Topsoil Poems | Examples

Howling Wilderness

In the wind, hear a plaintive, mournful wail.
It is more than a wolf caught in a trap.
It's more than fishing gear catching a whale
and rainforests being wiped from the map.

It is a voice that cannot speak in words. 
Across the ages, you discern the moan 
of vanishing prairies, buffalo herds, 
that's carried by plowed up topsoil, windblown.  

Earth's untamed ecosystems we hold dear 
are crying softly, asking for our help, 
grimly warning that they will disappear.   
Like a badly injured dog's dying yelp, 

hear the wilderness's last gasping breath, 
"Save me from the clench of languishing death".

porodeshee megh

  Wandering cloud, turn back to your return voyage, a safe trip home	
   Send these to my reverie soul, one of a nomadic troubadour, vagabond   
  When down pouring rain moisten the topsoil of thy land
  They do shed tears, heartache, with a lonely "room", happening in unknown
  the heartache in leaving would play along the flute beside even the river Jordan.
The heartbreak of a rainy day charmed when a night lightening " O my own!"
A heartbeat sank there in painstaking pensive in Eden Garden
When flowers blossom, a moon arises
the night takes a stay for a streak of moonlit whim, wishful in flight, to soar high and keen!
None is slandering the shy gaze and the household subtle maze, to the ever sustaining one!
   

(February 2025)

borish dhora majhe- Tagoreweb

Amen pours, moisten the topsoil
                   Amen pours. moisten the topsoil
With trembling hearts, they took a stance
Looking up among men and women, ever since
No more darkened sins, no more fearful sensual djinns
No more lamentation to mourn
May the heart song soaring high to fly along, to grow strong
To remove impediment along the way.

Why this cloak of hatred? Why this disguised camouflage?
Why all these letting go in not knowing so!
Myrtle Carved she! The fossilized soul to be
a valiant saga throughout the solitary night- only belonging to thee!

Growth Spurt

My tendrils pierce the dark dank earth
Looking for a place to bloom

"Come here, youll love it" croons a voice
"No, here, it's a great field" wafts another

Birds chirp overhead intelligibly
Patches of light filter through the topsoil

Praire dogs speak of a new life
A new home if I wish 

I want a nourishing field, and know what it looks like
But not what the surface looks like

Smells of dirt, flitters of light
Offer tantalizing hints

The voices try to guide, but are trapped in themselves
As am I

I gather my breath and all that I have
and pierce

Morning Sick Seed

sown a sick seed
close although ready 
no chance 
for a sick seed already planted
a sick seed sown
for me and good neighbor's
the sick seed has nothing 
awake and on the word
that dug you up
seed settle topsoil
for the bird's 
and for my ear's 
oh well
eye's of the word settle back down
come see me
bird's eye's pluck'em out

Animus Farm

The roots of our political system,
    Have grown up through some infertile topsoil.
As excessive and targeted 'cash-dusting' ...
    Has reduced the land's potential, with much to spoil.

Weeds of corruption strangle organic growth,
    Taking away what nature could provide.
While any effort to meticulously prune and
    Salvage a crop, gets derailed and put aside.

Just as the laws of nature contribute to man ...
    Can we till and sow fresh landscape to cultivate?
Perhaps conditioning the soil without manure,
    Where profound growth gives reason not to hate.

Now some might prefer to set apart large tracts, 
    Fallow, while claiming success and yield.
Yet those buried seeds won't wither or remain
    Beneath, they'll bare fruit in another field.

Renewal

A scrapbook of soil
knits the land.
Earthworms patchwork
hidden birthing-chambers,
grit and gist abrades
into the leached sap
of leaf and grass.

Rain storms push up
an upholstery of luster,
mossy threads.
above tufted beds.
Frail daisy heads nod,
yet their roots grip and twist
as fibrous as hemp.

The turning lathe of a tireless wind
crumbles iron cities,
towers and arcades
stand emerald cast,
walls chained to creepers,
and a choking ivy.

Topsoil sinks to be
the undercroft of graveyards.
All is begun, all is lost
in the long gestations
of death and recovery.

Tempering's spun
beneath a settling moonlight.

Joy In the Emptiness

Where once a caterpillar ceased to crawl
  knit into a temporary tomb
  a chrysalis shell now lies, empty, broken
  observed from above
  by the butterfly, now set free

Where once a pine cone lay on the topsoil
  awaiting a crucible of fire
  tested and tried, but not to perish
  releasing its seeds by the wildfire's heat
  a burnt shell now lies, empty, broken
  observed from above
  by the new pine tree, with uplifted branches

Where once a tomb held a broken and torn body
  stricken, smitten, and afflicted
  awaiting the promise from on high
  the disciples gape at the rolled away stone
  "He is not here, He is risen!"
  saints and angels rejoice in God's master plan

There is joy in the emptiness

//certain pinecone varieties only release their seeds from the heat of a forest fire, ensuring the repopulation of trees after a devastating wildfire.//

Written 10 Apr 2022

Sun Dried Rain

Sun-Dried Rain
David J Walker

Following the path of 
Southwest winds 

Carving canyons  
Starving clouds and land alike

Making sand of topsoil
As pilgrims pray for rain

staking a claim in blowing dust
In bilingual refrains 

of long missed moisture 
and drying rust 

Sun-dried children cleansed and swaying
on backyard clothes lines 

dying for a drop 
of Sun-Dried rain

Who will be selected Queen of 
This year’s Dust Storm Fest

The Four Seasons

As chilly breezes harsh and cold
cause bones to shake in young and old
we know for sure that winter's here
the time when deep freeze takes hold.

Through nippy nights that freeze the ear,
we moan and groan, complain and sneer.
When topsoil thaws and shoots peek through,
springtime returns her joys to share.

Hot summertime is next in queue,
and how we wish her days were few
but "come on! have some reason now"
In winter you, impatient grew.

Soon milder breeze will bathe your brow
as fall God's great glory avow.
We wish the show would never end
of hues and views that thrill and wow.

Do not live looking round the bend.
Treat each season much like a friend.
Enjoy the blessings each day lend
and let your soul God's praise extend.

Mountain - Let Me Die In Tadasana

A mountain does not loiter 
Like an empty paper cup upon a tabletop. 
A mountain is a weighty mass, 
Rooted through the topsoil 
Of the surrounding lowlands 
And anchored to the earth’s solid crust 
Which floats upon a fluid, molten mantel.

And deep at the core of it all 
Is a slowly spinning ball of solid metal,
The motion of which generates 
An electro-magnetic field
That radiates outward into space
Creating a protective force 
That shields the planet 
And all the creatures 
That dwell upon the mountain.

The First Sign of Spring

The ice crystals that glistened like diamonds throughout the winter months—December, January, February—slowly melted away and the crunchy green grass, now supple and bright, slowed to make way for the fall’s bulbs to send up shoots and bud. The tiny pink crocus shouts, “I’m here! I’m here! Notice me!” And, so I do.  I stop and gently touch the lovely, fragile petals and wonder how they had survived since last September when I had buried them five inches into the topsoil. 

A crocus called out 
"I am alive, look at me!" 
Spring has surely come.

TENTH PLACE WINNER
Written March 9, 2021
for Springtime Haibun Contest
Sponsored by M. L. Kiser

A Play In Mud

Life filled with a feeling of happiness 
With dirt, slush, sordidness 
The cleanliness existing apart 
From everything else in the yard
The ambience of soggy topsoil
Feeling so complete thus mindful 
Not one worry 
No agony 
In mud with dandy doggie

Potpourri, What Me Worry

Potpourri, What Me Worry?

Have a Minute? In a Hurry?
Reflect, Few Knew 3rd Sept. 1964'ie,
Our World Unfurled, "Let There Be Nori!"

More Precisely, "Eleanor Anne",
7 of 7, Infinite "Can", Wonder Woman,
And Golly, The Mile Champion, She Ran!

By No Means Dumb, Nori Was the Sum,
Harry & Eleanor Enabled Dr. Schol's Alum,
Beat Drums! Blow Trumpets! 'Til Lips Numb!

Inherited Curls Red We All Adore,
Her Generosity & Humility Galore,
Spreading Joy In Each of Fifty-Four!

Nori Has a Secret, A Hydrogen Bomb,
A West Virginia Gentle Farm Boy, Some
Say is Her Loam, Vita-Mix, Topsoil  Tom!

Husky, Kona, Loved but Exceedingly Furry,
North Conway is Where Tom & Nori,
Build Their Oasis Refuge From Hurry!

Nori, Count Your Life by Smiles Not Miles,
By Friends, Not Stipends, Not "Upends",
May You & Tom Together Enjoy Years,
Empty of Tears, Bills in Arrears & Fears!

The Parable of the Talents

THE PARABLE OF THE TALENTS

The grave he dug, the monument he built.
No one saw the single coin that died so fast.
No time for a blessing, nevertheless knees stained,
In the dingy, dirty dark where seeds lambast.

On topsoil, five coins flitter between a man’s fingers.
The magician amazes the crowd, he doubles his wages.
His master will cheer him on, with soulful eyes.
Of his faithfulness, angels dictate lovely pages.

Yes, those who doubled their score whether small or great
will find favor and a hefty inheritance at the pearly gates.
But for the ones who bury their treasure and sit upon it
a sharp shovel will grovel, gripe and shape their fate.

10/7/2018
Contest: The Parable of the Talents
Sponsor: Holly Hippocampus

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