Earth Poems - Page 2

The Desert is a lonely soul
who burns your every breath,
like a broken record,
stuck on the sound of death.

He is the killer sandman, he
burns you in your sleep.
He is a never ending maze,
you are lost and you are weak.

He is a fiery nightmare, a
never ending scream.
Please Mr. Killer Sandman,
bring me a burning dream.

The grasslands stretch as far as the eye can see,
As flat as anything can be,
Unending fields of corn and wheat,
Yielding huge harvests that none can beat,
Feeding millions of homes and hearth,
Prairies are the wheat basket of the earth!

Long ago, bisons and grizzlies roamed these lands,
Red Indians fought in war bands,
Cowboys roped in cattle from far and wide,
With time, things changed with the tide.
It is all part of history,
To many it seems a mystery,
Of times when the prairies were unspoilt and pure,
But nature here was tamed by man for sure.

The prairies are still a beautiful sight,
Glowing gold and auburn in the morning light,
Flowers bloom and sway in the wind of the morning,
As winter frost gives way to a glorious spring.

They say a sunset is an artist's pallet,
Of colors so intense and full of pigment,
A photographer's dream.

Tonight they are the colors of autumn,
Of reds, yellows, green.
The shadows that fall,
Bring the night to life.

First the crickets dance all night.
Then the owls hoot,
Call hidden from sight.

The mares call to their foals,                                                             
at play in the fields,
"Time to bed down my little ones."

The cattle are lowing for food
Their one thought, before they rest themselves
In slumber to the sounds of the night.

The birds call to each other,
Telling them of free food,
High above the house of cats.

The barking of dogs as they round
Up their charges safe in for the night.

The children run laughing,
Being chased one more time.
Before the parents drop them
Exhausted on their beds made of clouds.

The colors are now the deepest of colors,
A painter's pallet forever changing.

As the moon softly sings us the lullaby,
"To sleep my children, to sleep."

cold snap on a morning the frost on the ground
the snowy landscape as you look all around
an old man's nose swollen red and it glows
the whistle you hear as the wind blows
the warmth of the fire a few more logs you would add,
cooking toast from a fork when I was a lad
as I look back at before I fill with tears
remembering winters as they once were
this is all in the past, why should we ponder,
at the winters gone by that seemed to last ever longer
well, the climate has changed; the winter's no more
we boil in the sun heat rose from the core
what have we done, where's the winter gone
you might ask as you boil in the sun
well, think back to when the winters once were
no spoiling the ozone and polluting the air
greed rose from you all in the race against haste
money no option you chose your fate
blinded by the greed that filled your sense,
you've ruined the earth have you no sense?
the heat rising faster this is the end...
can't turn back the hand that created this crime
let's all hope it eases with a little time