feel and touch
of soil we become diminished -
it's as if our nature draws 
nourishment and meaning
from what it holds -
our history, our beginnings.

Children know it
and plunge fingers into earth,
sometimes lifting it to their mouths
out of an instinctive need
to take in the mystery.
Parents are horrified 
and rush to stop 
the tasting.

I buried the past, yet flowers still rise from the soil of forgotten memories

I buried the past, yet flowers still rise from the soil of forgotten memories,
Roots tangled in dreams and longings that stubbornly refuse to die,
The earth retains traces of pain, transforming suffering into petals of grace,
Even shadows need light to dance at the edge of silent brilliance.
A silent reminder—not everything that disappears is lost, not everything

McGREGOR VINES IN WINTER

[Poet’s Note : McGregor is a small rural village in Small Karoo, SA, which experiences extreme winters. It is believed that 8 of Earth’s leylines cross one another in McGregor, making this village a powerful planetary energy junction. My youngest daughter & I were privileged to live on a small holding vineyard in McGregor, for

Independence vs in-dependence

Independence vs In-Dependency 

They came with promises wrapped in lies,
With deceit veiled in hope and disguise.
Their flags stabbed the soil—our soil, my soil—
Turning sacred lands into fields of toil,
Whose fruits we'd never taste.

You set foot in my village, my home,
Did you feel the soil, once rich, now scarred?
Did the earth groan as you took its

A Son of The Soil

I am a son of the dark continent
By conception and ancestral offshoot 
This black earth,
Where my dark ancestors deposited 
The birth right of my life 
In the dark bowels of our black sacred earth,
As the Canon and cradle of civilization;
The Land where my dark nostrils
First embraced the dark air in my dark lungs;
Which my dark

From Soil to Souls

Food — The gift of soil and hand,
A miracle that sprang from sand,
Quenching hunger, warming souls,
Is the bite and sip from steaming bowls.

The ripened fruits and tender greens,
Eaten with crusty loaf of grains,
With flavours bold, textures sweet,
Making every bite a rare retreat.

A vital force that flows within,
Building bones and mending skin,
Is the dance of taste

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