I.
Black, dirty hands
Who decided such a negative connotation?
Dirt. Dirty. Of the earth.
Back to our roots. Grounded.
At home, to stick our fists in
Wet & heated, warmer below the surface.
Full of insects and creatures,
Humming, pulsating.
And the majority water
Like a body of flesh & blood.
The Schumann resonance beats
Like a heart, burning from
The molten core of lava and what else?
Earth sings, through wispy winds,
Whispering a silent tune, or
Screeching a war cry...
Then mumbles with a tumbling stream,
Babbling over unique rockscapes--
Lay still long enough & something will find you;
Quiet long enough & the earth will talk.

II.
Seasons come & go, cycling, like we all
Fall back into old routines & habits.
We are warm, we are dying, cold, and then reborn.
Does one get anywhere spinning in circles
With the occasional tip down or up?

III.
Poor planet packed with parasites
Nothing given, only taken.
And she cannot replenish fast enough.
Temperamental frustration.
Natural disasters.
Slowly dying, like anything else.