Does anyone have any poems that they enjoy which might be used to commemorate Earth Day, or celebrate our enviornment?

Quiet Work
by Matthew Arnold

One lesson, Nature, let me learn of thee,
One lesson which in every wind is blown,
One lesson of two duties kept at one
Though the loud world proclaim their enmity--

Of toil unsever'd from tranquility!
Of labor, that in lasting fruit outgrows
Far noisier schemes, accomplish'd in repose,
Too great for haste, too high for rivalry.

Yes, while on earth a thousand discords ring,
Man's fitful uproar mingling with his toil,
Still do thy sleepless ministers move on,

Their glorious tasks in silence perfecting;
Still working, blaming still our vain turmoil,
Laborers that shall not fail, when man is gone.

Les

Kilmer's Trees

Here's a link to that one:

[www.emule.com] />

Les

"Earth teach me stillness
as the grasses are stilled with light.
Earth teach me suffering
as old stones suffer with memory.
Earth teach me humility
as blossoms are humble with beginning.
Earth teach me caring
as the mother who secures her young.
Earth teach me courage
as the tree which stands all alone.
Earth teach me limitation
as the ant which crawls on the ground.
Earth teach me freedom
as the Eagle which soars in the Sky.
Earth teach me regeneration
as the seed which rises in the spring.
Earth teach me to forget myself
as melted snow forgets its life.
Earth teach me to remember kindness
as dry fields weep with rain."

Anon
American Indian


Leicxky

Les, this reminded me of one of the first poems i ever wrote (many moons ago) for an Earth Day edition of our school magazine, with a caricatured drawing of a judge in a woolly wig..


The Trial

The courtroom was silent, the jury sat down,
The Judge then appeared in his wig and his gown;
The accused faced the bench, he was charged with the crime
Of destroying his world with pollution and grime.

The Judge raised his voice “This is such a disgrace,
These are the charges that you must now face;
You have dirtied the ocean, the air, the terrain
With effluent, oil spills, with smog, acid rain.

Mankind was appointed the guardian of beauty
But you’ve failed at the task, you have not done your duty.”
Then the Judge asked the question “Do you confess?”
The accused bowed his head, he could only say “Yes”.

“I have made all this mess, I am filled with regret;
I have done many things I would rather forget.
I confess to the jury that these crimes are mine,
When I ask you for mercy now, please don’t decline.”

The Judge faced the courtroom, they all heard his voice-
“Guilty as charged, but I give you the choice.
You must stop the polluting, take charge of your fate
And clean up the world now, before it’s too late.”

rikki

Thanks Linda, Leicky, and Rikki for contributing. Here's one to make us think by Wordsworth:

Lines Written In Early Spring
by William Wordsworth

I heard a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sate reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran;
And much it grieved my heart to think
What man has made of man.

Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
And 'tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.

The birds around me hopped and played,
Their thoughts I cannot measure:---
But the least motion which they made,
It seemed a thrill of pleasure.

The budding twigs spread out their fan,
To catch the breezy air;
And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.

If this belief from heaven be sent,
If such be Nature's holy plan,
Have I not reason to lament
What man has made of man?

Les

Here's one by ED:

I held a jewel
poem by Emily Dickinson





I held a jewel in my fingers
And went to sleep
The day was warm, and winds were prosy
I said, "Twill keep"

I woke - and chide my honest fingers,
The Gem was gone
And now, an Amethyst remembrance
Is all I own


Les

"The World Is Too Much With Us" - Wordsworth

"The World Is To Much With Us; Late and Soon"
by William Wordsworth

The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;
For this, for everything, we are out of tune,
It moves us not.--Great God! I'd rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.

Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 04/22/2006 03:31PM by lg.

The earth goeth on the earth glistering like gold,
The earth goeth to the earth sooner than it wold ;
The earth buildeth on the earth castles and towers,
The earth sayeth to the earth, all shall be ours.

"an Amethyst remembrance" (phrase from the Dickinson poem, above)

Great title for something...

It seems to be the name of an Anime character or story.

I am interested in the rest of this poem, who wrote it and what the meaning of the poem is?

Before the harvest after the flowers have bloomed when new grapes are budding and growing

Mrs. Earth

by Walter de la Mare

Mrs. Earth makes silver black,
Mrs. Earth makes iron red
But Mrs. Earth can not stain gold,
Nor ruby red.
Mrs. earth the slenderest bone
Whitens in her bosom cold,
But Mrs. Earth can change my dreams
No more than ruby or gold.
Mrs. Earth and Mr. Sun
Can tan my skin, and tire my toes,
But all that I'm thinking of, ever shall think,
Why, either knows.

Les

Walk Me Out In The) Morning Dew
Lyrics: Bonnie Dobson
Music: Bonnie Dobson
Published By: Warner/Tamberlane Publishing Corp. (BMI)

Walk me out in the morning dew, my honey
Walk me out in the morning dew today
Can't walk you out in the morning dew, my honey
I can't walk you out in the morning dew today


I thought I heard a baby cry this morning
I thought I heard a baby cry today
You didn't hear no baby cry this morning
You didn't hear no baby cry today


Where have all the people gone, my honey?
Where have all the people gone today?
There's no need for you to be worrying about all those people
You never see those people anyway


I thought I heard a young man mourn this morning
I thought I heard a young man mourn today
I thought I heard a young man mourn this morning
I can't walk you out in the morning dew today


Walk me out in the morning dew, my honey
Walk me out in the morning dew today
Can't walk you out in the morning dew, my honey
I guess it doesn't matter anyway
Well I guess it doesn't matter anyway

False Dawn
---Rudyard Kipling


To-night, God knows what thing shall tide,
The Earth is racked and fain--
Expectant, sleepless, open-eyed;
And we, who from the Earth were made,
Thrill with our Mother's pain.

Les

Which are You?
--Ella Wheeler Wilcox

There are two kinds of people on earth to-day;
Just two kinds of people, no more, I say.

Not the sinner and saint, for it's well understood,
The good are half bad, and the bad are half good.

Not the rich and the poor, for to rate a man's wealth,
You must first know the state of his conscience and health.

Not the humble and proud, for in life's little span,
Who puts on vain airs, is not counted a man.

Not the happy and sad, for the swift flying years
Bring each man his laughter and each man his tears.

No; the two kinds of people on earth I mean,
Are the people who lift, and the people who lean.

Wherever you go, you will find the earth's masses,
Are always divided in just these two classes.

And oddly enough, you will find too, I ween,
There's only one lifter to twenty who lean.

In which class are you? Are you easing the load,
Of overtaxed lifters, who toil down the road?

Or are you a leaner, who lets others share
Your portion of labor, and worry and care?

Les

I can think of nothing more fitting with which to recognize Earth Day.

JoeT


In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.

And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters.

And God said, Let there be light: and there was light.

And God saw the light, that it was good: and God divided the light from the darkness.

And God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. And the evening and the morning were the first day.

And God said, Let there be a firmament in the midst of the waters, and let it divide the waters from the waters.

And God made the firmament, and divided the waters which were under the firmament from the waters which were above the firmament: and it was so.

And God called the firmament Heaven.

And the evening and the morning were the second day.

And God said, Let the waters under the heaven be gathered together unto one place, and let the dry land appear: and it was so.

And God called the dry land Earth; and the gathering together of the waters called he Seas: and God saw that it was good.

And God said, Let the earth bring forth grass, the herb yielding seed, and the fruit tree yielding fruit after his kind, whose seed is in itself, upon the earth: and it was so.

And the earth brought forth grass, and herb yielding seed after his kind, and the tree yielding fruit, whose seed was in itself, after his kind: and God saw that it was good.

And the evening and the morning were the third day.

And God said, Let there be lights in the firmament of the heaven to divide the day from the night; and let them be for signs, and for seasons, and for days, and years:

And let them be for lights in the firmament of the heaven to give light upon the earth: and it was so.

And God made two great lights; the greater light to rule the day, and the lesser light to rule the night: he made the stars also.

And God set them in the firmament of the heaven to give light upon the earth,

And to rule over the day and over the night, and to divide the light from the darkness: and God saw that it was good.

And the evening and the morning were the fourth day.

And God said, Let the waters bring forth abundantly the moving creature that hath life, and fowl that may fly above the earth in the open firmament of heaven.

And God created great whales, and every living creature that moveth, which the waters brought forth abundantly, after their kind, and every winged fowl after his kind: and God saw that it was good.

And God blessed them, saying, Be fruitful, and multiply, and fill the waters in the seas, and let fowl multiply in the earth.

And the evening and the morning were the fifth day.

And God said, Let the earth bring forth the living creature after his kind, cattle, and creeping thing, and beast of the earth after his kind: and it was so.

And God made the beast of the earth after his kind, and cattle after their kind, and every thing that creepeth upon the earth after his kind: and God saw that it was good.

And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness: and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth.

So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them.

And God blessed them, and God said unto them, Be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth, and subdue it: and have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over every living thing that moveth upon the earth.

And God said, Behold, I have given you every herb bearing seed, which is upon the face of all the earth, and every tree, in the which is the fruit of a tree yielding seed; to you it shall be for meat.

And to every beast of the earth, and to every fowl of the air, and to every thing that creepeth upon the earth, wherein there is life, I have given every green herb for meat: and it was so.

And God saw every thing that he had made, and, behold, it was very good. And the evening and the morning were the sixth day.

And it WAS good:

To Nature
by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

It may indeed be phantasy, when I
Essay to draw from all created things
Deep, heartfelt, inward joy that closely clings ;
And trace in leaves and flowers that round me lie
Lessons of love and earnest piety.
So let it be ; and if the wide world rings
In mock of this belief, it brings
Nor fear, nor grief, nor vain perplexity.
So will I build my altar in the fields,
And the blue sky my fretted dome shall be,
And the sweet fragrance that the wild flower yields
Shall be the incense I will yield to Thee,
Thee only God ! and thou shalt not despise
Even me, the priest of this poor sacrifice.

Les

Chief Seattle's Reply
"This Earth is Precious"
by Chief Sealth (Seattle)

How can you buy or sell the sky, the warmth of the land? The idea is strange to us. If we do not own the freshness of the air and the sparkle of the water, how can you buy them?

ALL SACRED

Every part of this earth is sacred to my people. Every shining pine needle, every sandy shore, every mist in the woods, every clearing and humming insect is holy in the memory and experience of my people. The sap which courses through the trees carries the memories of the red man. The white man's dead forget the country of their birth when they go to walk among the stars. Our dead never forget this beautiful earth, for it is the mother of the red man. We are part of the earth and it is part of us. The perfumed flowers are our sisters; the deer, the horse, the great eagle, these are our brothers. The rocky crests, the juices in the meadows, the body heat of the pony, and man - all belong to the same family.

NOT EASY

So, when the Great Chief in Washington send word that he wishes to buy our land, he asks much of us. The Great Chief sends word he will reserve a place so that we can live comfortably to ourselves. He will be our father and we will be his children. So we will consider your offer to buy our land. But it will not be easy. For this land is sacred to us. This shining water that moves in streams and rivers is not just water but the blood of our ancestors. If we sell you land, you must remember that it is sacred, and you must teach your children that it is sacred and that each ghostly reflection in the clear water of the lakes tells of events and memories in the life of my people. The water's murmur is the voice of my father's father.

KINDNESS

The rivers are our brothers, they quench our thirst. The rivers carry our canoes, and feed our children. If we sell you our land, you must remember, and teach your children, that the rivers our brothers, and yours, and henceforth give the rivers the kindness you would give any brother.

We know that the white man does not understand our ways. One portion of land is the same to him as the next, for he is a stranger who comes in the night and takes from the land whatever he needs. The earth is not his brother, but his enemy, and when he has conquered it, he moves on. He leaves his father's graves behind, and he does not care. He kidnaps the earth from his children, and he does not care. His father's grave, and his children's birthright, are forgotten. He treats his mother, the earth, and his brother the sky, as things to be bought, plundered, sold like sheep or bright beads. His appetite will devour the earth and leave behind only a desert.

I don't know. Our ways are different from your ways. The sight of your cities pains the eyes for the red man. But perhaps it is because the red man is a savage and does not understand. There is no quiet place in the white man's cities. No place to hear the unfurling of leaves of spring, or the rustle of an insect's wing. But perhaps it is because I am a savage and do not understand. The clatter only seems to insult my ears. And what is there to life if a man cannot hear the lonely cry of the whippoorwill or the arguments of the frogs around a pond at night? I am a red man and do not understand.

The Indian prefers the soft sound of the wind darting over the face of a pond, and the smell of the wind itself, cleaned by a midday rain, or scented with the pinon pine.

PRECIOUS

The air is precious to the red man, for all things share the same breath - the beast, the tree, the man, they all share the same breath. The white man does not seem to notice the air he breathes. Like a man dying for many days, he is numb to the stench. But if we sell you our land, you must remember that the air is precious to us, the air shares its spirit with all the life it supports. The wind that gave our grandfather his first breath also receives his last sigh. And if we sell you our land, you must keep it apart and sacred, as a place where a even a white man can go to taste the wind that is sweetened by the meadow's flowers.

ONE CONDITION

So we will consider your offer to buy our land. If we decide to accept, I will make one condition: The white man must treat the beasts of this land as his brothers.

I am a savage and I do not understand any other way.

I have seen a thousand rotting buffaloes on the prairie left by the white man who shot them from a passing train.

I am a savage and I do not understand how the smoking iron horse can be more important than the buffalo that we kill only to stay alive. What is man without the beasts? If all the beasts were gone, man would die from a great loneliness of spirit. For whatever happens to the beasts, soon happens to man.

All things are connected.

THE ASHES

You must teach your children that the ground beneath their feet is the ashes of your grandfathers. So that they will respect the land, tell your children that the earth is rich with the lives of our kin. Teach your children what we have taught our children, that the earth is our mother. Whatever befalls the earth befalls the sons of the earth. If men spit upon the ground, they spit upon themselves.

THIS WE KNOW

The earth does not belong to man; man belongs to the earth. This we know.

All things are connected like the blood which unites one family. All things are connected. Whatever befalls the earth befalls the sons of the earth. Man did not weave the web of life: he is merely a stand in it. Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself. Even the white man, whose God walks and talks to him as friend to friend, cannot be exempt from this common destiny. We may be brother after all. We shall see.

One thing we know, which the white man may one day discover, our God is the same God. You may think now that you own Him as you wish to own our land; but you cannot. He is the God of man; and His compassion is equal for the red man and the white. This earth is precious to Him, and to harm the earth is to heap contempt on its Creator.

The whites too shall pass; perhaps sooner than all other tribes. Contaminate your bed, and you will one night suffocate in your own waste. But in your perishing you will shine brightly, fired by the strength of the God who brought you to this land and for some special purpose gave you dominion over this land and over the red man.

This destiny is a mystery to us, for we do not understand when the buffalo are all slaughtered, the wild horses are tamed, the secret corners of the forest heavy with the scent of many man, and the view of the ripe hills blotted by talking wires.

Where is the thicket? Gone.
Where is the eagle? Gone.
The end of living and the beginning of survival.

==================================================================================

[www.synaptic.bc.ca] />
Les

Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 04/22/2006 04:09PM by lg.

The last Flower

by James Thurber

World War XII, as everyone knows, brought about the collapse of civilization. Towns cities, and villages disappeared. All the groves and forest were destroyed, and all the gardens, and all the works of art. Men, women, and children became lower than the animals. Discouraged and disillusioned, dogs deserted their fallen masters. Books Paintings, and music disappeared from the earth, and human beings just sat around doing nothing. Years and years went by. Even the few generals who were left forgot what the last war had decided. Boys and girls grew up to stare at each other blankly. Love had passed from earth.

One day, a young girl who had never seen a flower chanced to come upon the last one in the world. She told the other human beings that the last flower was dying. The only one who paid attention to her was a young man. Together, the young man and the girl nurtured the flower and it began to live again. One day, a bee visited the flower, and a humming bird. Before long, there were two flowers, and then a great many. Groves and forests flourished again. The young girl began to take interest in how she looked. The young man discovered that touching the girl was pleasurable. Love was reborn into the world.

The children of the young man and the girl grew up strong and healthy. They learned to run and laugh. Dogs came out of their exile. The young man discovered how to build a shelter. Pretty soon everybody was building shelters. Towns, cities, and villages sprung up. Song came back into the world, and troubadours and jugglers, tailors and cobblers, painters and poets, and sculptors, and soldiers and Lieutenants and Captains, and Generals and Major-Generals, and liberators. Some people went to one place to live, and some to another. Before long, those who went to live in the valleys wished they had gone to live in the hills. And those who had to live in the hills wished they had gone down to live in valleys. The liberators, under the guidance of God, set fire to the discontented. So presently, the world was at war again. This time, the destruction was so complete that nothing at all was left in the world, except one man, one woman, and a flower.

I posted this on the USP just about a year ago.

JoeT
********************************************************************************
Elegy For Our Mountain
By Joseph R. Torelli

Can you tell me where the flowers are
That glorified our hill;
The purple-tinged wisteria,
The honeyed daffodil?

And where have all the songbirds flown,
The starlings, chickadees,
That raised a psalm to each new morn
In awe-filled symphonies?

I’ve noticed, too, the spruce and fir
That boldly stood their ground
When wind and flood and winter storm
With fury did astound;

Are numbered now a precious few;
That have managed to forestall
The woodsman’s axe, the dozer’s blade,
The chain saw and the maul.

The soil that once absorbed the rain
To replenish wells below
Has been stripped away – no deep-set roots
To stem the rapid flow.

The rain now rushes undeterred
Over cragged, barren ground,
And dumps its grimy sediment
Into river, lake, and sound.

Our mountain has been laid to waste
For profits born of greed.
How much more can earth withstand
Before we just concede?