find me in the dirt & planting when the moon falls down

tracing earth worm’s trails,
fingers buried in the soil, my hands
entwine with fragile roots, i
walk the edge and know

tomorrow’s—
just a delve of spade away,

behind the orchard,
a pale sun’s already going down,
i drink the soil’s moist breath
with quivering lips, heavily worn

from digging and my back bends
under new moon weight, night coming
closer– and i’m lying

spread across the earth which
trickles in the chasm between t-shirt
and my jeans “this is—

a waste of time”
they whisper, but i’m–

pressing closer, moving harder, hot
sweat pearls my face, hands bruised
& swollen from the labor, sinking
down and ’round the corner is—

the scent of apple cake,

reverberation—

of a fire on your cheeks & we drink
coffee steam from purple dotted cups
as if the winter has just died across
the street when we lay in the orchard,
pouring us to seeds– abundantly as

myriads of fever-freckled winds
lick dust crumbs from our skin,

part of the magic, isn’t it?

part of tomorrow if it comes,
i take the spade, stretch wide, inhale
the cold breeze of fugacity
and plant—

another tree

.

One of my fav quotes by Martin Luther (1483-1546), a German priest, professor of theology and father of the Protestand Reformation is… “Even if I knew that tomorrow the world would go to pieces, I would still plant my apple tree.” Think that’s a great way to live life..

Charles Miller is tending the dVerse Poetics bar today…and who knows..we may get all philosophical…can’t wait to see you when the doors swing open…3 pm EST..

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57 responses to “find me in the dirt & planting when the moon falls down

  1. The title is brilliant. Again, your use of all the senses brings such wholeness to the receiver of this poem! I never would have thought Luther had anything to do with this(sorry). This left me with the feeling of “yeah, that’s right, as long as life continues here I will get my hands dirty in the roots of existence. …(reading it again aloud)…Oh my, no offense, all your stuff is good but this is like when I read the one about you recounting when your father died…it has the same depth, right down to the marrow. Claudia, Claudia, Claudia—these words are a timely gift. Thank you.

  2. nice….love the natural elements in this and the initimacy you show with nature as well….i def feel that myslef…and there is this amazing spiritual experience that happens when we join in creation—planting….the wind licking dirt from the skin was a great line and love the play too on the quote…nice C….

  3. I feel the same way. If we get close to nature by digging, touching the earth and sensing it’s power to grow things, there is something deep inside that we recognise as being part of the miracle of life. Beautiful piece again. Humans are a part of nature, but we’ve forgotten what we know.

  4. my first thought, like maiya’s, “beautiful” -

    such a wonderful feeling reading through the lines

    “part of tomorrow if it comes” – anticipating and acknowledging our daily drive into the unknown, beautiful ;-)

  5. Digging messes with my ocd, but the cat gladly does it for me. Although he won’t refill the hole, I case at least half the job is better than none right? That quote is great too, if all lived like that might just be better off.

  6. Beautiful philosophy, Claudia. As a child I used to spend a lot of time lying in the grass looking at ‘life’ there…plants, worms, insects, etc. Peaceful times, wonderful memories. I do think there is something to be said for planting things, for tending to growing things, for watching beauty rise up….even if we don’t know what tomorrow will bring or if there WILL be a tomorrow or if we will see the beauty that has arisen from our planting. I love the Martin Luther quote. He was a wise man, not only theologically!

  7. I must read this to my husband, who is an avid gardener. I think all of his prayers are executed through the earth. There are so many beautiful lines in this one. I felt it like a song for the soul.

    Thank you for you kind words on my blog.

    Have a great weekend.

  8. I remember Luther’s saying … now you are mentioning it … my grandmother had a picture with that saying … True … Be well, my friend C. … Love, cat.

  9. Lovely poem, and lovely choice of saying. I had not heard it before–it’s terrific and you write of it so beautifully, between chasm of jeans and dirt/dust/apple cake, purple dots. Wonderful detail.

    I hope I’ve gotten the prompt right, as your poem inspired me to do one already, though haven’t quite posted. Mine a bit more silly. K.

  10. Dutch apple pie it will be tonight for Jim’s birthday dessert. He doesn’t want cake, as such.

    Yummy!

    Possibly one of the 20 top poems ever written on this planet.

    I saw earthworms last week under the rotting leaves along the driveway. Winter is dying here indeed I think. Or at least trying to get its nails into a few more weeks of our bones before it drinks sleeping potion from its purple dotted cups.

    And please note the next sidebar button on my site shall be one for Jaywalking The Moon. Thanks for your patience.

    xoxo

  11. I found the lines about the wind:

    myriads of fever-freckled winds
    lick dust crumbs from our skin,

    wonderfully evocative and thought provoking, as is the whole poem and the quote too.

    Thank you for visiting my site and telling me about the competition. I was amazed!

  12. At oneness with the earth in all of its fertility brings us home to stay. Working one’s garden, even in barren times, tries us only in the sense that it’s labor rewarded with the accomplishment of itself. We often seem to seek only what will pay us off in some way, the functional getting and having that comprise the backbone of Leviathan capitalism. Yet, the simple pleasures of digging a garden, planting, seed, sharing its fruit, is a chaos whose eventual order brings communion with cosmos and others beyond the desire for more. For in that task is comprised the world as it should be, the world we make, though the rest of the world go to pieces. There’s so much richness in your poem that I simply want to rest in its peaceful center and find myself again.

  13. “myriads of fever-freckled winds
    lick dust crumbs from our skin,”

    love that line, claudia! the entire poem is rich and dense and satisfying to the soul. i can smell the soil…..

  14. What a beautiful writing for all those who love to work the soil and plant and watch things grow. I really like “sweat pearls my face, hands bruised”. So much work but so worth it in the end.

  15. Such rich words for the soul.
    Thank you for your words that speak so eloquently of the seemingly mundane
    work of a gardener…it is truly the work of angels on earth.

    Peace,
    Siggi in Downeast Maine

  16. When I work, I like breaking tasks, to lift me head and not forget there is more to life than the task – your apple cake does that. Yes – we need to live hope today, to the very end, to the very fullness, to each drop. loving your living, breathing poetry!

  17. Just the kind of philosophy I would expect from someone who feels the earth and wind as intensely as you. Sometimes it feels like things are falling apart and negativity abounds. A little light and positivity at unexpected moments make life beautiful again.

  18. When I get too old to plant things, just shoot me. A lovely breeze of a poem, despite all the toil and sweat, and ‘fever-freckled winds’ (!) Great piece, Claudia.

  19. This whole section is delectably descriptive:

    “of a fire on your cheeks & we drink
    coffee steam from purple dotted cups
    as if the winter has just died across
    the street when we lay in the orchard,
    pouring us to seeds– abundantly as

    myriads of fever-freckled winds
    lick dust crumbs from our skin”

  20. In addition to just loving the whole philosophy of this poem, these are my favourite words …”myriads of fever-freckled winds lick dust crumbs from our skin”, – there’s just something so charming about “fever-freckled winds” that reverberates with me; I keep turning it over and saying it aloud. Nice.

  21. I have to agree with Jerry. The title is magical. And then there are so many overtones and undertones: mystical, green, romantic. it’s a delicious serving. Wouldn’t wanted to have missed it.

  22. “of a fire on your cheeks & we drink
    coffee steam from purple dotted cups
    as if the winter has just died across
    the street when we lay in the orchard,
    pouring us to seeds– abundantly as

    myriads of fever-freckled winds
    lick dust crumbs from our skin,

    part of the magic, isn’t it?”,/em>

    Hi! Claudia…
    Thanks, for sharing…The stanza from your poem that I quoted [above] is [very] beautiful and your poem is [very] descriptive too…very vivid!

    part of tomorrow if it comes,
    i take the spade, stretch wide, inhale
    the cold breeze of fugacity
    and plant—

    and in the end…

    another tree…

    deedee :)

  23. Wow what a journey into a delicious wonderland ! To live a life with such intensity and sensuality is beyond beautiful, it’s magical. I adore the pilgrimage of your take on original sin and swam in its enticing waters with tingles up my spine. Thanx 4 sharing. This will be my anthem for life’s sensuality when I doubt the strength of my vitality. I love ithis poem.

  24. I have found that planting trees sort of turns one into an Earth Mother of a goddess. I love this poem and its celebration of a human being participating in the regeneration of natural life on this planet home of ours.

  25. oh yes!! now this is TOP notch writing! one of the best things I’ve read in a while perhaps – the phrasing, imagery, ideas, it all works so brilliantly – the digging and the soil – and then the coffee steam – loved it!

  26. what faith to plant an apple tree and to smell the “apple cake” already…I think gardening can be an act of worship…nice quote…thanks, Claudia :)

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